Cosmopolitan 1916-12: Vol 62 Iss 1

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THHHHHHHAHAHHHAHHAHAAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHHAHAAHHAHAHAHHO oR J DECEMBER, 19016 The Wise Woman g By Herbert Kaufman S555 Ss et —_ 3 HERE was a tawdry moment in the once-ago. And she sensed it, even though he did not tell. Something supremely fine was gone. Unwary conscience caught her glance, then ran to hide. She had no need of words to understand—God makes women that way; silence speaks to them in a secret tongue. So, all these years, the hurt has roamed her heart, dulling the dear = ts t car ¢ gold of hoarded memories The past is now a hideous rosary of doubt. She ts not sure what hours were real with love and when his arms were masques. But her mother’s mothers taught her how to smile and play the game in pain—to bear the ancient cross within herself, to lose and give the more. Men have no valor such as this—no courage tn the dark. They do not bleed alone and wait and hope—and hope. All men are somewhat boys, the best of them—eternal children, there- fore a little cruel, wanton a bit; break-toys and take-joys; blundering, blustering; clad in the tattered prides of make-believe; convinced that theirs 1s the sustaining strength; strange in their shames; stifling the cry for sympathy and consolation as trials wear sore; timid to own defeat and injury, while, all the time, their souls are open pages to the eyes whose heritage it 1s to read beneath pretense. Women are not deceived. Their love ts never blind. They see and suffer—remember and forgive. OPYRIGHT, 1916, BY IN NATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPANY (COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE) Sei Na

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& ee, oa © me. © a * She Carpet By Olla Wheeler Wilcox Drawing by SD. Skidmore HE roads that from my childhood's home led out, As seasons changed, were paved with dust or snow ; And in the summer bordered all about With unkept grasses and wild weeds ablow. I can recall the early ride to town, One soft spring morning in the month of May (The promised purchase of my Sunday gown Lent mystery and glory to the day). And I recall the feeling even yet. Which stole upon me as we neared the place Where country roads with city pavements met, For there life seemed to show a fairer face. The gala windows of the tempting store, The throngs of people moving on and on— I loved the sight of these, but loved still more The vernal splendor of each close-cut lawn. Down to the very street from each abode They stretched their lovely lengths, block after block— A comely contrast to the dusty road And weedy wilds where I was wont to walk. rer wn eee nee ne

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aI rn of Dreams They lay like velvet carpets, soft and bright, Spread for the feet of Beauty and Repose. My unformed mind was moved by pure delight, And something sweet and tender in me rose. A vision, nebulous and indistinct, Lifted my fancy to a world ideal, Where earth and fairy-land were interlinked, And all the might be’s” of this life were real, s And where the country places all were towns, With gala windows filled with what we seek, Where little children wore their Sunday gowns, And danced on emerald lawns through all the week. So in her wonder-house of beauteous wares, Which Life has shown to me, a green lawn seems Like tapestries thrown over flights of stairs, On which I mounted to my world of dreams. ee ae susieiapaccinsenaieeiesnsintsscmcaite c

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HERE are some stories that have to be true—the sort that cannot be fabricated by a ready fiction-reckoner. And, by the same token, there are some men with stories to tell who cannot be doubted. Such a man was Julian Jones, although I doubt the average reader of this will believe the story Julian Jones told me. Nevertheless, I believe it. So thoroughly am I convinced of its verity that I am willing—nay, eager—to invest capital in the enterprise and embark personally on the adventure to a far land. It was in the Australian Building at the Panama-Pacific Exposition that I met him. I was standing before an ex- hibit of facsimiles of the record-nuggets which had been discovered in the gold fields of the antipodes. Knobbed, misshapen, and massive, it was as difficult to believe that they were not real gold as it was to believe the accompany- ing statistics of their weights and values. “That’s what those kangaroo-hunters call a ‘nugget!’ boomed over my shoulder, directly at the largest of the specimens. I turned and looked up into the dim blue eyes of Julian Jones. I looked up, for he stood something like six feet four inches in height. His hair, a wispy, sandy yellow, seemed as dimmed and faded as his eyes. It may have been the sun which had washed out his coloring; at least, his face bore the evidence of a prodigious and ancient sun- burn which had long since faded to yellow. As his eyes turned from the exhibit and focused on mine, I noted a queer look in them as of one who vainly tries to recall some fact of supreme importance. “What’s the matter with it as a nugget?’ I demanded. The remote, indwelling expression went out of his eyes as he boomed, “Why, its size!” “It does seem large,’ I admitted. “But there’s no doubt it’s authentic. The Australian government would scarcely dare : “Large!” he interrupted, with a sniff and a sneer. “Largest ever discovered ”” T started on. !?”? His dim eyes smoldered hotly as he ” “ce Ever discovered! proceeded. ‘Do you think that every lump of gold ever discovered has got into the newspapers and encyclopedias?” “Well,” I replied judicially, “if there’s one that hasn’t, I don’t see how we’re to know about it. nugget or nugget-finder elects to blush unseen 18 If a really big ” he broke in “T saw it with my own eyes, and, besides, I’m too tanned “But it didn’t!” quickly. ‘Lhe By Jack to blush, anyway. I’m a ,rail- road man, and I’ve been in the tropics a lot. Why, I used to be the color of mahogany— real. old mahogany—and have been taken for a_ blue-eyed Spaniard more than once - It was my turn ‘to interrupt, and I did. “Was that nugget bigger than those in there, Mr.—er—— “Jones. Julian Jones is my name.” He dug into an inner pocket and produced an envelop addressed to such a person, care of General Delivery, San Francisco, and I, in turn, presented him with my card. “Pleased to know you, sir,” he said, extending his hand, his voice booming as if accustomed to loud noises or wide spaces. ‘Of course I’ve heard of you, seen your picture in the papers and all that, and, though I say it that shouldn’t, I want to say that I didn’t care a rap about those articles you wrote on Mexico. You’re wrong—all wrong. You make the mistake of all gringos in thinking a Mexican is a white man. He ain’t. None of them ain’t—greasers, spiggoties, Latin-Americans, and all the rest of the cattle. Why, sir, they don’t think like we think, or reason or act. Even their multiplication table is different. You think seven times seven is forty-nine; but not them. They work it out different. And white isn’t white to them, either. Let me give you an example. Buyin’ coffee- retail for housekeeping in one-pound or ten-pound lots “How big was that nugget you referred to?” I queried firmly. “As big as the biggest of those?” “Bigger,” he said quietly. “Bigger than the whole blamed exhibit of them put together, and then some.” He paused, and regarded me with a steadfast gaze. “I don’t see no reason why I shouldn’t go into the matter with you. You’ve got a reputation a man ought to be able to trust, and I’ve read you’ve done some tall skylarkin’ your- self in out-of-the-way places. I’ve been browsin’ around with an eye open for some one to go in with me on the proposition.” “You can trust me,” I said. Illustrated by > And here I am, blazing out into print with the whole story, just as he told it to me as we sat on a bench by copyricut, 1916, “

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London ; the lagoon before the Palace G. Patrick Nelson Well, he should have kept his Hus of Fine Arts, with the cries of the sea-gulls in our ears. appointment with me. But I an- ticipate. As we started to leave the building and hunt for a seat, a small woman, possibly thirty years of age, with a washed-out complexion of the farmer’s wife sort, darted up to him in a birdlike way, for all the world like the darting, veering gulls over our heads, and fastened herself to his arm with the accuracy and despatch and inevitableness of a piece of machinery. “There you go!’ she shrilled. “A-trottin’ right off and never givin’ me a thought!” I was formally introduced to her. It was patent that she had never heard of me, and she surveyed me bleakly with shrewd black eyes, set close together and as beady and restless as a bird’s. “You ain’t goin’ to tell him about that hussy?” she complained. “Well, now, Sarah, this is business, you see,”’ he argued plaintively. “T’ve been lookin’ for a likely man this long while, and now that he’s shown up, it seems to me I got a right to give him the hang of what h>ppened.” The small woman made no reply, but set her thin fps in a needlelike line. She gazed straight before her at the Tower of Jewels, with so austere an expression that no glint of refracted sunlight could soften it. We proceeded slowly to the lagoon, managed to obtain an unoccupied seat, and sat down with mutual sighs of relief as we released our weights. from our tortured, sightseeing feet. “One does get so mortal weary,” asserted the small woman, almost defiantly. Two swans waddled up from the mirroring water and investigated us. When their suspicions of our niggardliness or lack of peanuts had been confirmed, Jones half turned his back on his life-partner and gave me his story. ‘Ever been in Ecuador? Then take my advice—and don’t. Though I take that back, for you and me might be hittin’ it for there together if you can rustle up the faith in me and the back-bone in yourself for the trip. Well, anyway, it ain’t so many years ago that I came ambling in there on a rusty, foul-bottomed tramp collier from Australia, forty-three days from land to land. Seven knots was her speed when everything favored, and we’d had a two weeks’ gale to the BY JACK LONDON *** What are you stoppin’ this locomotive for ?*" 19

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20 The Hussy north’ard of New Zealand, and broke our engines down for two days off Pitcairn Island. “T was no sailor on her. I’m a locomotive engineer. But I’d made friends with the skipper at Newcastle an’ come along as his guest for as far as Guayaquil. You see, I’d heard wages was ’way up on the American railroad runnin’ from that place over the Andes to Quito. Now, Guayaquil , “Ts a fever-hole,” I interpolated. Julian Jones nodded. “Thomas Nast died there of it a few months after he landed. He was our great American cartoonist,’ I added. “Don’t know him,” Julian Jones said shortly. “But I do know he wasn’t the first to pass out by a long shot. Why, look you the way I found it! The pilot-grounds is sixty miles down the river. ‘How’s the fever?’ said I to the pilot, who came aboard in the early morning. ‘See that Hamburg bark,’ said he, pointin’ to a sizable ship at anchor. ‘Captain and fourteen men dead of it already, and the cook and two men dying right now, and they’re the last left of her.’ ‘And, by jinks, he told the truth! And right then they were dyin’ forty a day in Guayaquil of yellow Jack. But that was nothin’, as I was to find out. Bubonic plague and smallpox was ragin’, while dysentery and pneumonia was reducin’ the population, and the railroad was ragin’ worst of all. I mean that. For them that insisted in ridin’ on it, it was more dangerous than all the other diseases put together. “When we dropped anchor off Guayaquil, half a dozen skippers from other steamers came on board to warn our skipper not to let any of his crew or officers go ashore except the ones he wanted to lose. A launch came off for me from Duran, which is on the other side of the river and is the terminal of the rail- road. And it brought off a man that soared up the gang- way three jumps at a time, he was that eager to get aboard. When he hit the deck, he hadn’t time to speak to any of us. He just leaned out over the rail and shook his fist at Duran and shouted: ‘I beat you to it! I beat you to it!’ “*Who’d you beat to it, friend?’ Iasked. ‘The rail- road,’ he said, as he unbuckled the straps and took off a big 44 Colt’s automatic from where he wore it handy on his left side under his coat. ‘I stayed as long as I agreed—three months— and it didn’t get me. I was a conductor.’ ‘And that was the railroad I was to work for. All of which was nothin’ to what he told me in the next few minutes. The road ran from sea-level at Duran up to twelve thousand feet on the Andes and down to ten thousand at Quito on the other side. And it was so dangerous that the trains didn’t run nights. The through passengers had to get off and sleep in the towns at night while the train waited for daylight. And each train carried a guard of Ecuadoriano soldiers, which was the most dangerous of all. They were supposed to protect the train-crews, but when- ever trouble started, they unlimbered their rifles and joined the mob. You see, whenever a train-wreck occurred, the first cry of the spiggoties was, ‘Kill the gringos!’ They always did that, and proceeded to kill the train-crew and whatever chance gringo passengers that’d escaped being killed in the accident.- Which is their kind of arithmetic, which I told you, a while back, as being different from ours. “Shucks! myself that that ex-conductor wasn’t lyin’. Before the day was out, I was to find out for It was over at Duran. I was to take my run on the first division out of Quito, for which place I was to start next morning— only one through train runnin’ every twenty-four hours. It was the afternoon of my first day, along about four o’clock, when the boilers of the Governor Hancock exploded, and she sank in sixty feet of water alongside the dock. She was the big ferry-boat that carried the railroad passengers across the river to Guayaquil. It was a bad accident, but it was the cause of worse that followed. By half-past four, big train-loads began to arrive. It was a feast-day, and they’d run an excursion up-country out of Guayaquil, and this was the crowd comin’ back. “And the crowd—there was five thousand of them— wanted to get ferried across, and the ferry was at the bottom of the river—which wasn’t our fault. But by the spig- goty arithmetic, it was. ‘Kill the ‘Get up and make gringos!’ shouts one of them. And right there the beans was spilled. Most of us got away by the skin of our teeth. I raced on the heels of the master mechanic, carryin’ one of his babies for him, for the locomotives that was just pullin’ out. You see, way down there, away from everywhere, they just got to save their locomotives in time of trouble, because without them a railroad can’t berun. Half a dozen Ameri- can wives and as many children was crouchin’ on the cab- floor along with the rest of us when we pulled out; and the Ecuadoriano soldiers, who should have been protectin’ our lives and property, turned loose with their rifles and must have given us all of a thousand rounds before we got out of range. ‘‘We camped up-country, and didn’t come back to clean up until next day. It was some cleanin’. Every flat car, box car, coach, asthmatic switch-engine, and even hand- car, that mob of spiggoties had shoved off the dock into sixty feet of water on top of the Governor Hancock. They’d **Vahna ‘d flopped cried, ‘ this is death!

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friends with them for me.” Good-by, amigo /**’ Jack London 21 burnt the roundhouse, set fire to the coal-bunkers, and made a scandal of the repair shops. Oh, yes; and there were three of our fellows they’d got that we had to bury mighty quick. It’s hot weather all the time down there.” Julian Jones came to a full pause, and, over his shoulder, studied the straight-before-her gaze and forbidding expres- sion of his wife’s face. “T ain’t forgotten the nugget,” he assured me. “Nor the hussy,”’ the little woman snapped, apparently at the mud-hens paddling on the surface of the lagoon. “T’ve been travelin’ toward the nugget right along ‘There was never no reason for you to stay in that dan- gerous country,” his wife snapped in on him. ‘Now, Sarah,” he replied; ‘I was workin’ for you right along.’’ And, to me, he explained: ‘The risk was big, but down and begun whimperin’, but I told her, *No, no,’ she so was the pay. Some months I earned as high as five hundred gold. And here was Sarah waitin’ for me back in Nebraska Ys ‘An’ us engaged two years,” Tower of Jewels. “What of the strike, and me being blacklisted, and gettin’ typhoid down in Australia, and everything,” he went on, “and luck was with me on that railroad. Why, I saw fel- lows fresh from the States pass out, some of them not a week on their first run! If the diseases and the railroad didn’t get them, then it was the spiggoties got them. But it just wasn’t my fate, even that time | rode my engine down to the bottom of a forty-foot washout. I lost my fireman; and the conductor and the superintendent of rolling-stock (who happened to be running down to Duran to meet his bride) had their heads knifed off by the spiggoties and paraded around on poles. But J lay snug as a bug under a couple of feet of tender-coal, and they thought I’d headed she complained to the for tall timber—lay there a day and a night till the excite- ment cooled down. Yes, I was lucky. The worst that happened to me was I caught a cold once, and another time had a carbuncle. But the other fellows! They died like flies, what of yellow Jack, pneumonia, the spiggoties, and the railroad. The trouble was I didn’t have much chance to pal with them. No sooner’d I get some intimate with one of them than he’d up and die—all but a fireman named Andrews, and he went loco for keeps. ‘“‘T made good on my job from the first, and lived in Quito in a ’dobe house, with whackin’ big Spanish tiles on the roof, that I’d rented. And I never had much trouble with the spiggoties, what of lettin’ them sneak free rides in the tender or on the cowcatcher. Me throw them off? Never! I took notice, when Jack Harris put off a bunch of them, that I attended his funeral muy pronto ; ‘Speak English,” the little woman beside him snapped. “Sarah just can’t bear to tolerate me speakin’ Spanish,” he apologized. ‘‘It gets so on her nerves that I promised not to. Well, as I was saying, the goose hung high, and everything was going hunky-dory, and I was pilin’ up my wages to come back to Nebraska and marry Sarah, when I run onto Vahna “The hussy!”’ Sarah hissed. “Now, Sarah,” her towering giant of a husband begged; “TI just got to mention her or I can’t tell about the nugget. It was one night when I was takin’ a locomotive—no train —down to Amato, about thirty miles from Quito. Seth Manners was my fireman. I was breakin’ him in to engineer for himself, and I was lettin’ him run the locomotive while I sat up in his seat, meditatin’ about Sarah here. Id just got a letter from her, beggin’, as usual, for me to come home, and hintin’, as usual, about the dangers of an unmarried man like me run- nin’ around loose in a country full of seworitas and fandangos. ? a $e ee Lord! If she could only ’a seen them. Positive frights, that’s what they are, their faces painted white as corpses and their lips red as—as some of the train-wrecks I’ve helped clean up. “Tt was a lovely April night, not a breath of wind, and a tremendous big moon shinin’ right over the top of Chim- borazo—some mountain that! The railroad skirted it twelve thousand feet above sea-level, and the top of it ten thousand feet higher than that. “Mebbe I was drowsin’, with Seth running the en- gine; but he slammed on the brakes so sudden hard that I darn near went through the cab window. ““What the—’ I started to yell, as both of us looked at what was on the track. It was an Indian girl—and, take it from me, Indians ain’t spiggoties by any manner of means. Seth had managed to fetch a stop within twenty feet of her, and us bowlin’ down-hill at that! But the girl—she——”’ I saw the form of Mrs. Julian Jones stiffen, although she kept her gaze fixed balefully upon two mud-hens that were prowling along the lagoon shallows below us. “The hussy!”’ she hissed, once and implacably. had stopped at the sound, but went on immediately. “She was a tall girl, slim and slender—you know the kind—with black hair, remarkably long, hangin’ down loose behind her, and she stood there, no more afraid than nothin’, her arms spread out to stop the engine. She was wearin’ a slimpsy sort of garment wrapped around her that Jones

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The Hussy wasn’t cloth but ocelot skins, soft and dappled _ said, none too gentle. She gave a start, seemed to come and silky. It was all she had on Z out of her trance, and opened her eyes. Say! They were “The hussy!”’ breathed Mrs. Jones. big and black and beautiful. Believe me, she was some But Mr. Jones went on, making be- looker ™ lieve that he was unaware of the “The hussy!’’ At which hiss, the two mud-hens veered interruption. away a few feet. But Jones was getting himself in hand, ““A fine way to stop a locomo- and didn’t even blink. tive!’ I complained at Seth, as I “*What are you stoppin’ this locomotive for?’ I de- climbed down onto the right of _manded, in Spanish. Nary an answer. She stared at me, way. I walked past our engine then at the snortin’ engine, and then burst into tears, and up to the girl—and what do’ which, you’ll admit, is uncommon behavior for an Indian you think? Her eyes were shut woman. tight. She was tremblin’ ““Tf you try to get rides that way,’ I slung at her, in that violent that you could spiggoty Spanish (which they tell me is some different from see it by the moon- regular Spanish), ‘you'll be taking one smeared all over our light. And she was cowcatcher and headlight, and it’ll be up to my fireman to barefoot, scrape you off.’ too. ‘““My spiggoty Spanish wasn’t much to brag on, but I ‘“““What’s could see she understood, though she only shook her head the row?’ I and wouldn’t speak. But, great Moses, she was some looker o I glanced apprehensively at Mrs. Jones, who must have caught me out of the tail of her eye, for she muttered, “Tf she hadn’t been, do you think he’d ’a’ taken her into his house to live?”’ “Now, hold on, Sarah!” Jones protested. “‘That ain’t fair. Besides, I’m tellin’ this. Next thing Seth yells _ at me, ‘Goin’ to stay here all night?’ ‘“**Come on,’ I said to the girl, ‘and climb on board. But next time you want a ride, don’t flag a locomotive between stations.’ She followed along; but when I got to the step and turned to give her a lift-up, she wasn’t there. I went forward again. Not a sign of her. Above and below was sheer cliff, and the track stretched ahead a hundred yards, clear and empty. And then I spotted her, crouched down right against the cowcatcher, that close I’d almost stepped on her. If we’d started up, we'd have run over her in a second. It was all so nonsensical, I never could make out her actions. Maybe she was trying to suicide. I grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her none too gentle to her ‘They chucked me off of it like so much carrion ™

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feet. And she came along all right. Women do know when a man means business.” I glanced from this Goliath to his little bird-eyed spouse, and wondered if he had ever tried to mean business with her. ‘Seth kicked at first, but I boosted her into the cab and made her sit up beside me m “And I suppose Seth was busy runnin’ the engine,” Mrs. Jones observed. “T was breakin’ him in, wasn’t I?” Mr. Jones protested. “So we made the run into Amato. She’d never opened her mouth once, and no sooner’d the engine stopped than she’d jumped to the ground and was gone. Just like that! Not a ‘Thank you kindly ’—nothing. “But next mornin’, when we came to pull out for Quito with a dozen flat cars loaded with rails, there she was in the cab, waiting for us; and, in the daylight, I could see how much better a looker she was than the night before. “*Huh! She’s adopted you,’ Seth grins. And it looked like it. She just stood there and looked at me—at us—like a loving hound dog that you love and that you’ve caught with a string of sausages inside of him, and that just knows you ain’t going to lift a hand tohim. ‘Go chase yourself!’ I told her pronto.”’ (Mrs. Jones made her proximity noticeable with a wince at the Spanish word.) ‘“‘ You see, Sarah, I’d no use for her, even at the start.”’ Mrs. Jones stiffened. Her lips moved soundlessly, but I knew to what syllables. “And what made it hardest was Seth jeerin’ at me. ‘You can’t shake her that way,’ he said; ‘you saved her life.’ ‘I didn’t,’ I said sharply; ‘it was you.’ ‘But she thinks you did, which is the same thing,’ he came back at me. ‘And now she belongs to you. Custom of the country—as you ought to know.’”’ ‘“‘Heathenish!” said Mrs. Jones, and though her steady gaze was set upon the Tower of Jewels, I knew she was mak- ing no reference to its architecture. ‘““*She’s come to do light housekeepin’ for you,’ Seth grinned. I let him rave, though afterward I kept him throw- in’ in the coal too fast to work his mouth very much. Why, say, when I got to the spot where I picked her up and stopped the train for her to get off, she just flopped down on her knees, got a hammer-lock with her arms around my knees, and cried all over my shoes. What was I to do?” With no perceptible movement that I was aware of, Mrs. Jones advertised her certitude of knowledge of what she would have done. ‘‘And the moment we pulled into Quito she did what she’d done before—vanished. Sarah never believes me when I say how relieved I felt to be quit of her. But it was not tobe. I got tomy ‘dobe house and managed a crackin’ fine dinner my cook had ready for me. She was mostly spiggoty and half Indian, and her name was s Paloma. Now, Sarah; haven’t I told you she “aed was older’n a grandmother, and looked 4 » more like a buzzard than a dove? Why, , I couldn’t bear to eat with her around where I could look at her. x But she did make things Bi WS a comfortzble, end she was some economical when it came to marketing. Jack London 23 “That afternoon, after a big, long szesta, what’d I find in the kitchen, just as much at home as if she belonged there, but that blamed Indian girl. And old Paloma was squat- ting at the girl’s feet and rubbing the girl’s knees and legs like for rheumatism, which I knew the girl didn’t have from the way I'd sized up the walk of her, and keepin’ time to the rubbing with a funny sort of gibberish chant. And I let loose, right there and then. As Sarah knows, I never could bear women around the house—young, unmarried women, I mean. But it was no go. Old Paloma sided with the girl, and said if the girl went, she went, too. Also, she called me more kinds of a fool than the English language has accom- modation for. You'd of liked the Spanish lingo, Sarah, for expressin’ yourself in such ways, and you’d of liked old Paloma, too. She was a good woman, though she didn’t have any teeth, and her face could kill a strong man’s appe- tite in the cradle. “T gave in. I had to. Except for the excuse that she needed Vahna’s help around the house (which she didn’t at all), old Paloma never said why she stuck up for the girl. Anyway, Vahna was a quiet thing, never in the way. And she never gadded—just sat indoors, jabberin’ with Paloma and helpin’ with the chores. But I wasn’t long in gettin’ onto that she was afraid of somethin’. She would look up, that anxious it hurt, whenever anybody called, like some of the boys, to have a gas or a game of pedro. I tried to worm it out of Paloma what was worryin’ the girl, but all the old woman did was to look solemn end shake her head like all the devils was liable to precipitate a visit on us. “‘And then, one day, Vahna had a visitor. I'd just come in from a run and was passin’ the time of day with her—I had to be polite, even if she had butted in on me and come to live in my house for keeps—when I saw a queer expression come into her eyes. In the doorway stood an Indian boy. He looked like her, but was younger and slimmer. She took him into the kitchen, and they must have had a great pal- Inside the week aver, for he didn’t leave until after dark. he came back, but I missed him. When I got home, Paloma put a fat nugget of gold into my hand, which Vahna had sent him for. Theblamedthing , weighed all of two pounds, and was worth more than five hundred dol- lars. She explained that Vahna wanted me to take it to pay for her keep. And I had to take it to keep peace in the house. “Then, after a long time, came another visitor. We were sittin’ before the fire——”’ “Him and the hussy,’”’ quoth Mrs. Jones. “And Paloma,’ he quickly. “Him and his cook and his light housekeeper sittin’ by the fire,’ she amended. “Oh, I admit Vahna did like , me a whole heap,” he asserted recklessly, then modified, with a _ , pang of (Continued on page 94) & added

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NCE back in England, Gyp lost that feeling, or very nearly. Her skepticism told her that Fiorsen would soon see some one else who seemed all he had said she was. How ridiculous to suppose that he would stop his follies for her, that she had any real power over him! But, deep down, she did not quite believe this. It would have wounded her belief in herself too much—a belief so subtle and intimate that she was not conscious of it; belief in that something about her which had inspired the baroness to use the word “fatality.” wane, who breathed again, hurried her off to Milden- ham. He had bought her a new horse. They were in time for the last of the cubbing. And, for a week at least, the pas- sion for riding and the sight of hounds carried all before it. Then, just as the real business of the season was beginning, she began to feel dull and restless. Mildenham was dark; the autumn winds made dreary noises. Her little brown spaniel, very old, who seemed only to have held on to life just for her return, died. She accused herself terribly for having left it so long when it was failing. Thinking of all the days Lass had been watching for her to come home—as Betty, with that COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPANY Beyond By John Iilustrated by ii 0 ae ey i -_-— a —~. Sa

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i = A Drama of Hearts Counseling Galsworthy John: Alonzo Williams 4 We o 7 2 A. Oar EER > FRG Impatiently she glanced at this intruder, who raised his hat a little and smiled love of woeful recital so dear to simple hearts, took good care to make plain—she felt as if she had been cruel. For events such as these, Gyp was both too tender- hearted and too hard on herself. She was quite ill for several days. The moment she was better, Winton, in dismay, whisked her back to aunt Rosamund in town. He would lose her company, but if it did her good, took her out of herself, he would be content. Running up for the week- end, three days later, he was relieved to find her decidedly perked up, and left her again with the easier heart. It was on the day after he went back to Mildenham that she received a letter from Fiorsen, forwarded from Bury Street. He was—it said—just returning to London; he COSMIPOLITAN MAGAZINE) COPYRIGHTED IN GREAT BRITAIN HEN Ghita (or Gyp, as she nick- named herself when a baby, and as she is called by her friends) was eight years old, her real father, Major Charles Clare Winton, decided that she should henceforth bear his name. This is shortly after the death of the country squire who thought himself the little girl’s parent. His wife, Gyp’s mother, had died at the birth of her and Winton’s child, and the heart-broken lover was just then recalled to his regiment in active service. In Egypt, he lost his right hand. He does not see Gyp until she is seven and the child becomes devotedly attached to him. The squire, never suspecting the reason, is grateful for Winton’s interest in the child and makes him her guardian and trustee. Winton takes the girl to his hunting-box at Mildenham, and there she is brought up with a governess and her old nurse, Betty. She develops into a sympathetic and lovable girl with affection for dogs and horses, hunting, and all forms of outdoor life—also for music; she studies hard under a teacher of the piano. Winton’s sole passion is for hunting, and he is delighted at Gyp’s fondness for the sport, but of music he knows nothing. She spends part of the year with her aunt Rosamund, Winton’s sister, in London. When she is nineteen Gyp attends the hunt-ball for the first time, and overhears an elderly woman say, referring to her, “‘Of course he really zs her father.’’ The next day she puts the dreaded question to Winton, and he tells her the truth. The girl’s only com- ment is, “I’m glad.” Afterward, when she learns that her fortune amounts to over twenty thousand pounds, she says she will take only eight thousand— her mother’s estate. Three years later, Winton, suffering with gout, takes Gyp with him to Wiesbaden. Here she meets a Swedish violinist, Gustav Fiorsen, who is giving concerts. His friend and manager, Count Rosek, is with him. Gyp is fascinated with his music, and presently a strange courtship is begun. On the last afternoon of her stay, Fiorsen asks her to marry him. She says she will give him an answer later—in England. Sheis conscious of her power over him, but still she leaves with a feeling of fatality that, whether she would or no, she could not free herself from him. had not forgotten any look she had ever given him, or any word she had spoken. He should not rest till he could see her again. ‘For a long time,” the letter ended, “before I first saw you, I was like the dead—lost. All was bitter apples tome. Now I am a ship that.comes from the whirl- pools to a warm blue sea; now I see again the evening star. I kiss your hands, and am your faithful slave, Gustav Fiorsen.” These words, which from any other man would have excited her derision; renewed in Gyp that fluttered feeling, the pleasurable, frightened sense that she could not get away from his pursuit. She wrote in answer, to the address he gave her in London, to say that she was staying for a few days in Curzon Street with her aunt, who would be glad to see him if he cared to come in any afternoon between five and six, and signed herself “‘Ghita Winton.” She was long over that little note. Its curt formality gave her satisfaction. Was she really mistress of herseli—and him—able to dispose as she wished? Yes; and surely the note showed it. It was never easy to tell Gyp’s feelings from her face. 25

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26 Beyond Even Winton was often baffled, and her preparation of aunt Rosamund for the reception of Fiorsen was a master- piece of casualness. When he duly came, he, too, seemed doubly alive to the need for caution, only gazing at Gyp when he could not beseen doing so. Going out he whispered: “Not like the—not like this. I must see you alone—I must!”’ She smiled and shook her head. But bubbles had come back to the wine in her cup. That evening, she said quietly, “Dad doesn’t like Mr. Fiorsen—can’t appreciate his playing, of course.” And this most discreet remark caused aunt Rosamund, avid—in a well-bred way—of music, to omit mention of the intruder when writing to her brother. The next two weeks he came almost every day, always bringing his violin, Gyp playing his accompaniments, and though his hungry stare sometimes made her feel hot, she would not have missed it. But when Winton next came up to Bury Street, she was in a quandary. To confess that Fiorsen was here, having omitted to speak of him in her letters? Not to confess, and leave him to find it out from aunt Rosamund? Which was worse? Seized with panic, she did neither, but told her father she was dying for a gallop. Hailing that as the best of signs, he took her forthwith back to Milden- ham. And curious were her feelings — light- hearted, compunctious, as of one who escapes yet knows she will soon be seeking to return. Next - day, the meet was rather far, but she insisted on riding to it, since old Pet- tance, the superannuated jockey, charitably em- ployed as extra stable- help at Milderham, was to bring on her second horse. There was a good scenting-wind, with rain in the offing, and outside the covert they had a corner to themselves Winton knowing a trick worth two of the field’s at- large. They had slipped there, iuckily unseen, for people had a y habit of following the one-handed horseman in faded pink, who, on his bang-tailed black mare, had a knack of getting so well away. One of the whips, a little dark fellow with smoldery eyes and sucked-in, weathered cheeks, dashed out of covert, rode past, saluting, and dashed in again. A jay came out with a screech, dived, and doubled back; a hare made off across the fallow—the light-brown, loping creature was barely visible against the brownish soil. Pigeons, very high up, flew over and away to the next wood. The shrill- ing voices of the whips rose far in the covert-depths, and just a whimper, now and then, from hounds, swiftly wheeling their noses among the fern and briers. Gyp, crisping her fingers on the reins, drew in deep breaths. It smelled so sweet and soft and fresh under that sky, pied of blue and of white and light-gray, swift-moving clouds—not half the wind down here that there was up there, just enough to be carrying past the beech and oak leaves, loosened by frost two days before. If only a fox would break this side, and they could have the first fields to themselves! It was so lovely to be alone with hounds! One of these came trotting out, a pretty young creature, busy and unconcerned, raising its tan-and-white head, its mild, reproachful, deep-brown eyes, at Winton’s, ‘“Loo-in, Trix!” What a darling! A burst of music from the covert, and the darling vanished back among the briers. Gyp’s new brown horse pricked its ears. A young man in a gray cutaway, buff cords, and jack-boots, on a low “Mr. Fiorsen has done us the told him that you decide such him, it will be against chestnut mare, came slipping round the covert. Oh—did that mean they were all coming? Im- patiently she glanced at this intruder, who raised his hat a little and smiled. That smile, faintly impudent, | was so infectious that Gyp was melted to a slight response. Then she frowned. He had spoiled their lovely loneliness. Who was he? He looked unpardonably serene and happy sitting there. She did not remember his face at all, yet there was something familiar about it. He had taken his hat off—a broad face, very well cut and clean-shaved, dark curly hair, extraordinarily clear eyes, a bold, cool, merry look. Where had she seen somebody like him? ———- ~« AS a ay it ae

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- ~~ honor to wish to marry you. I've things for yourself. If you accept my wish, naturally” John Galsworthy 27 A tiny sound from Winton made her turn her head. The fox—stealing out beyond those further bushes!, Breathless, she fixed her eyes on her father’s face. It was hard as steel, watching. Not a sound, not a quiver, as if horse and man had turried to metal. Was he never going to give the view- halloo? Then his lips writhed, and out it came. Gyp cast a swift smile of gratitude at the young man for having had taste and sense to leave that to her father, and again he smiled at her. There were the first hounds streaming out—one on the other —music and feather! Why didn’t Dad go? They would all be round this way in a minute! Then the black mare slid past her, and, with a bound, her horse followed. The young man on the chestnut was away on the left. Only the huntsman and one whip—beside their three selves! Glorious! The brown horse went too fast at that first fence, and Winton called back: “Steady, Gyp! Steady him!” But she couldn’t; and it didn’t matter. Grass, three fields of grass! Oh, what a lovely fox—going so straight! And each time the brown horse rose, she thought: ‘‘Perfect! I can ride! Oh, Iam happy!” And she hoped her father and the young man were looking. There was no feeling in the world like this, with a leader like dad, hounds moving free, good going, and the field distanced. Better than danc- ing; better—yes, better than listen- ing to music. If one could spend one’s life galloping, sailing over fences; if it would never stop! The new horse was a darling, though he did pull rather. She crossed the next fence-level with the young ‘man, whose low chestnut mare moved with a stealthy action. His hat was crammed down now, and his face very deter- mined, but his lips still had something of that smile. Gyp thought: “He’s got a good seat—very strong, only he 0M my all oy looks like ‘thrusting.’ Nobody rides like dad—so beauti- fully quiet!” Indeed, Winton’s seat on a horse was per- fection, all done with such a minimum expenditure. The hounds swung round in a curve. Now she was with them, really with them! What a pace—cracking! No fox could stand this long! And, suddenly, she caught sight of him, barely a field ahead, scurrying desperately, brush down; and the thought flashed through her: “Oh, don’t let’s catch you! Go on, fox; go on! Get away!” Were they really all after that little hunted red thing a —a hundred great creatures, : horses and men and women and dogs, and only that one little fox? But then came another fence, and quickly another, and she lost feelings of shame and pity in the exultation of flying over them. A minute later, the fox went to earth within a few hundred yards of the leading hound, and she was glad. She had been in at deaths before—horrid! But it had been a lovely gallop. And, breathless, smiling rapturously, she wondered whether she could wipe her face before the field came up, without that young man noticing. She could see him talking . to her father, and taking out her wisp of a handker- chief that smelled of cyclamen, she had a good scrub round. When she rode up, the young man raised his hat, and looking full at her said, “Vou did go!” His voice, rather high-pitched, had in it a spice of pleasant laziness. Gyp made him an ironical little bow, and murmured, “My new horse, you mean.” He broke again into that irrepressible smile, but, all the same, she knew that he admired her. And she kept thinking, ‘‘Where save I seen some one like him?” They had two more runs that day, but nothing like that first gallop. Nor did she again see the young man, whose name—it seemed — was Summerhay, son of a Lady Summerhay, at Widrington, ten miles from Mildenham. All that long, silent jog home with Winton in fading daylight, she felt very happy—saturated with air, and the memory of jumps, and a kind of elation. The trees and fields, the hay-stacks, gates, and ponds beside the lanes grew dim; lights came up in the cottage windows; the air smelled sweet of wood smoke. And, for the first time all day, she thought of Fiorsen, thought of him almost longingly. If he could be there in the cozy old drawing-room, to play to her while she lay back—drowsing, dreaming by the fire in the scent of burning cedar logs—the Mozart minuet, or that little

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28 Beyond heart-catching tune of Poise, played the first time she heard him, or a dozen other of the things he played un- accompanied! That would be the most lovely ending to this lovely day. Just the glow and warmth wanting, to make all perfect—the glow and warmth of music and adoration! And touching the mare with her heel, she sighed. To indulge fancies about music and Fiorsen was safe here, far away from him; she even thought she would not mind if he were to behave again as he had under the birch trees in the rain at Wiesbaden. It was so good to be adored. Her old mare, ridden now six years, began the series of little contented snufiles that signified she smelt home. Here was the last turn, and the loom of the short beech-tree avenue to the house—the old manor-house, comfortable, roomy, rather dark, with wide, shallow stairs. Ah, she was tired; and it was drizzling now. She would be nicely stiff to- morrow. In light coming from the open door, she saw Markey standing; and while fishing from her pocket the usual lumps of sugar, heard him say, “Mr. Fiorsen, sir—gentleman from Wiesbaden—to see you.” Her heart thumped. What did this mean? Why had he come? How had he dared? How could he have been so treacherous to her? Ah, but he was ignorant, of course, that she had not told her father. A veritable judgment on her! She ran straight in and up the stairs. The voice of Betty, “Your bath’s ready, Miss Gyp,” roused her. And crying, “Oh, Betty darling, bring me up my tea!”’ she ran into the bathroom. She was safe there; and, in the delicious heat of the bath, she faced the situation better. There could be only one meaning. He had come to ask for her. And, suddenly, she took comfort. Better so; there would be no more secrecy from dad. And he would stand between her and Fiorsen if—if she decided not to marry him. The thought staggered her. Had she, without knowing it, got so far as this? Yes, and further. It was all no good; Fiorsen would never accept refusal, even if she gave it. But—did she want to refuse? She loved hot baths, but had never stayed in one so long. Life was so easy there, and so difficult outside. Betty’s knock forced her to get out at last and let her in with tea and a message. Would Miss Gyp please to go down when she was ready? VI WINTON was staggered. With a glance at Gyp’s van- ishing figure, he said curtly to Markey, “Where have you put this gentleman?” But the use of the word “this” was the only trace he showed of his emotions. In that little journey across the hall, he entertained many extravagant thoughts. But, once in the study, he inclined his head courteously enough, waiting for Fiorsen to speak. The “fiddler,” still in his fur-lined coat, was twisting a squash hat in his hands. In his own peculiar style, he was impressive. But why couldn’t he look you in the face; or, if he did, why did he seem about to eat you? “You knew I was returned to London, Major Winton?” Then Gyp had been seeing the fellow without letting him know! The thought was chill and bitter to Winton. He must not give her away, however, and he simply bowed. He felt that his visitor was afraid ot his frigid courtesy; and he did not mean to help him over that fear. He could not, of course, realize that this ascendency would not prevent Fiorsen from laughing at him behind his back and acting as if he did not exist. No real contest, in fact, was possible between men standing on such different planes, neither having the slightest respect for the other’s standards or beliefs. Fiorsen, who had begun to pace the room, stopped, and said, with agitation: ‘Major Winton, your daughter is the most beautiful thing on earth. I love her desperately. I am a man with a future, though you may not think it. I have what future I like in my art if only I can marry her. I have a little money, too—not much; but in my violin there is all the fortune she can want.” Winton’s face expressed nothing but cold contemp:‘. That this fellow should take him for one who .would con- sider money in connection with his daughter simply af- fronted him. Fiorsen went on: : “You do not like me—that is clear. I saw it the first moment. You are an English gentleman”—he pronounced the words with a sort of irony—‘‘I am nothing to you. Yet, in my world, I am something. I am not an adventurer. Will you permit me to beg your daughter to be my wife?” He raised his hands that still held the hat; involuntarily they had assumed the attitude of prayer. For a second, Winton realized that he was suffering; but that weakness went in a flash, and he said frigidly: “T am obliged to you, sir, for coming to me first. You are in my house, and I don’t wish to be discourteous, but I should be glad if you would be good enough to withdraw and take it that I shall certainly oppose your wish as best I can.’ The almost childish disappointment and trouble in Fiorsen’s face changed quickly to an expression fierce, furtive, mocking; and all at once went back to despair. “Major Winton, you have loved; you must have loved her mother terribly. I suffer—I suffer!” Winton, who had turned abrupily to the fire, faced round again. “TI don’t control my daughter’s affections, sir; she will do as she wishes. I merely say it will be against my hopes and judgment if she marries you. I imagine you’ve not altogether waited for my leave. I was not blind to the way you hung about her at Wiesbaden, Mr. Fiorsen.”’ Fiorsen answered with a twisted, miserable smile: “Poor wretches do what they can. May I see her? Let me just see her! Was it any good to refuse? She had been seeing the fellow already without his knowledge, keeping from him— him—all her feelings, whatever they were. And he said: ‘“T’ll send for her. In the mean time, perhaps you’ll have some refreshment?” Fiorsen shook his head, and there followed half an hour of acute discomfort. Winton, in his mud-stained clothes before the fire, supported it better than his visitor. The child of nature, after endeavoring to emulate his host’s quietude, renounced all such efforts with an expressive gesture, fidgeted here, fidgeted there, tramped the room, went to the window, drew aside the curtains and stared out into the dark, came back, as if resolved again to confront Winton; then, baffled by that figure so motionless before the fire, flung himself down in an armchair and turned his face to the wall. Winton was not cruel by nature, but he enjoyed the writhings of this fellow who was endangering Gyp’s happiness. Endangering? Surely not possible that she would accept him! Yet, if not, why had she not told him? And he, too, suffered. Then she came. He had expected her to be pale and nervous; but Gyp never admitted being naughty till she had beer forgiven. Her smiling face had in it a kind of warning closeness. She went up to Fiorsen, and, holding out her hand; said calmly, ‘How nice of you to come!” Winton had the bitter feeling that he—he—was the out- sider. Well, he would speak plainly; there had been too much of underhand doings. ‘Mr. Fiorsen has done us the honor to wish to marry you. I’ve told him that you decide such things for yourself. If you accept him, it will be against my wish, naturally.” While he was speaking, the glow in her cheeks deepened; she looked neither at him nor at Fiorsen. Winton noted the rapid rise and fall of the lace on her breast. She was smiling, and gave the tiniest shrug of her shoulders. And, suddenly smitten to the heart, he walked stiffly to the door. It was evident that she had no use for his guidance. If her love for him was not worth to her more than this fellow— ns ig ene

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DRAWS BY JOMN ALONZO WILLIAMS Rosek went to the piano, the little dancer to the center of the room. Suddenly she flung away the black kimono. A thrill swept Gyp from head to foot. She could dance—that common little girl!

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30 Beyond but he stopped at that. He knew that he could not afford wounded feelings, could not get on without her. Married to the greatest rascal on earth, he would still be standing by her, wanting her companionship and love. She repre- sented too much in the present and—the past. With sore heart, indeed, he changed for dinner. Fiorsen was gone when he came down again. What the fellow had said, or she had answered, he would not for the world have asked. Gulfs between the proud are not lightly bridged. And when she came up to say good-night, both their faces were as though coated with wax. In the days that followed, she gave no sign, uttered no word in any way suggesting that she meant to go against his wishes. Fiorsen might not have existed, for any mention made of him. But Winton knew well that she was moping, and cherishing some feeling against himself. And this he could not bear. So, one evening, after dinner, he said quietly, She said suddenly, “Gustav, what ex- actly have I done that you dislike?” “You have had a father.” Gyp sat quite still fora few seconds, and then began to laugh. He looked so like a sulky child, standing there “Tell me frankly, Gyp; do you care for that chap?” She answered as quietly, “In a way—yes.” “Ts that enough?” “T don’t know, dad.” Her lips had quivered; and Winton’s heart softened, as it always did when he saw her moved. He put his hand out, covered one of hers, and said: “T shall never stand in the way of your happiness, Gyp. But it must be happiness. Can it possibly be that? I don’t think so. You know what they said of him out there?” “Vea” He had not thought she knew. And his heart sank. “That’s pretty bad, you know. And is he of our world at all?” Gyp looked up. “Do you think J belong to ‘our world,’ dad?” Winton turned away. She followed, slipping her hand under his arm. “TI didn’t mean to hurt. But it’s true, isn’t it? I don’t belong among society people. They wouldn’t have me, you know—if they knew. I mean if it was open. Ever since you told me about that, I’ve felt I don’t belong to them. I’m nearer him. Music means more to me than anything.” Winton gave her hand a con- vulsive grip. A sense of coming defeat and bereave- ment was on him. “Tf your happiness went wrong, Gyp, I should be most awfully cut up.” “But why shouldn’t I be happy, dad?” “Tf you were, I could put up with anyone. But, I tell you, I can’t believe te oer ae ee

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ae SN ee NE tne John Galsworthy you would be. I beg you, my dear—for God’s sake, make sure! I'll put a bullet into the man who treats you badly.” Gyp laughed, then kissed him. But they were silent. he said, “We'll go up to town to-morrow.” Whether from a feeling of the inevitable, or from the forlorn hope that seeing more of the fellow might be the only chance of curing her, he put no more obstacles in the way of that. And the queer courtship began again. By Christmas, she had consented, still under the impression that she was the mistress, not the slave—the cat, not the bird. Once or twice, when Fiorsen let passion out of hand and his overbold caresses affronted her, she recoiled, almost with dread from what she was going toward. But, in general, she lived elated, intoxicated by music and his adoration, withal remorseful that she was making her father sad. She was but little at Mil- denham, and he, in his unhappiness, was there nearly all the time, riding extra hard, and leaving Gyp with his sister. Aunt Rosamund, though under the spell of Fiorsen’s music, had agreed with her brother that he was “impossible.” But ‘nothing she said made any effect on Gyp. It was new and startling to discover in this soft, sensitive girl such a vein of stubbornness. Opposition seemed to harden her resolution. And the good lady’s natural optimism began to persuade her that Gyp would make a silk purse out of that sow’s ear yet. After all, the man was a celebrity in his way. It was settled for February. A house with a garden was taken in St. John’s Wood. The last month went, as all such last months go, in those intoxicating pastimes, the buy- ing of furniture and clothes. If it were not for that, who knows how many engagement knots would slip! And to-day they had been married. To the last, Winton had hardly believed it would come to that. He had shaken the hand of her husband and kept pain and disap- pointment out of his face, knowing well that he de- ceived no one. Thank heaven, there had been no church, no wedding- cake, invitations, congratulations, fallals of any kind—he could never have stood them! Not even Rosamund— who had influenza—to put up with! Lying back in the recesses of that old chair, he stared into the fire. They would be just about at Torquay by now—just about. Music! Who would-have thought noises made out of string and wood could have stolen her away from him? Yes; they would be at Torquay by now, at their hotel. And the first prayer Winton had uttered for years escaped his lips: “Let her be happy! Let her be happy!” Then, hearing Markey open the door, he closed his eyes and feigned to be asleep. At bedtime,

31

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<n » fem" “i we For a whole hour he played, and Gyp, in her creams colored frock, lay back, listening Part II I HEN a girl first sits opposite the man she has married, of what does she think? Not of the issues and emotions that lie in wait. ‘Fhey are too overwhelming; she would avoid them while she can. Gyp thought of her frock, a mushroom-colored velvet cord. Not many girls of her class are married without “fallals,” as Winton had called them. Not many girls sit in the corner of their reserved first-class compartments without the excitement of having been supreme center of the world for some flattering hours to buoy them up on that train-journey, with no memories of friends’ behavior, speech, anpearance to chat of with her husband, so as to‘ keep thought away. For Gyp, her dress, first worn that day, - Betty’s (Continued on page 138)

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The San Blas £< People By Rex Beach Illustrated with photographs taken by the author

Epitor’s Note: — Mr. of Panama, of whom and ever heard. You will be acquaintance with them is harbor which would be a which is only sixty miles, scheme for the defense of

help us get into the San Blas country.”’ Mr. Wilcox thought a mo- ment; then he nodded. “T know the very man to pilot you. He’s a_ negro named Victor. He knows every reef and key; he has traded with the Indians, and he speaks the lan- guage. I'll have him meet you at Playa Damas. But pictures — moving pic- tures!’’ Wilcox was frankly doubtful. “You may get some, and you may not. Nobody has ever even snapped them except by stealth. They’re shy, you know.” I did know, or, at least, I EELING the need of information, I called on Wilcox. Everybody in Colon, when in need of anything, calls on Wilcox, for he has lived a long time in the tropics, his interests are numerous, and his experiences varied. He can sell you lumber, hard wood, coco- and ivorynuts, rubber, tortoise-shell, “movie” tickets, schooners and steamships, derby hats, sealing-wax. But Wilcox will give you things, too, asI had reason to know, so I explained myself. “We are taking wild-life moving pictures, and we have about four miles of film, mainly animal, fish, and scenic stuff. We had heard. I had heard many want some good native pictures, things about the San Blas tribe, and I’m wondering if you can Republic of Panama, showing Bay of San Blas = even on an earlier trip to Panama, 32

PACIFIC OCEAN

ee ee

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a ——— ee We rounded a tiny key and anchored off the governor's house Beach here introduces us ‘to the San Blas Indians, of the republic of their country it is safe to assert that but few of our readers have interested in his amusing adventures among this primitive people. An a further matter of interest, because their coast contains an excellent perfect landing-place and base for an enemy attacking the canal, and by a comparatively level route, from the Gatun locks. Any thorough the Panama Canal cannot overlook the shores of the Bay of San Blas. and what I had learned at that time had so interested me that I straight- way wrote a San Blas story—and sold it. That which had particularly intrigued me was the statement that no white man had ever slept on the San Blas shore, that no San Blas woman had ever been to Colon, and that the San Blas blood had never been crossed. In reading the chronicles of Padre Somebody-or-other, I learned that the early Spanish explorers had found an amazingly industrious race of aborigines occupying the Darien coast, and had reported the steep slopes of the mountains, which there cling close to the Caribbean, to be in a highly intensified state of cultivation. I encountered, also, an interesting account. of a ship- wrecked conquistador who had journeyed across the Isthmus, falling in by the way with a people who had much gold. When I learned that these people still existed in much the same state as when those worthy sefors passed through, when I learned that the San Blas coast, only eighty miles to the east, was still a land unknown, even to the Panamanians who own it, and over which they exercise no control, when I saw San Blas men with derby hats and “‘middy blouses” and great golden earrings sail their solid-mahogany cayucas into Colon harbor, and when that story about the San Blas women was told to me, I simply had to write. At that time, I had wanted to go, look, see, but I could not. Now that I was back again, equipped with a yachtlet and a Rex Beach, while on his visit to the motion-picture outfit, I determined to verify my local color. San Blas country To hunt hostile Indians with a camera promised entertain- t

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34 ment and profit — hence this visit to Wilcox. “Jimmy Hyatt can fix it for you to take the pic- tures if anybody can,” Mr. Wilcox continued. “He has opened up a manganese mine at this end of the coast, and he is going down there soon. The Indians tried to run him out, but he stuck, and now he is friendly with some of them. You'll have a good time, even if you don’t get any pictures.”’ “T hear they are pretty sour toward strangers,” I ventured. “Some of them are,” Wilcox agreed. ‘Down near the Colombian line, they have guns and aren’t very civilized. But they’re nice people as a whole. I wish I were able to go along.”’ Palm-thatched houses crowd each other so closely to the water's edge that only here and there is room left to draw up the cayucas There was a “rum” game running at the Strangers’ Club, and there I found Mr. Hyatt. Hyatt is the sort of man strangers call “Jimmy’’—one of those rare, accom- modating souls whose time is devoted to doing favors for people who have no possible claim upon him, and yet who has time enough left to attend to his own affairs, and most efficiently. He was delighted to inconvenience him- self to any extent, and agreed to be ready when Salisbury, my companion and copartner in this sensitized- The San Blas People Dugouts, manned by naked boys. put off and circled us at a respectful distance A fresh trade-wind was blowing when the Wisdom nosed out through the breakwater and headed toward South America. While she hogged her way through the swell, I held my deck-chair in place and tried to wring from Hyatt the story of the discovery of his manganese mine and that attempt of the San Blas men to run him out, of which Wilcox had spoken. But Hyatt, among his other traits, possesses modesty, that bane of story-writers. He told me little except that he had learned of the deposit from rubber-hunters celluloid enterprise, had stocked the — eee RRL RL ALI ELD IE ORO LIE EE LR Wisdom with grub and ice. The women were of pigmy size, and every other one bore a baby on her hip ee OO a ng een

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_ ee Rex Beach 35 and, in order to examine and locate it, he and his partner had deemed it the part of wisdom to land outside of San Blas territory and approach it from the rear. It was not until I met that partner in New York, some time later, that I learned the true facts—how the two of them had left their launch with in- structions to pick them up at a certain time at the mouth of a certain creek on the Bay of San Blas, and then had struck out overland, cutting their way as they went. They found the manganese, but they had less luck in finding their launch. They waded out waist- deep through mud and man- groves to discover the boat on the horizon, and close at hand some fifty San Blas cayucas drawn up in a semicircle before the mouth of the creek. The occupants of those cayucas had waited long and_ pa- tiently. It was twilight; the mosquitoes were bad, and there was a sugges- tion of alligators and other undesirable neighbors among the mangrove roots. Mr. Hyatt’s partner leaned over his mahogany desk and assured me, quite needlessly, that it was not his idea of a pleasant situation, for the reception committee was grim, hostile, and suspicious. There was an utter absence of those fluent, flattering amenities to which distinguished visitors are accustomed, and the delegation seemed determined upon convincing these interlopers, without loss of time, that the San Blas country had a fatal climate and was no nice place for strangers. Diaphragm-deep in the slime, Hyatt and his partner parleyed. Speech was exchanged. “They finally agreed to put us aboard our boat, provided we would go away and never come back,” the latter told me. “I didn’t return, but Hyatt did. He opened the mine, and—we’re discharging another cargo of manganese in Jersey City this afternoon. It’s fine stuff, and prices are high.” They wore gold nose - rings and brilliantly colored dresses As I say, these side-lights on manganese mining came to me later. Toward sundown, the Wisdom anchored at Playa Damas, in the roadstead off Nombre de Dios, where Columbus first stepped foot on the mainland of the Western world, and Victor came aboard. Victor was a lean black man with bad teeth but an agreeable smile. That night, the swell rolled us out of our cots—it was too hot to sleep below—and the rain beat under our deck-awning. We wallowed out into the open again at daylight, trolling for kings and mackerel as we went. Toward noon, we breasted Cape San Blas, swung through an opening in a foaming reef, rounded a tiny key covered with palms, and anchored off the governor’s house. Shortly before this, the Panamanian government had begun an effort to tame the San Blas people and to reclaim their coast, and, to that end, it had established this post. The taming and reclaiming process had not progressed noticeably at the time of our visit. Governor Huertado was polite and friendly, being, I think, lonesome for a sight of new faces. He volunteered to meet us the next day at Cardi, the largest village at this end of the coast, and to act as envoy extraordinary to the chief, an offer we gladly accepted. His doctor showed us some few photographs he had clandestinely secured during ° official visits to the various towns, but dis- couraged us from attempting to emulate his success. He declared there existed among these benighted heathens a senseless prejudice against cameras. They regarded a lens as the devil’s eye, and a black box as his abiding-place. He offered to buy from us, at a flattering price, any films showing San Blas women. Our ignorance and our optimism amused him. On our way to Hyatt’s mine, we gained some idea of this forbidden country. We were in a magnificent harbor, dotted with small islands—the upper end of the San Blas archipelago, which extends more than a hundred miles to the Colombian line. Mountains stood back from the sea; the placid sound was guarded by an inner and an outer row of reefs and keys, the latter crowded with coco-palms, all huddled together as if to keep their feet dry. These keys were like clean, orderly, little picnic-grounds; they were green jewels ringed with settings of gleaming white. Through the glasses we could see villages of thatched houses and great numbers of what looked like bits of paper blown broadcast by the wind. (Continued on page 168)

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| | An Episode of The Loves of Henry the Ninth By Samuel Merwin Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy LEMENCY SNOW did not ride down-town with her mother on this particular Saturday morning; but the carriage stopped, none the less, before Thomas P. Wilson’s gents’ furnishing store, and Patrick, the coachman, left a note in the hands of Henry Calverly, Thomas P.’s assistant. It ran: Dear Henry: Awfully sorry you have to work this evening. But you must come after ten o’clock, and we can ride home together. Do come. I shan’t enjoy the party if you fail me. Mary Ames told me it would be all right for you to come late. As ever, June the seventeenth CLEMENCY. Clemency—she was about eighteen at this time—was the cleverest, the most conspicuously dressed, the—well, easily the most successful girl in Sunbury. Her intelligence and humor and her quick, positive way marked her, even among her elders, as a personage; yet she always kept her place as one, if the dominant one, of the particular ‘“‘crowd”’ that was then most representative of Sunbury’s youth. This crowd gathered two or three times a week at her home, the impressively large stone house on lower Chestnut Avenue. The important fact to us about Clemency is that she was Henry’s girl. The fact had been established just a week earlier, on the Saturday evening. She had previously been Alfred Knight’s girl; but Alfred was now a jilted, forlorn youth. Martha Caldwell had been Henry’s girl; but she was going with Ban Widdicombe now. For life in Sunbury, as in other communities, exhibited a tendency to move and change. Clemency, on that memorable evening, a long, long week ago, had made Henry outstay her other callers. He had sung to her, in his best chest-tones, with guitar accompani- ment, ““I Love Thee, I Adore Thee,”’ from “‘ The Serenade.” And she had let him kiss her hand. If there had been, during the week, any doubt of her affection, these few words from her pen dispelled it. Henry stole twenty hurried opportunities to read them before noon. Why, the “As ever” alone indicated ardor! Otherwise, she would have written “Sincerely” or “ Your friend.” The thought of this too thinly veiled emotion so thrilled him that the store, the occasional customers, even his employer, Thomas P., swam before his gaze in the light that gilds the heaven-kissing hills of fancy. He had to keep his eyes downcast to hide the shine in them. He couldn’t trust his voice beyond the range of husky monosyllables. Day-dreams, of the sort that came only when the Power was upon him, moved like a panorama before his inner eye. He even thought of marrying Clem- ency. Why not? Plainly they were made for each other. To be sure, he himself was only eighteen, and her father was the second- richest man in Sunbury. First, he would have to make his way; he couldn’t let her father support them. But with gifts you can rapidly outstrip the merely industrious. The tortoise seldom beats the hare. Clem’s gifts, combined with his, would carry them far—her strength of personality, her poise, the distinction that was beyond her years and that made you forget to think of her as pretty or homely, that made her just the conspicuously desirable Clemency Snow. His thoughts dwelt, for an uncomfortable moment, on Alfred Knight—but only for a moment. Alfred wasn’t really enough of a fellow to hold Clem’s interest now that she was growing up. He was too plump, too lethargic, too softly weak in countenance. The trick he had of thrust- ing his unimpressive chin forward and compressing his lips (which, nevertheless, drooped at the corners) advertised only too clearly his inner sense of weakness. Yet, it seemed but decent, in this moment of exaltation, to give Alfred a thought. I don’t believe that Henry had ever before confronted the notion of marriage. His first loves had all been too short-lived. His devotion of a year and a quarter to Martha Caldwell had known no conscious goal. And as for the obscure affair with that little music student, Bessie Alston, with its incidents of meeting on dark corners and of spooning on the lake shore, that had been of another color. Thomas P. took his dinner-hour first, from twelve to one. As soon as he had gone, Henry withdrew to the rear of the store, rummaged in his pocket for a chocolate cream, spread out the note on the counter, and slowly read it again, gulping down one sweet morsel after another as he read. To the eye, he was a rather attractive youth, with straight hair (parted in the middle), a snub nose with freckles across the bridge, a complexion slightly impaired by his diet of sweets, and pleasant gray eyes. His present excitement showed in the form of a flush on his cheeks. Clem wanted him to ride home with her It would be the first time! His brows drew together. It was all right, of course. In principle, it was no different from eating one of Mrs. Snow’s lavish and fascinating dinners, or from sitting on her luxurious veranda. He couldn’t hope, perhaps even in her carriage! Henry set his teeth. She vowed she couldn't enjoy She seemed to be bear- et ele Araceae aes

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was his girl. And she had the party without him! ing up pretty well! q" after the wedding, to offer Clem such a dinner or such a veranda. And now, to insist on hiring a ragged, creaking old hack from McAllister’s livery, leaving all the horses and carriages of William B. Snow to idle in the stable would be—well, he could hear Clemency’s delightfully rippling little laugh as she cried, “Henry, don’t be silly!” Something, however, he must contribute. That had been part of the trouble with Alfred—everybody knew that he had let Clemency do everything for him; the expense and the initiative had all been hers. And every- body had had, at one time or another, a little something to say about it. He didn’t intend to have them talking that way about Henry Calverly, 3d. And look at the way she had chucked Alfred—as easy as you please! Of course, his case was different; but the thing to do was to act to-day in this matter of their first party, even if it was only sending flowers. That, at least, would put him right— make things clear. There was time, so long as they reached her by late afternoon; he could get them during his dinner-hour But—could he? The flush slowly faded from his cheeks; the shine died out in his eyes. He stood, elbows on the counter, leaning over the note and star- ing down at it. He drummed a little with his fingers on the glass. Then, hesitatingly, he went through all his pockets. The gross result of this exhaustive search was one silver dime. Gloomily he wandered to the front doorway, stood gazing into the hot, sleepy street, wondering if he had the courage to ask for his first week’s pay at noon in- stead of night. He didn’t think he had. If he hadn’t really needed it, yes; but hardly with this blackness in his heart. Thomas P. would come breezing in—in his flannels, likely—uppish, brusque, expecting him to hurry out. Perhaps some one would be with him, or there might be customers. He wandered back into the store, sat on the stool behind the cashier’s desk, gazed despondently at the rows of collar-boxes on the shelves opposite. A slow, inex- orable chill was eating into his heart. Henry Calverly, 3d, who had so brilliantly built up that high-school organ, The Boys’ Journal, who had, with such fine as- surance, trained the school glee-club, who had thrilled an astonishingly long series of girls with his not unme- lodious singing voice, who had won the undoubtedly de- sirable Clemency Snow for his girl, who had felt, indeed, within his breast, in dazzling flashes that lighted all of life ahead, the Power of the superman—Henry Calverly, 3d stood alone, beaten back by the pressures of life, blank in mind, desperate in heart, at bay. At this point, Bancroft Widdicombe came in to buy two pairs of silk half-hose. Ban Widdicombe always had money, and it didn’t come from his folks. Ban was born to figures and finance. He 37

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38 “Now, did mysteriously remunerative things during the summer vacation, and they weren’t any of them book-agenting. He got in a little local reporting for the Chicago papers. One winter, he managed the local agency of a Briarwood laundry. No one knew all his operations. In person, he was a well-set-up youth, with unusually heavy eyebrows, sharp eyes, a prominent, rather thin nose, and a wide, thin mouth. He was generally regarded as sarcastic of speech. Despite his many activities and the claims of his studies (in which he shone), Ban found time, each year, to act as manager of the football, baseball, and track teams at the highschool. Also, he found time for the girls. He picked them with uncanny care; and once his eye was set on a particular one, he employed buggy-rides, thea- ters, and little /éte-d-téte dinners in Chicago with a skill that no other youth in Sunbury could hope to equal. It was these methods that Ban had used during the spring in win- ning Martha Caldwell away from Henry. Henry had hated him then. He hated him now. Buying silk socks! Using a parade of money to cut a fellow out! In the sudden wave of the old jealousy that surged up and flooded his brain, Henry almost forgot his devotion to Clemency. He was remembering vividly the time, on a dim front porch, in a ham- mock, he had _ kissed Martha’s cheek. Then anger came—bit- ter, helpless anger. For it was also Ban who had caught him, flat-footed, spooning with Bessie Alston down on the lake shore, and, as a result, had fastened on him that odi- ous nickname, “‘ Henry the Ninth.” Ban had laughed Moodily he wrapped up the silk half-hose. Doggedly he made out the sales-slip in response to Ban’s nonchalant ‘“‘ Charge it,” and jammed it down on the steel spindle. Ban’s account, despite his youth, was prized at Thomas P.’s. He was sure, if erratic, pay. Henry hated him for that, too. He turned the spindle slowly, almost fondly, in his fingers. ‘“Icould kill him,” he thought ‘with this! Stick it in between his ribs! Have to look out for but- tons and things. Wonder why I don’t!” At this point, the last of the emotional energy with which Henry was charged escaped from his system. His mind went blank again. During those moments when Henry felt the Power glowing within his breast, he was alert, eagerly confident, quick in thought, even close to arrogance. Nothing daunted him then. He had what is called magnetism. But, at other times, Henry could be as stupidly abject as Alfred Knight himself. He went through all his pockets. The gross result of this exhaustive search was one silver dime Fido!” Any boy knows that ice feels like a hot iron in the dark. Any girl knows that ungoverned affection and ungoverned hatred are sinister sisters. After passing, in the space of two minutes, from envy and jealousy, through hatred, to the threshold of murder, Henry, limp, leaned against the counter, gazed moodily at Ban’s watch-fob that was distinguished by a heavy gold football (the gift of an admiring school), and hoped he wouldn’t go right away. He suddenly knew that Ban was the one person he wanted to talk to. This abrupt change of attitude called for a little inner justifying; so, to soothe his rather con- fused self-respect, he thought now: “T’ll get even with him by using him. [ll absorb higgifts as a weasel sucks eggs.” Ban played into his hands by re- marking, an easy, superior half-grin indicated by the curve of his thin mouth: “What’s the trouble, old King Solomon? You’re seedy.” It was perhaps because little fresh thoughts were stirring into life in Henry’s brain that this allusion to his supposed weakness for the sex eroused no resentment. He replied, sighing, with a gloom that now had artifice in it, “Not a darn thing!” ‘I'd say myself you had it pretty so{t—two jobs and two girls.” The hint of flattery, almost of envy, in this little fling was music to Henry’s ears. His next sigh was less convincing. ‘Fact is,’ he remarked, ‘I’m stony.” “Rot! You ought to ee be on Easy Street.”’ ns Henry shook his head. ct ‘““This”—he waved a . listless hand about the store—‘‘don’t much more’n cover my board.” “Oh, you have to put up for that?” Henry nodded. For a _ mo- ment, his gloom was real again. He didn’t think it quite fair of his mother. The other fellows didn’t have to pay board. Ban went on: “But youre still singing over at the Second Presbyterian. You aren’t doing that for nothing, I hope.” “They haven’t paid me a cent for —oh, it must be six or eight weeks.”’ This vagueness was not assumed. Henry did not know precisely what they owed him. ‘Make ’em pay,”’ observed Ban. “Easy to say.” “Ought to be easy to do.” “T’ve tried. Old Hammerton—he’s treasurer—talks me out of it every time. Says he can’t collect, and he won’t make up any more deficits out of his own pocket, and the music committee won’t either. Tries to find out what I want it for, and whether I really need anything if I’m careful. He’s got side-whiskers. Makes me so hot I can’t talk at all.” Ban musingly whistled the opening bars of “Oh, Promise Me.” “Trouble with you, Hen, you’re the quick kid at writing and editing and vibrating the vocal chords, but you’re no business man. Too dreamy—sentimental. Don’t let old aCe nt ac a a

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gerne “Cross at me still?"’ she asked, dropping down beside him on the window-seat Side-whiskers make it personal. It ain’t personal—it’s business.” Henry looked up at him, caught a quick breath, and then, with something of the sensations of the man who lays his last chip on the black, said: “All right! While you’re talking, just tell me how to make two dollars out of nothing before one o’clock. You’ve got over twenty minutes.”’ Ban leaned an elbow on the counter, twirled the gold football with thumb and forefinger, and thought deeply. Ban, though only nineteen, already had wrinkles on his forehead and about his eyes. ““How much are you supposed to get at the church?” he asked. Henry, always helpless in the presence of a hard, searching mind like Ban’s, replied, with inner resentment but outer meekness, “Two a Sunday.” “Hm,” mused Ban. “Could they get anybody else for that?” “‘Hardly—not a dependable quartet singer, I shouldn’t think. Couldn’t get a man out from Chicago for less than five. Thompson, at the First Church, gets ten.”’ “Even if they could, they’d have to pay him every week. Look here, Hen”—Ban wheeled, fixed his keen eyes on the dejected youth behind the counter, studied him a moment— “T think maybe I can help you out with this. It’s a simple- enough business transaction. You'll have to follow my advice.” He produced a roll of bills with a rubber band around it, and slowly stripped off the rubber. “Here’s the two. But you’ll have to do just as I tell you.” Henry’s fingers twitched toward the bank-note that Ban so lightly tossed out. He was reddening and swallowing hard. ‘Oh, yes,”’ he said huskily; ‘‘sure I will!’ “Hold on now, Hen’’—those eyes of Ban’s were still searching him—‘this is business. You’ve got to do your part of it. I wonder if I can trust your nerve.” “Oh, well, if you don’t ask me to do ” “Anything that isn’t straight business,” Ban finished for him. “I promise that.” “All right!”” murmured the breathless Henry, and took the bank-note. “There’s an element of risk in this transaction,” re- marked Ban now. ‘I’m undertaking to fix things so you can pay me back to-morrow. Naturally, I’ll have to charge you a little something for the accommodation.” This was a new idea to Henry. “How much?” he asked. “Oh, say a dollar. It ought to be worth that. I'll go to church with you to-morrow morning.”’ And Ban strolled away. Henry spent the remaining ten minutes before Thomas P.’s return in writing the note that was to go with the flowers to Clemency. He had not planned this note, hardly knew, indeed, what.he was writing; but, under the stimulus of a sudden, temporary freedom from ignoble bondage, his real gift of expression swelled upward and ran wild. The ardor he had read into Clem’s little note radi- ated unmistakably from these intense phrases. He didn’t read it over, but an inner whisper cautioned him to enclose it in one of the envelops marked: After 5 days, return to Thomas P. Wilson, Gents’ Furnish- ings, 114 Simpson St., Sunbury, Ill. Fine Shirtings a Specialty. Even after sealing it, he felt rather exposed. He wondered just what he kad written. He even wondered if he meant it. 39

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i el nS ct 40 ‘‘Now, Fido!”’ At half-past ten that evening, Henry entered the com- fortable home of Mary Ames on the Lake Shore Drive. He wore his white shoes, his white-duck trousers, starched and creased, and the blue-serge coat that his mother had rendered presentable by a long process of sponging with ammonia. He carried his last year’s straw hat (scrubbed clean with lemon juice) in his hand; his hair, brushed wet, was plastered severely to his scalp, sloping away from the parting in the middle. He held his head high. White-clad couples. strolled in the shadows of the wide lawn. Other couples, sitting on the steps, made way for him to pass. Dim couples whispered in corners of the long veranda. Many voices called, ‘Hello, Henry!” Within the roomy house, violins were tuning. A drum was tapped lightly. Youths and girls pressed about the great punch-bowl of lemonade that stood just within the wide-open double doorway. Henry, eyes intent, color a thought high, lips compressed, stepped swiftly in, greeted Mary Ames in a manner that she thought rather cap- tivating if somewhat stiff and dis- trait, and looked about at the group in the hall and on the stairs, then, hearing a silvery little laugh from the living-room —a laugh that heightened his color and quick- ened his pulse—moved to the doorway. In the center of the largest group of all he saw the proud head and curiously attractive profile of Clemency Snow. Clem was always the center of the largest group. They were all chattering at once. Two strangers were there— men of twenty or twenty-one. They wore evening clothes—probably Chicago friends of Mary’s. Both hovered close to Clemency. Henry set his teeth. She was /is girl. And she had vowed she couldn’t enjoy the party without him! She seemed to be bearing up pretty well! The group shifted about. He caught a glimpse of Clemency’s bare shoulders. Her party gowns were both smarter and slightly more décollettées than those of the other girls. He wished she would wear them a little higher. He craned his neck, staring. Was she wearing the flowers? The group parted. He could see her now. She was talking with the two Chicago men. She turned. The fine cluster of deep-red roses with long stems was there, a bold splash of color against her fluffy, creamy gown. They were crushed from the dancing, but they were there. Henry drew a deep breath. Clem saw him then, and inclined her head. The look she sent him meant something. Uncertain as to precisely what, he slipped out to the porch and waited. Soon she came and found him there. “We'll walk on the lawn,” she said, in a low voice that puzzled him. Out there, under the trees, he slipped a trembling hand about her elbow. .She withdrew her arm, stopped short for a moment, looked straight at him, then walked slowly on. In the dark, he could not fathom her expression. “Had to hurry to get here,” he said. She was silent. “Saved me a lot of dances, haven’t you, Clem?” “T haven’t saved you a lot—no. You can have two.” It was he now who stopped short and looked at her. “Oh, Clem!” he said. ‘Only two?” The genuine disappointment in his voice checked a remark that was on her lips, but only for a moment. “Here,” she said; “sit down on this bench.” He felt an ominous quality in the silence that followed. Finally, in a voice that was clear but not silvery, she observed, “T never give more than three dances to anybody.” “For heaven’s sake, then, Clem, make it three!” She shook her head. “Tt’s too late. It would make me conspicuous, and I won’t be made conspicuous. Understand me, Henry; I won’t!” While he was trying to think this over, she drew from her bodice an envelop that he dimly recognized, and de- liberately placed it in his hands. He turned it slowly over and over. He knew that the printing in the corner read: After 5 days, return to Thomas P. Wilson, Gents’ Furnish- ings, 114 Simpson St., Sunbury, Ill. Fine Shirtings a Specialty. “Now, Henry”—she was looking at him again; he was looking down, turning the envelop over and over and over, SET na na i ND A RI EN NE Na

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SS A rman ae a ee me ty a gen nso ON Samuel Merwin . 4l wishing desperately he could remember what he had written; very likely the words had come a little too easily just then— “T really would like you to tell me just what I could possibly have said or done to make you feel you had a right to send me such a letter as that.” He was speechless. She glanced down at the flowers, touched them with a dainty finger. “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she said, ‘don't let's be silly!” ‘I wore these,” she said. “I appreciated your sending them. But you mustn’t do it again. I don’t want you to be sending me things.”’ He looked right at her now—breathless. ‘““Wh—why not?” he cried. “Sh! Not so loud!” ‘““Well—why not?” “But why should you?” “Suppose I want to.” She considered this, then spoke with decision. “Henry, you make it rather hard. Of course, in a way, perhaps I’ve given you reason to feel that we’re rather particular friends. But we’re not nearly so particular as you think. I’m not your property, and I don’t intend to be. I told you once that I won’t do foolish things. Well, I won’t. And I have no idea of letting you put me in any such position before the others.” She paused. He turned and turned the letter. ‘‘There’s another thing.’’ She rested a light hand on his arm now. ‘I’m going to speak plainly; it’s the best way. I’m really fond of you. I want you to come and see me—often. I like to hear you sing, Henry. I haven’t any doubt you're going to do a lot to make us proud of you.” “Us!” He sniffed. “Well” — more gently —‘‘me. But when I happen to be the daughter of a man with a large income, and you don’t happen to have money, it’s foolish for you to be , sending me flowers and things like that. I'd really rather you didn’t. People will say things. Don’t you see, it’s—it’s making money an issue between us. No; if we’re to be friends, we’ve got to be sensible friends. I won’t have it any other way.” No words came from him. She stirred, and shook out her frock. Then her hand fell again on his arm. “But this is too near quarrel- ing, Henry. And that’s a thing I simply won’t have. I had to explain.” She rose, stood before him. He could hear the soft rustlings of her clothes, could feel her presence, but did not look up. His teeth were set. ““Oh, come, Henry,” said she; “put that letter in your pocket.” He shook his head. ‘Now you’re simply being cross.” “T won’t put it in my pock- et,” he muttered, in a stubborn voice. “It isn’t mine.” And he laid it on the bench. She snatched it up, restored it to her bodice. “Oh, for goodness’ sake,’’ she said, “don’t let’s be silly!” He let this pass. She stood there, her head a little on one side. She made a ‘'© charming picture. He knew it without looking up. A week ago, it would have i melted him—an hour ago, even; but not now. Something had happened. He felt cold. Their wills had clashed, his and Clemency’s; and whatever might be said of the little conflict, he knew that his had not weakened. At least, she had taken back the letter. He was all confused; but he had not taken anything back. “Come to the house to-morrow afternoon,” she said—this softly. “All right,”’ he mumbled; “I'll come.” “Be early—half-past two or so. The others never get around before four.”’ “All right,” he said again, rather huskily. “At least we'll show that we can be together without fighting.” Then, with one of the apparent impulses that you always thought of when you thought of (Continued on page 158)

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C Dark Star A Story of Destiny By Robert W. Chambers Illustrated by W. D. Stevens BELIEF in the influence of the heavenly bodies upon human destiny has played an important part in the affairs and actions of men. A dark star called by the ancients Erlik, after the Prince of Darkness, presided over the birth of the chief characters in this story—they are children of the Dark Star. The Reverend Wilbur Carew, a missionary, with his wife and daughter Ruhannah (Rue), having escaped massacre by the Turks at Trebizond, returns incapacitated and poverty- stricken, to his old home at Brook- hollow, near Gayfield, New York. When Rue is old enough, she goes to work in a knitting-mill and the box factory connected with it. But she has a great love for drawing, and dreams of being an artist. Jim Neeland, the mill-owner’s son, who has studied in Paris and

begun his career as an illustrator, takes an interest in her. The girl has been left six thousand dollars by her grandmother, which is to be hers when she is twenty-five years old or when she marries. Rue wants the money in order to study art. It seems an eternity to wait until she is twenty-five. Marriage would bring it into her possession at once. One day, two sporting men, Ed Brandes and Ben Stull, on their way to the races at Saratoga, meet with an automobile mishap near the Carew home and go there. Brandes, who is a theatrical manager, is the husband of Ilse Dumont, a singer, known on the stage as Minna Minti. She is suing for a divorce. Brandes is greatly attracted to Rue, and tells Stull that he would like to marry her. He is unwilling to wait, and plans to have a mock marriage performed by one of his associates and then to be legally tied as soon as he is free. Stull tries to persuade him from this rash course, but he will not listen. Brandes finally wins the girl, who has the thought of getting her inheritance uppermost in her mind. Mr. Carew insists that the local minister take part in the marriage ceremony, and this worries Brandes. He and Rue reach New York by automobile in the early evening and are to go on board the steamer for Europe at ten o’clock. While at dinner in a hotel, Neeland enters, sees Rue; and speaks to her. She tells of her marriage, and the honey- moon trip abroad. Neeland gives her his address in order that she may let him know when she returns. He also tells her that he has a friend, the Princess Mistchenka, sailing on the same ship, and that he is going to send her a note, telling her that his very particular friend, Ruhannah Carew, will be on board. As Brandes and the girl leave the hotel for the steamer, they are confronted by his wife and her attorney, who have trailed them. A violent scene ensues, in which Brandes declares that he is not married to Rue; whereupon the girl seizes her suitcase, in which she has three thousand dollars—half of her grandmother's legacy—and finds her way to Neeland’s studio, where she arrives in a half- fainting condition ae. < (| A LIFE-LINE UE had told Neeland her story from beginning to end, as far as she herself comprehended it. She was lying sideways now in the depths of a large armchair, her cheek cushioned on the up- holstered wings. Her hat, with its cheap blue-enamel pins sticking in the crown, lay on his desk; her hair, partly loosened, shadowed a young face grown pinched with weariness, and the reac- tion from shock was already making her gray eyes heavy and edging the underlids with bluish shadows. She had not come there with the intention of telling him anything. All she had wanted was a place in which to rest, 42 a glass of water, and somebody to help her find the train to Gayfield. She told him this, remained reticent under his questioning, finally turned her haggard face to the chair- back and refused to answer. For an hour or more, she remained obstinately dumb, motionless except for the uncontrollable trembling of her body. He brought her a glass of water, sat watching her at intervals, rose once or twice to pace the studio, his well- shaped head bent, his hands clasped behind his back, al- ways returning to the corner chair before the desk to sit there, eying her askance, waiting for some decision. But it was not the recurrent waves of terror, the ever latent fear of Brandes, or even her appalling loneliness that broke her down; it was sheer fatigue—nature’s merciless third degree—under which mental and physical resolution disintegrated, went all to pieces. COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY LNTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPANY

cemetee

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| A A I =O I i a cen a ENO “T can't go back to Brookhollow. It's ended. I couldn't bear to ~ let them know what has hap- pened to me™ ? N 4 And when, at length, she finally succeeded in recon- quering self-possession, she had already stammered out answers to his gently persuasive questions, had told him enough to start the fuller confession to which he listened in utter silence. And now she had told him everything, as far as she under- stood the situation. She lay sideways, deep in the armchair, tired, yet vaguely conscious that she was resting mind and body, that calm was gradually possessing the one, and the nerves of the other were growing quiet. Listlessly her gray eyes wandered around the big studio, where shadowy and strangely beautiful but incomprehen- sible things met her gaze, like iridescent, indefinite objects seen in dreams. These radiantly unreal splendors were only Neeland’s rejected Academy pictures and studies, a few cheap Jap- (COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE) COPYRIGHTED IN GREAT BRITAIN 43 anese hangings, . cheaper Nippon porcelains, and sev- eral shaky, broken - down antiques picked up for a song here and there. All the trash and truck and dust and junk characteristic of the conventional artist’s habitation were there. But, to Ruhannah, this studio embodied all the wonders and beauties of that magic temple to which, from her earliest memory, her very soul had aspired— the temple to the unknown god of Art. Vaguely she endeavored to realize that she was now inside one of its myriad sanctuaries, that here, under her very tired and youth- ful eyes, stood one of its countless altars, that here, also, near by, sat one of those blessed acolytes who aided in the mysteries of its wondrous service. “Ruhannah,” he said, “are you calm enough to let me tell you what I think about this matter?” “Yes; I am feeling bet- ter.” “Good work! There’s no occasion for panic. What you need is a cool head and a clear mind.” She said, without stirring from where she lay, resting her cheek on the chair-back, “My mind has become quite clear again.” “That’s fine! Well, then, I think the thing for you to do is—” He took out his watch, examined it, re- placed it. ‘Good Lord,” he said, “it is three o’clock!”’ She watched him but of- fered no comment. He went to the _ telephone, called the New York Central station, got General Information, inquired concerning trains, hung up, and came back to the desk where he had been sitting. “The first train out leaves at six-three,” he said. “I think you’d better go into my bedroom and lie down. I’m not tired. I'll call you in time, and I'll get a taxi and take you to your train. Does that suit you, Ruhannah?” She shook her head slightly. “Why not?” he asked. “T’ve been thinking. I can’t go back.” “Can’t go back! Why not?” “I can’t.” “You mean you’d feel too deeply humiliated?” “T wasn’t thinking of my own disgrace. I was thinking of mother and father.’”’ There was no trace of emotion in her voice; she stated the fact calmly. “I can’t go back to Brookhollow. It’s ended. * I couldn’t bear to let them know what has happened to me.” “What do you think of doing?” he asked uneasily. gic 7

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. nal STEVENS At sight of the monster ship, Rue’s heart leaped, quailed, leaped again. As she set one slender foot on the gangway, such an indescribable sensation seized her that she caught at Neeland’s arm and held to it, almost faint with the violence of her emotion

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Tr meen crosman, 4 onan. Robert W. Chambers 45 “T must think of mother. I must keep my disgrace from touch- ing them—spare them the sorrow —humiliation—” Her voice be- came tremulous, but she turned around and sat up in her chair, meeting his gaze squarely. ‘“‘That’s as far as I have thought,” she said. Both remained silent for a long while. Then Ruhannah looked up from her pale preoccupation. “T told you I had three thousand dollars. Why can’t I educate my- self in art with that? Why can’t I learn how to support myself by art?” “Where?” “Here.” “Yes; but what are you going to say to your parents when you write? They suppose you are on your way to Paris.” She nodded, looking at him thoughtfully. “By the way,” he added, “is your trunk on board the Lusitania?” “Yes.” “That won’t do! Have you the check for it?” “Ves; in my purse.” ‘““We’ve got to get that trunk off the ship,’” he said. “There’s only one sure way. I’d better go down now to the pier. Where’s your steamer ticket?” ““T—]J have both tickets and both checks in my bag. He— let me have the pleasure of carrying them—”’ Again her voice broke childishly, but the threatened emotion was strangled and resolutely choked back. “‘Give me the tickets and checks,” he said. “I'll go down to the dock now.” She drew out the papers, sat holding them for a few mo- ments without relinquishing them. Then she raised her eyes‘to his, and a bright flush stained her face. “Why should I not go to Paris by myself?” she demanded. “You mean now? On this ship?” “Yes; why not? I have enough money to go there and study, haven’t I?” : “Yes. But Fe “Why not?” she repeated feverishly, her gray eyes sparkling. “I have three thousand dollars; I can’t go back to Brookhollow and disgrace them. What does it matter where I go?” “It would be all right,” he said, “if you’d ever had any experience.” ‘Experience! What do you call what I’ve had to-day?” she exclaimed excitedly. ‘‘To lose in a single day my mother, my home—to go through in this city what I have gone through—what I am going through now—is not that enough experience—isn’t it?” He said: ““You’ve had a rotten awakening, Rue—a perfectly dev- ilish experience. Only—you’ve never traveled alone—” Suddenly it occurred to him that his lively friend, the Prin- cess Mistchenka, was sailing on the Lusitania, and he re- mained silent, uncertain, looking with vague misgivings at this girl in the armchair opposite—this thin, unformed, inexperienced child who had attained neither mental nor physical maturity. “T think,” he said, at length, “that I told you I have a friend sailing on the Lusitania.” She remembered, and nodded. “But wait a moment,” he added: “How do you know that this fellow, Brandes, will not attempt to sail on her also—’’ Something checked him, for in the girl’s golden-gray eyes he saw a flame glimmer; something almost terrible came into the child’s still gaze, and slowly died out like the afterglow of lightning. ‘Paris is very large and a sort of silvery gray color, full of trees with yellowing leaves—but oh, it is so lonely, Mr. Neeland!” And Neeland knew that, in her soul, something had , been born under his very — ae eyes—the first emotion of “a maturity bursting from the , chrysalis, the flaming conscious- } ness of outrage, and the first, fierce assumption of woman- hood to resent it. She had lost her color now; her gray eyes still remained fixed on his, but the golden tinge had left them. ‘“‘T don’t know why you shouldn’t go,” he said abruptly. “T am going.” “All right! And if fe has the nerve to go—if he bothers you—appeal to the captain.”” She nodded absently. “But I don’t believe he’ll try to sail. I don’t believe he’d dare, mixed up as he is in a dirty mess. He’s afraid of the law, I tell you. That’s why he denied marrying you. It meant bigamy to admit it. Anyway, I don’t think a fake ceremony like that is binding; I mean that it isn’t even real enough to put him in jail. Which means that you’re not married, Rue.” “Does it?” “T think so. Ask a lawyer, anyway. There may be steps to take—I don’t know. All the same—do you really want to go to France and study art? Do you really mean to sail on this ship?” Ves.” “You féel confidence in yourself? You feel sure of your- self?” “Te” “You’ve got the back-bone to see it through?” “Yes. It’s got to be done.” “All right—if you feel that way.”” He made no move, however, but sat there watching her. After a while, he \ 0)

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46 The Dark Star looked at his watch again. “I’m going to ring up a taxi,” he said. “You might as well go on board end get some sleep. What time does she sail?”’ “At five-thirty, I believe.” “Well, we haven’t so very long, room—if you want to fix up.” She rose wearily. When she emerged from his room with her hat and gloves on, the taxi-cab was audible in the street below. Together they descended the dark stairway up which she had toiled with trembling knees. He carried her suitcase, aided her into the taxi. ‘Cunard Line,” he said briefly, and entered the cab. Already, in the darkness of early morning, the city was awake; workmen were passing; lighted tram-cars passed with passengers; great wains, trucks, and country wagons moved slowly toward markets and ferries. He had begun to tell her elmost immediately all that he knew about Paris, the life there in the students’ quarters, methods of living economically, what to seek and what to avoid—a homily rather hurried and condensed as they sped toward the pier. She seemed to be listening; he could not be sure that she under- stood, or even that her mind was fixed at all on what he was say- ing. Even while speaking, num- berless objections to her going occurred to him, but, as he had no better alternative to suggest, he did not voice them. In his heart, he really believed she ought to go back to Brook- hollow. It was perfectly evident she would not consent to go there. As for her remaining in New York, perhaps the reasons for her going to Paris were as good. He wes utterly unable to judge; he only knew that she ought to have the protection of experience, and that was lacking. ‘‘T’m going to remain on board with you,” he said, “until she sails. I’m going to try to find my very good friend, the Prin- cess Mistchenka, and have you meet her. She has been very kind to me, and I shall ask her to keep an eye on you while you are crossing, and to give you a lot of good advice.” ‘‘A —princess,’’ said Rue, in a tired, discouraged voice, “is not very likely to pay any attention to me, I think.” “She’s one of those Russian or Caucasian princesses. You know they don’t rank very high. She told me herself: She’s great fun—full of life and wit and intelligence and wide experience. She knows a lot about everything and everybody; she’s been everywhere, traveled all over the globe.” “T don’t think, me at all.” “Yes, she would. then. There’s my bed- ” repeated Rue, “that she would care for She’s young and warm-hearted and human. Besides, she is interested in art—knows a lot about it—even paints very well herself.” “She must be wonderful.” “No; she’s just a regular woman. It was because she was interested in art that she came to the League, and I was introduced to her. After she had looked. at my study, she asked me to come and take tea at her apartment. That is how I came to know her. She comes sometimes to my studio.” “Good-by, Rue!" he said, still awkward, offer- “Good voyage: good luck!” from the covers. “Yes; but you are already an artist, and an interesting man.” “Oh, Rue, I’m just beginning! She’s just kind, that’s all—a pretty, energetic, intelligent woman, full of interest in life. I know she’ll give you some splendid advice—tell you how to get settled in Paris. Lord—you don’t even know French, do you?” “No.” “Not a word?”

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“No; I don’t know anything, Mr. Neeland.” He tried to laugh reassuringly. “T thought it was to be ‘Jim,’ not ‘Mister,’” he re- minded her. . But she only looked at him out of vaguely troubled eyes. In the glare of the pier’s headlights they descended. Passengers were entering the vast, damp enclosure; por- ters, pier-officers, ship’s officers, sailors passed to and fro as they moved toward the gangway where, in the ‘cag his hand. Slowly she held out one slim hand he said. “I wish you would: write a line to me. electric glare of lamps, the clifflike side of the gigantic liner loomed up. At sight of the monster ship, Rue’s heart leaped, quailed, leaped again. As she set one slender foot on the gangway, such an indescribable sensation seized her that she caught at Neeland’s arm and held to it, almost faint with the violence of her emotion. A steward took the suitcase, preceded them down abysmal and gorgeous stairways, through saloons, deep into the dimly Robert W. Chambers 47 magnificent bowels of the ocean giant, then, through an endless white corridor twinkling with lights to a stateroom, where a stewardess ushered them in. There was nobody there; nobody had been there. “He dare not come,’’ whispered Neeland, in Ruhan- nah’s ear. The girl stood in the center of the stateroom, looking silently about her. “Have you any English and French money?” he asked. “Ne.” “Give me—well, say two hundred dollars, and I’ll have the purser change it.” She went to her suit- case, where it stood on the lounge; he unstrapped it for her. She found the big packet of Treasury notes and handed it to him. ““Good heavens,” he muttered, “this won’t do! I’m going to have the purser lock this in the safe and give me a receipt. Then, when you meet the Princess Mistchenka, tell her what I’ve done and ask her advice—will you, Rue?” “Yes; thank you.” “You'll wait here for me, won’t you?” “Tea.” So he noted the door- number and went away hastily in search of the purser, to do what he could in the matter of foreign money for the girl. And,on the upper companionway, he met the Princess Mistchenka descending, preceded by porters with her luggage. “James!” she ex- claimed. “Have you come aboard to elope with me? Otherwise, what are you doing here at this very ghastly hour of the morning?” She was smiling into his face, and her daintily gloved hand retained his for a moment; then she passed her arm through his. “Follow the porter,”’ she said, “and tell me what brings you here, You see I am wearing the orchids you sent me. Do you really mean to add yourself to this charming gift?”’ He told her the story of Ruhannah Carew as briefly as he could; at her stateroom door they paused while he continued the story, the Princess Mistchenka looking at him very intently while she listened, and never uttering a word. She was a pretty woman, not tall, rather below middle stature perhaps, beautifully proportioned and _ perfectly gowned. Hair and eyes were dark as velvet; her skin was old ivory and rose, and always her lips seemed about to my gay young friend.

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48 The Dark Star part a little in the faint and provocative smile which lay latent in the depths of her brown eyes. “ Mon Dieu,” she said, ‘what a history of woe you are telling me, my friend James! What a tale of innocence and of deception and outraged trust is this that you relate to me! Allons—vite! Let us find this poor, abandoned infant—this unhappy victim of your sex’s well-known du- plicity!” ‘She isn’t a victim, you know,” he explained. “T see. Only almost a victim—yes? Where is child, then?” ‘* May I bring her to you, Princess?” “But of course! Bring her. Iam not afraid—so far—to look any woman in the face at five o’clock in the morning.” And the threatened smile flashed out in her fresh, pretty face. When he came back with Rue Carew, the Princess Mis- tchenka was conferring with her maid and with her stew- ardess. She turned to look at Rue as Neeland came up, continued to scrutinize her intently while he was pre- senting her. There ensued a brief silence. The princess glanced at Neeland; then her dark eyes returned directly to the young girl before her, and she held out her hand. “Miss Carew, I believe I know exactly what.your voice is going to be like. I think I have heard, in America, such a voice once or twice. Speak to me and prove me right.”’ Rue flushed. “What am I to say?” she asked naively. “T knew I was right!” exclaimed the Princess Mistchenka “Come into my stateroom and let each one of us this gaily. discover how agreeable is the other. Shall we, my dear child?” When Neeland returned from a visit to the purser with a pocketful of British and French gold and silver for Ruhan- nah, he knocked at the stateroom door of the Princess Mistchenka. That lively personage opened it, came out into the cor- ridor, holding the door partiy closed behind her. “She’s almost dead with fatigue and grief. I undressed her myself. She’s in my bed. She has been crying.”’ ‘Poor little thing!”’ said Neeland. Te ‘‘Here’s her money,”’ he said, a little awkwardly. The princess opened her wrist-bag, and he dumped in the shining torrent. ‘Shall I—call good-by to her?” he asked. “You may go in, James.” They entered together, and he was startled to see how young she seemed there on the pillows—how pitifully im- mature the childish throat, the tear-flushed face lying in its mass of chestnut hair. ‘““Good-by, Rue!” he said, still awkward, offering his hand. Slowly she held out one slim hand from the covers, “Good voyage; good luck!” he said. ‘I wish you would write a line to me.”’ “T will.” “Then—”’ “Thank you for shall not forget.” Something choked him slightly; he forced a laugh. “Come back a famous painter, Rue. Keep your head clear and your heart full of courage. And Jet me know how you're getting on, won’t you?” “Ves. Good-by.” So he went out, and at the door exchanged adieux with the smiling princess. “Do you—like her a little?” he whispered. “I do, my friend. Also, I like you. I am old enough He smiled, released her hand. for all you have done,” she said. “TI to say it safely, am I not?” “If you think so,” he said, a funny little laugh in his eyes, “you are old enough to let me kiss you good-by.”’ But she backed away, still smiling. “On the brow James.” the hair—yes, if you promise discretion, “What has tottering age like yours to do with discretion, Princess Naia?”’ he retorted impudently. “A kiss on the mouth must of itself be discreet when bestowed on youth by such venerable years as are yours.” But the princess, the singularly provocative smile still edging her lips, merely looked at him out of dark and slightly humorous eyes, gave him her hand, withdrew it with deci- sion, and entered her stateroom, closing the door rather sharply behind her. When Neeland got back to the studio, he took a couple of hours’ sleep, and, being young, perfectly healthy, and perhaps not unaccustomed to the habits of the owl family, felt pretty well when he went out to breakfast. Over his coffee-cup he propped up his newspaper against a carafe, and the heading of one of the columns immediately attracted his attention. ROW BETWEEN SPORTING MEN Eddie Brandes, Fight-Promoter and Theatrical Man, mixes it with Maxy Venem. A Woman said to be the Cause. Affray draws a Big Crowd in front of the Hotel Stuyvesant. Both Men, badly battered, get away before the Police arrive. Breakfasting leisurely, he read the partly humorous, partly contemptuous account of the sordid affair. After- ward, he sent for all the morning papers. But in none of them was Ruhannah Carew mentioned at all, nobody, apparently, having noticed her in the exciting affair between Venem, Brandes, the latter’s wife, and the chauffeur. Nor did the evening papers add anything material to the account, except to say that Brandes had been interviewed in his office at the Silhouette Theater and that he absolutely denied that he had engaged in any personal encounter with anybody, had not seen Max Venem in months, had not been near the Hotel Stuyvesant, and knew nothing about the affair in question. He also permitted a dark hint or two to escape him con- cerning possible suits for defamation of character against irresponsible newspapers. The accounts in the various evening editions agreed, however, that, when interviewed, Mr. Brandes was nursing a black eye and a badly swollen lip, which, according to him, he had acquired in a playful sparring encounter with his business manager, Mr. Benjamin Stull. And that was all. The big town had neither time nor inclination to notice either Brandes or Venem any further; Broadway completed the story for its own edification, and, by degrees, arrived at its own conclusions. Only, nobody could discover who was the young girl concerned, or where she came from, or what might be her name. And, after a few days, Broadway, also, forgot the matter amid the tarnished tinsel and raucous noises of its own mean and multifarious preoccupations. XIII SOME LETTERS NEELAND had several letters from Ruhannah Carew that autumn and winter. The first one was written a few weeks after her arrival in Paris. DEAR Mr. NEELAND: Please forgive me for writing to you, but I am homesick. I have written every week to mother and have made my letters read as though I were sti!! married, because it would almost kill her if she knew the truth, Some day, I shall have to tell her, but not yet. Could you tell me how you think the news ought to be broken to her and father? That man was not on the steamer. I was quite ill crossing the ocean. But the last two days I went on deck with the Prin- cess Mistchenka and her maid, and I enjoyed the sea. The princess has been so friendly. I (Continued on page 101)

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a Qvorite ETTY HOWE, of the Interna- tional Film Service, has made a remarkably quick stride in less than two years from boarding-school to a place among the film favorites. She acted with Frank Daniels in the “Mr. Jack” comedies and also in “The Alibi.” Now she is appearing in cer- tain episodes of the, Interna- tional’s splendid pioto-play serial, “ Beatrice renin 0 PHOTOGRAPHS BY CAMPBBLL STUDINS, 534 FIFTH AVE., NEW YORE

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rae t a ; ‘ ger 4 ’ i i 507 aie 'ARJORIE RAMBEAU’S name blazed forth for the first time on New York's Great While Way last season, when she carried off the honors of the romantic farce, “Sadie Love.” This season, she is leading woman in a new success, “Cheating Cheaters.” Before Miss Rambeau was attracted to the lights of Broadway, she was most oF popular in stock companies on the Pacific Coast, and had even acted in far-away Alaska. PROTONRSPRA BY WHITE

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CBF eet,” ?, ae hoteles ot EARL EATON, of the “ Passing Show”’ chorus, is seventeen years old and be- gan her stage career with a Washington stock company when she was only seven. Recently, she has been identified with the New York Winter Garden’s productions, where, when opportunity has presenied itself, she has shown her histrionic ability by replacing the principal to whom she acts as understudy. PHOTOGRAPHS BY CAMPBELL STUDIOS

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he: hotce a 'ARROLL MCCOMAS plays the réle of the girl who finally succumbs to the wife-hunting hero of “Seven Chances” — and she is the one of the seven he really wanted all the time. Miss McComas comes from California, and has made artis- tic progress through vaudeville, musical comedy, and serious drama. But nowhere have her talents and charm been so well dis- played as in the part of Anne Windsor in this amusing comedy, one of the first of the present season’s offerings in New York. PHOTOGRAPHS BY CAMPBELL STUDIOS,

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“John, can you remember,” he asked, factory over on the creek was built?" “when Slosson’s . The theme of this tense drama is one about which every HE portrait was almost finished. Two more sit- tings— well, perhaps three—and she would come to the studio no more. Standish painted away in silence, but somewhere underneath his blouse a little voice babbled impertinently: ‘‘No more! No more! She will come no more!” From time to time he stopped to look at her, his eyes puckered into narrow peep-holes. And she knew that those eyes were engaged solely in their business of digging out color, with exactly the same kind of regard for her woman’s face and body that they would have paid to a well- composed arrangement of flowers, fruit, or fish. For it was no mystery to her, that power of his to escape from the actual in pursuit of the ideal. The same power in her enabled her to send her voice—yes, and her very personality—soaring into the remote spaces of great opera-houses, modulated to every hue of terror, pity, passion, tenderness, or despair, while her inmost self remained in supreme command, unswayed by the hollow mountain of dim humanity beyond the orchestra no less than by the savor of garlic in the torrent of divine bel canto pouring from the throat of the stout tenor at her side. By Maria Cristina Mena Illustrated by John Alonzo Williams reader possesses some degree of curiosity in very considerable measure. have read it, whether, granting the desire for happi- ness, there could be any other solution to the extraor- dinary situation than that which Hilda imposes. The Soul of - Hilda Brunel While Standish, his brush tripping fruitfully between palette and canvas, played with a delectable problem of warm shoulder glowing through a wave of gauze, the little voice under his. blouse changed its cadence and began to question the woman on the model-throne. “You, who seem to know everything,” it said to her, “do you know what you have done to me? But you must know—you couldn’t miss it. Why not let me know, then, by some of those signals that women have at their fingers’ ends for the encouragement of serious fellows like me, that I needn’t hesitate to declare myself? Or don’t you care? Is it just a silly delusion of mine that you and I together could reach unguessed heights and depths of being, and that the fact of our meeting was fated to start an interesting reaction of some sort in the spiritual chemistry of the universe?” Standish liked that phrase so much that he wished Hilda Brunel might have heard it. But she held her pose un- troubled, and her intelligent eyes met his with their usual tranquillity. On Standish himself, the voice was reacting as a strong stimulant. His very brush seemed to respond —and probably Ask yourself, when you to it, licking up the divinely ordained pigments in advance of his thought, blending them in a jiffy, and whipping them 53

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54 The Soul of Hilda Brunel “Do you know what you have done?” she whispered, after looking at it for a long time. on the canvas in clean strokes that evoked astonishing clarity and truth. It was one of the golden moments when that great artist, the soul, pushes aside its laggard apprentice, the brain, and takes the job into its own hands. And now the little voice under the painter’s blouse grew bolder, intoxicated by the freedom of silent confession. “What sort of a woman are you?” it went on to Hilda Brunel. ‘Will you laugh at me if I show you my heart? No; I don’t believe it. The world, while it does its best to spoil you, turns up its eyes behind your back and calls you heartless. Why, if you had divorced fifty husbands instead of one, if you had waded through seas of mud and picked up shoals of oyster-shells in search of a pearl to match the one in your breast—all that wouldn’t matter a snap of the fingers to me, my dear! I would lead you to the high altar of my worship—yes, even if you were broken and soiled, your voice and beauty gone, your fame turned to ridicule and there, by the Eternal, I would kneel to you proudly in the sight of the whole gaping pack, who never saw your soul and couldn’t have understood its glories if they had!” Standish was breathing hard, his heart aching with a keen mixture of pain and joy. With all his soul in his eyes, he flashed a wide-open look at Hilda Brunel. What was this? Her dark eyes were strangely fixed and shining. As he looked at them in wonder, they suddenly closed. Two tears pushed out and rolled down her cheeks. Standish “You have painted me with a soul” put down his palette and brushes. Without opening her eyes, she gave him a little smile, and said: “You mustn’t be alarmed by a tear or two. They’re a part of my stock in trade, you know.” The words pained him. He went near her, not knowing what to say. His impulse was to sit on the dais at her feet, but his courage failed him. She opened her eyes with an en- couraging smile and shifted her feet to make room for him. “Do you read my thoughts?” he asked, in amazement. “Tf I do,” she said, “they get so mixed with my own that I can’t tell which is which.” His eyes questioned her desperately. “Would you mind telling me why you were crying just now?” “Will you tell me first,” she bargained, “what you were thinking about at that moment?” He took a deep breath and considered the matter. ‘Meanwhile,’ b, ,) she continued, with a ‘fe smile, “may I look at my picture, please?” He sprang to his feet, handed her from the dais, and led her to the best point from which to view the canvas that he had enriched with the best work of his life. “Do you know what you have done?” she whispered, after looking at it for a long time. ‘You have painted me with a soul.” He was overcome. “T wonder has anyone else ever seen it as I do,” he stammered. ‘Let me tell you this: I love you! I love you in such a way that I’d welcome any trial, however terrible, to prove it!” “But that was it—that was what made those tears come! I seemed to see your love in shapes of power and holiness, daring all things—humiliation——”’ He seized her hands. “You saw all that?” “And I felt that you were giving me a soul.” “‘T—giving you!’ His tone was a protest. He wished to tell her that she was the giver and he the receiver, but she, reading his thought, shook her head, saying: “No; all I can give you is life. Dll give you that in good measure, my sweet master. But the soul—a woman has no soul until she loves. And I—do you know that I didn’t want to have a soul, that I was afraid of it and fought against it? Ah, you have taken me into your hands! What will you do with me?” His voice had no answer ready, but his lips found hers. She had promised him life, and he felt its sources quicken at the crushed sweetness of her mouth. It was Hilda who halted that magic before it could carry them quite beyond the realm of thought. “Remember,” she whispered breathlessly, as she struggled to free herself, ‘remember that we have found each other,

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DRAWN BY JOHN ALONZO WILLIAMS The portrait was almost finished. Two more sittings—well, perhaps three—and she would come to the studio no more. Standish painted away in silence, but somewhere under- neath his blouse a little voice babbled impertinently: ‘No more! No more! She will come no more!”

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56 The Soul of Hilda Brunel ro for pain as well as for joy. There was never a love like this without jim pain.” “T am ready for pain,” he said quietly. “That is nothing to me. And I’m ready for the hardest thing of all—to give pain to another.” “Yes; that is the hardest. Do you think ‘she loves you?’’ “She is not very affectionate. She isn’t that kind of a woman at all. You’ve met her two or three times. What do you think?” “T think she is fond of you,”’ said Hilda frankly. ‘‘No woman could help being fond of you, because you are kind and unselfish.”’ “You don’t know me,” he pro- tested, shaking his head ruefully. “T’mawfully thoughtless and trouble- some. There are lots of ways in which I have disappointed poor Estelle’s ideals.’’ Hilda smiled, and stroked his cheek with her finger. “She’s going to suffer, of course. I know how indignant she'll be. I wonder if we can make her under- stand that the thing that has hap- pened to us is stronger than we are —that it is life raised to its highest power, supremely good and——’”’ Hilda uttered an exclamation and left his side to inspect an unframed picture that had. caught her eye where it lay among other studio litter in the shadow under the balcony. “Where is that place?”’ she asked him abruptly. “Let me see. Oh—that’s down on the Connecticut shore. Do you like the sketch? Wait a minute—let me dust it.” He took it from her hands and cleaned it off with a rag, then placed it in a good light. Hilda studied it intently, with a curious expression of concentration. “But that’s the place exactly!” she murmured, more to herself than to him. Her face and voice were still full of wonder. “You’ve been there?” he inquired. “That would be strange.” She looked at him with a bewildered smile, and then at the picture again. “Tf I could only tell you how strange the feeling is! I’ve seen it, just like that, on gray days when the sky and water melted into one, and, at other times, I’ve seen it in storms, with waves dashing here at the end of the point.”’ “Yes, yes; that’s where they do dash,” said Standish. “But when were you there?” “Tf only knew!” She shook her head anxiously. ‘‘ There’s just one thing that is different,’ she said. ‘‘That factory chimney in the distance across the marsh—thet wasn’t there.” ‘But it must have been, if this is really the place you’ve seen. That factory chimney has always been there—at least, as long as I can remember, and probably before you were born.”’ She looked at him strangely and said, in a low tone, “It’s the same place.” A trifle startled at the importance she seemed to place upon it, he tried to answer in a matter-of-fact tone, although he had a curious feeling that the case was not a matter-of- fact one at all. “Well, to make sure, we'll ask old John about it,” he said. “Old John? Is he from that shore?” “Yes; I inherited him along with the farm. You can’t mm De ‘*The barn’s on fire! Somebody has padlocked the door!’’ see much of the farm in the sketch, but it runs down to the shore here. I used to call old John my wet-nurse, because he taught me to swim and sail a boat. He looks after my boats now in summer, and potters around the studio here in winter. My mother’s family, the Buckles, have looked after him ever since a misfortune he had down there, before my time.” “A fire,” said Hilda. He looked at her quickly. “What made you say that?” “T don’t know. Isimply seemed to know that it wasa fire.” In that instant, as he looked at her, a strange thing befell Walter Standish. He seemed to slip free from the limits of time and solidity and to launch into some fluid element in which all things perished and were born again by enchantment; and, in one stroke of illumination, he be- came aware that, at some point of eternity, just beyond the trembling border of conscious memory, he and Hilda Brunel had both existed on that Connecticut shore. He spoke. He heard his own words as if they had been uttered by another. “You're right about the factory chimney,” the voice ran; “it was not there in those days.” They stared into each other’s eyes. Standish heard the fumbling of a latch-key and the opening and shutting of the outer door as old John let himself into the anteroom. He had been to the bank to cash a check. After stowing away his hat and coat, he came shuffling into the studio with the money in his hand. He was a little old man with a Closely trimmed, yellowish white beard. His eyes were pale blue, and the right one, which was smaller than its mate, was always winking, while the whole of that side of his face had a shrunken look. His right arm, also, was twisted and helpless. Always sparing of speech, he handed Standish the money without a word and was going out again, when Standish stopped him with a question. ‘‘John, can you remember,” he asked, ‘when Slosson’s factory over on the creek was built?” | | |

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DRAWN BY JOHN ALONZO WILLA US * Hilda, that's enough!" he cried. ** Come back!”

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58 The Soul of Hilda Brunel The old man considered carefully for some seconds, and then replied, in a dull, gentle voice: “There was a bricklayer by the name of Ryan that fell from the top of that stack just when it was finishing. I was on the coroner’s jury. That was in ’Eighty-seven.”’ “A year before I was born,” said Standish to Hilda. “So you and I are the same age,” she remarked, with- out surprise. ‘‘Evidently it was not in this life that we—_”” She checked herself and watched old John as he shuffled off to his post in the anteroom. Then she turned to the picture. “Tn this life, I’ve been there only in dreams,” she said. “But they haven’t been like ordinary dreams. They haven’t had the dream-quality. I can’t describe their quality, but I had the very same kind of feeling when you and I were introduced over the teacups at Mrs. Weatherby Jones’, a few Sundays ago.” “T, too,” said Standish thoughtfully. “At least, I sup- pose it was the same sort of feeling. Something inside me seemed to call out: ‘Hello! Here she is at last!’”’ Hilda smiled, and put her hands on his shoulders. “Do you know what I purpose doing?” she said. “But, of course, you don’t. You’ve heard, though—haven’t you?—about my being the daughter of a wise woman.”’ “T’ve read in the papers,” he confessed cautiously, “that your mother was a highly gifted—er——”’ “Fortune-teller—don’t be afraid to say it. And I sup- pose I would have followed in her footsteps if I hadn’t been caught young and packed off to Europe to have my voice made into something, and myself, too. But mamma was ’ more than a fortune-teller. She knew secrets of being that ~ are not known to many outside of the Orient. And I know a few myself, dear; and you shall learn all that I know, and we’ll travel on together, learning more and more for- ever and ever—for there are no shores to the ocean of knowledge, and the greatest of pilots there is Love!”’ Until that moment, he had not dreamed that a mortal face could glow with such a pure flame of aspiration as he now saw in hers. With the eye of intuition, he glimpsed, for one dazzling instant, unsuspected reaches in his art, vanishing toward the mystic abode of absolute beauty. “Come,” she said; “I want your help while I try to get below the surface of things as they seem to be.” A sudden misgiving seized upon Standish. “With your temperament,” he stammered, “so emotional, so impressionable, do you think it is wise to——”’ She looked at him earnestly. “Tf we are honest with fate, Walter,’’ she said, “the truth cannot harm us.” “But can you be sure?” “To-day, I feel capable of anything!” She looked around and selected an armchair of low and reposeful lines. With feverish energy, she dragged it into position with its back to the light, then sat in it, settled herself comfortably, and closed her eyes. “This will do beautifully. Ah, I’m off already! Come and put your hand on my forehead. How cool it is! I feel that I’m really going to get results. Now listen: Don’t get frightened and try to wake me up too soon. Remember that I shall be just on the other side of a thin partition, and that I can even pass back and forth, and talk to you most of the time. In fact, if I stop talking too long, I want you to insist on my telling you what I’m experiencing. And tell me to remember to be sure not to forget anything when I come back to the present.” “But suppose”—his voice shook slightly—‘‘ suppose there should be any difficulty about your coming back?” “T’ll come back—to you.” She spoke a trifle laboriously, as one speaks in a foreign language., ‘‘Please move the hand down lightly over my face—like that—then back again—down—rhythmically—a little faster. I’m back at Mrs. Weatherby Jones’ tea. I’m shaking hands with you —Mr. Standish.” Across her unseeing face flitted a shadow of the smile with which she had greeted the introduction, reproduced in all its artificiality, and thereby contrasting strongly with the frank smiles she had learned to give him since. After that, she sighed and seemed to fall into an apathy. For half a minute, perhaps, he continued the passes in silence. , ““What now?” he ventured. There was no reply. He repeated the question. She seemed to arouse herself. ‘“‘Paris—not worth while—passes a little quicker.” He increased the tempo. Tenderly and ardently he watched her face, feeling half awed by the thought of the journey on which her spirit was fleeting, although half ashamed of himself for harboring even a small measure of faith in such an experiment. Sometimes she stirred. Once or twice she frowned faintly. Again would come the shadow of a haughty smile or the ghost of a short laugh. Of what adventures were these the phantom signals? Standish burned with jealous curiosity, but not for worlds would he have questioned her. Suddenly she startled him. Leaning forward, with an animated motion of the head, she began to sing Mimi’s song from ‘‘La Bohéme.” He ceased the passes, although he hardly expected her to sing more than a few bars. With perfect aplomb, however, she continued to fill the studio with soaring melody, her exquisite voice modulated to all the lights and shades of the sewing girl’s lyric account of herself, her toil, her poverty, and her prayers. He knew the music by ear, and marveled at the accuracy with which she measured the pauses as though they were punctuated by the veritable surging of a great orchestra. When the last note had rung out, the singer remained tense for a moment, her eyelids fluttering so that the whites showed in glimpses underneath. Gently he placed his hand over them. She relaxed and sank back in the chair. “Covent Garden,’ she murmured. “The king and queen—Puccini in another box.” He resumed the motion of his hand, and again the minutes sped faster than years. Once, after an unusually long interval of silence, it developed that a small Hilda Brunel was playing with other school-children in Stuyvesant Square, not far from her mother’s home on Second Avenue, New York. She gave a beating with her fists to a hateful boy who had called her mamma a witch. She wept because a little girl who lived in the square and had a governess, and whom she adored for her daintiness, was not allowed to play with her. A minute or so later, she was sitting in a basket in her mother’s flat, eating a cake. Her mother was at the window, crying. Why? Because Hilda’s father had gone away. “Why are you sitting in a basket?” Standish inquired. “T can’t walk yet.” He struggled against a growing impression of weirdness. Doubtless, Hilda’s mother had told her at some time about the basket and the cake. He reminded himself of auto- suggestion and other handy labels that material science supplies for immaterial riddles. Meditating on these mysteries, he continued the passes without questioning her, until it occurred to him, with a little shock, that she had sunk into a deeper lethargy. Her face was expressionless, and her breathing hardly perceptible. He spoke to her twice, but she returned no answer. Remembering her instructions, he tried hard to overcome any feeling of alarm. “Wherever you are,” he said firmly, as his hand rose and fell lightly over her face, “‘you must not forget any- thing. Remember, when you come back, every single thing that has happened to you.” A moment later, he heard a gurgling sound. Her lips were moving, He stooped down with his ear toward her mouth. “‘Jim!”’ she ejaculated, in a choking voice. “Jim!” Standish had to steady his voice, so startled was he. “Who are you?” he demanded. (Continued on page 166)

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The Achievement By Herbert Kaufman . Photographic Decoration by Lejaren A. Hiller APITAL isa notorious tory. Horace, the inventor, rarely finds a credulous Mecenas. The only helping hands that are extended to industries are on the wrists of their sponsors. When the interest table begins to work for a man, his range of interest is generally*confined by bonds, mortgages, and land. Wealth makes cowards of us all. Trace any great fortune to its beginning, and you'll find an idea tucked somewhere about its start; but human nature is so contrary that the last soul to hearten and sup- port another fellow’s inspiration is the very person who has just profited through one of his own. Having located a virgin field, the prospector seems prone to stifle the adventurous attitude and thereafter becomes a hardened conservative. Those whom wealth has made powerful habitually slam the door in the face of returning Opportunity. Success breeds intolerance and arrogance. Jones, in his affluence, forgets the disappointments and struggles of his early career when Smith requests his sym- pathetic consideration of an original notion. And it is fortunate for the striving multitudes that this is so. If not, we would shortly find a small group of im- possibly plutocratic individuals possessed of every important source of revenue. Providence, after all, is exceedingly shrewd and far- sighted, and blinds her erstwhile favorites to some chances to maintain a proper balance of power. So long as one set of rich men continues to discourage innovations, ambition will always have room to assert itself. Decay sets in when growth ceases. The sapling finds space to branch out as the old trees wither. Leaders lose their perception and vitality after a while, and, having served their day, gradually give way before the stranger push- ing up from the mass. Every decade produces the ability necessary to its needs, and, since our problems magnify with the exploitation of resources, new enterprises and their inaugurators scale accordingly. Preceding efficiencies lessen the difficulty of establishing the next. The more facilities we possess, the simpler it is to add to them. — After a state has organized one vast business, suc- ceeding promotions are increasingly rendered easier. Without so many railroads, we would not have as prodigious steel-mills, and without steel-mills of existing magnitude, we could not have our present railroad system. One industry extends the possibilities of another. The tool must be evolved before the work can be done, and the more tools we acquire, the more rapidly we can fulfil our contracts with Imagination. Tasks (Concluded on page 110)

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ENJAMIN HOOKER, pro- fessor in the Department of Applied Physics, Harvard Uni- versity, has obtained possession of a curious annular air-craft, the Flying Ring. This is the invention of a mysterious individual calling himself “ Pax,’’ who, by employ- ing a powerful form of radiant energy, the lavender ray, has alarmed mankind by causing some remarkable terrestrial dis- turbances. The motive power of the Ring is generated by the disintegration of uranium into helium. With an aviator named Burke, and Atterbury, Pax’s engineer, Hooker makes the journey from the wilds of Ungava, where he got hold of the Ring after Pax’s accidental death, to Washington. His idea is to use the craft and the helium blast to overcome the force of gravity and make excursions into space. In his calculations, he is assisted by an expert mathema- tician, Rhoda Gibbs, an attrac- tive woman of about thirty, and in their work together they fall in love with each other. Before, however, Hooker can put his plans into execution, the whole world is startled and terrified by the announcement that the as- teroid Medusa, over a hundred miles in circumference, having been in collision with a comet, has been arrested in its orbit and, plunging toward the sun, will strike the earth. Hooker now announces that he will go out in the Flying Ring to meet the down-tumbling asteroid, attack it with the lavender ray, and either deflect it from its course or blow it into smithereens. Rhoda wants very much to accompany Hooker and his as- sistants, Burke and Atterbury, on the astounding adventure, but he naturally will not hear of it. However, on the evening of the Ring’s departure, she goes with her uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. \\ Tassifer, to bid good-by to yt Hooker, and conceals herself behind a chair in the chart-room. In the excitement, the Tassifers do not notice, for the moment, that she is not with them, and when Hooker gives the order for departure, Rhoda is still in her hiding-place. On board the Ring are suits of vacuum armor, which, with the use of liquid air, will make it possible to visit places where there is no atmosphere. Part III THE FLIGHT OF THE RING . URN her loose!’ repeated Hooker, and stepped swiftly to the nearest port-hole, while Rhoda, lying in her place of concealment behind the chair, clutched at the floor in breathless appre- hension. A humming sound filled the air. Through the open door of the lighted control-room, the girl could see the gyroscopes slowly beginning to revolve. The Ring throbbed as if alive. Fear seized her. Perhaps she could still escape from her voluntary imprisonment. Perhaps she could even yet open the air-lock and leap safely back to earth. She almost longed for her aunt. And then her courage came back with a rush. There was her lover—her funny little Bennie—staring out of the window, a strange expression of exaltation on his face. 60 € Moon- A Romantuc and By Arthur Written in collaboration with Professor versity, Baltimore, joint author with Illustrated by Here was where she wanted to be—with him! With him, on his strange, unearthly journey! With him amid the stars, journeying to the music of the spheres! Through the window she could see flickers of yellow light, and from outside came a noise like escaping steam. The glow cast strange shadows on Bennie’s face, and gave his features a pallid tinge that frightened her anew. The dis- charge from the tractor had risen to a muffled roar—deaf- ening. The floor trembled and quivered, and the glare, now pouring through the deadlights, paled the electric lights of the interior. There was a tremendous hullabaloo going on out there. She clambered to her feet. “Bennie!” she shouted instinctively, holding out her arms to him. Amid the tumult, he turned to her a face like that of a man who sees a ghost. ‘““My God!” he gasped. “How did you get here?” She walked unsteadily toward him and _ clutched his arm. “I’m going, too,”’ she said. “I told you I would. I’m a stowaway.” Bennie put his arm around her waist and dragged her to the window.

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Human Zeppelins, by thunder! How are you ever going to get down again?” ; Maker ‘44M Astounding Adventure ® , Train Robert Williams Wood of Johns Hopkins Uni- Mr. Train of “‘The Man Who Rocked the Earth.” George Gibbs “Now you're here,” he cried hysterically, “just look at that!” A typhoon of glare and noise was raging outside, roaring down from the tractor through the center of the Ring, and a blinding cloud of dust, illuminated by dazzling yellow light, was driving out and away from the base of the staging in the gigantic circle. The earth below them was completely concealed from view by clouds of vapor, dust, and steam, shot through with phosphorescent gleams that made it look like the mouth of some devilish caldron. From the swiftly spinning disks of the gyroscopes in the control-room came a draft that blew the newspapers off the table. The floor quivered under their feet, and ominous creaking and snapping sounds reverberated through the outer shell, as the beams of the staging were gradually relieved of the weight. “We'll be clear in a moment!” yelled Bennie in her ear. She clutched his arm tight. “Will it hurt?” she asked, almost piteously. “Not much,” he answered. “Hold fast to the rail, and don’t bend your knees. We'll be going off with a pretty big acceleration.” The tumult increased in volume, and suddenly there came a crash accompanied by the sound of splintering tim- 61 bers as the staging collapsed, blown to pieces by the blast. The floor seemed to sink away from beneath their feet. “We've blown that staging into the middle of next week!” chuckled Bennie. The room swayed as the Ring, lifted by the tractor, rocked drunkenly from side to side for a second or two. Then, as the machine steadied itself, there came an upward pressure from the floor again and a sudden increase in their weight, which told them that they were rising. Rhoda, who, in the excite- ment of the moment, had for- ten Bennie’s instructions, felt her knees bend quickly under her and found herself upon the floor, where an unseen, relent- less force seemed to be pressing her down. Above her, Bennie had dragged himself up the spiral stairway to the small observing - stage which hung suspended from the ceiling, and was now lying on his back, with his eye glued to the vertical telescope that pointed up through the glass deadlight in the roof. Burke, who, at discovering Rhoda’s presence, had merely nodded and grinned as if not at all surprised at her being there, stood at his post near the side window with his hand on the control-lever. To him, Bennie gave his orders from where he lay. Medusa, the bluish green star which was their destina- tion, swam in the firmament well off toward the edge of the field of the telescope; the direc- tion of their flight must needs be altered until the asteroid touched the illuminated cross-wires at the center. ““More to the west!” shouted Bennie. ““More—more—still more! Hold it! Too far—back a little! Now you’re on the wire—a little south! More! Hold! There we are! All right!” He scrambled to his feet, and descending the stairs too hastily, landed in a heap at the bottom. ““My Lord,” he groaned, rubbing his shins; “I nearly broke my leg! Never run down-stairs when you're going up. Be sure and remember that.”’ Rhoda, meanwhile, flat on the floor, half sick from the acceleration, with her face pressed against the lower dead- light, watched the earth rush downward and away. At first she could see nothing but the dazzling cone of yellow light that shot away from them like the tail of a great rocket, but presently, by partially shielding her eyes with her hand, she was able to discover a great and ever widening ring of yellow dust, with riffles of light and shade chasing each other outward, and, in the middle, a maelstrom of earth and shattered timbers. Then she saw that the lights of the city and of the neighboring towns seemed to be flowing in from all sides to a point just below her. “Twenty thousand feet!” yelled Burke, shouting out the readings of the manometer as they rose. ‘“‘ Thirty thousand!”

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Hooker b crawled along YRS. ‘ the floor to i ; 7 her side, and * she clutched his hand. “Oh, Bennie,” she exclaimed, “it’s perfectly won- « derful! But I’m scared almost to death.” With his head close to hers, he looked down into the black void at the retreating earth. “Sixty thousand!” sang out Burke. The lights of Washington had now fused into a pale- yellow, phosphorescent spot. A silver thread showed where flowed the Potomac, and, off to the north, another path of luminous haze—Baltimore—was gradually crawling in toward the first, and still farther off a third and fourth— Wilmington and Philadelphia. The surface of the earth in the moonlight had taken on a frosty, bluish tinge, while, from the east, a darker shade was drawing in like a black curtain—the sea. “Ninety thousand; nearly twenty miles up—and running like a watch!” chirruped Burke. A few minutes, and the whole Atlantic seaboard was spread out below them—New York, with its more congested illumination, glowing like a planet. The whole mass of the globe’s surface gradually came into view as the Ring drove up and out of the earth’s atmosphere, the mountain ranges shining like necklaces of jewels and the Great Lakes showing as darker patches, while everything else remained misty and obscured as by a dense haze. “One hundred and fifty thousand!” intoned Burke. ‘The manometer no longer registers. We shall be out of the atmosphere presently. We’re getting into space!” For a while, they remained silent. Then Bennie and Rhoda noticed that the helium blast from the tractor had diminished in intensity, assuming a pale straw-color, and its roar had subsided to a faint and scarcely audible purr. 62 one Holding the pitcher upside down, he lifted it quickly away from the water inside, which remained sus- pended in the air as a pulsating, transparent mass of irregular form “‘What’s happened?” she asked nervously. “Are we running down?” “No,” Bennie replied; ‘‘we’re getting out into the ether. There is no air to oppose the radiant discharge or to trans- mit the sound. But you feel the drag, don’t you? That shows that the tractor is still giving the same lift.” “How fast are we going now?” she asked, in awe. Bennie glanced at his watch. “Tt’s just twenty minutes since we started. We must be doing about twelve thousand feet a second, and are probably well over a thousand miles from the earth already.” They lay speechless, gazing down through the deadlight for ten or fifteen minutes - at the end of which period Bennie suddenly started to his feet. “By George, I almost forgot something!” he exclaimed. “Tt’s time for me to rig my ropes.” Hastily going to an adjacent cupboard, he removed sev- eral coils of clothes-line, which he began to fasten systemat- ically to small steel staples attached to the floor, sides, and ceiling of the chart-room, running them back and forth and diagonally across the interior. “Ts this wash-day?” jocularly inquired Rhoda. “Those are life-lines,”’ replied Bennie. “Another twenty minutes, and we shall stop our engines and coast. Then you'll find it difficult to get around without something of this sort. Gravitation will no longer be felt. I figured it all out long ago. You see there isn’t really any ‘up’ or ‘down’ out here, and, if you get out of position, there is nothing to pull you back where you belong again, unless you have something to grab hold of.” In fact, the room now looked as if a gigantic spider had been at work in it. Clothes-lines radiated everywhere from the chart-table, one leading directly to the door of the air- lock, another to the wardrobe, and the last into the control- room, where Atterbury was likewise engaged in rigging more ‘aerial roads.” These precautionary measures having been arranged, they all partook, at Bennie’s suggestion, of a light supper, in +

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. tation!’ Arthur Train 63 order to avoid the inconvenience to which they might be subjected in handling plates and glasses when, later, the dynamo having been shut off, there should be no downward pressure from the lift of the Ring. “We've had the tractor running now for something over an hour,’”’ remarked Bennie presently. ‘Suppose we shut it off and coast for a while. We must now be over twelve thousand miles from the earth, and moving about seven ° miles a second. There’s no longer the slightest danger of falling back, and it’s almost impossible, with all that light in our wake, to see anything.” So saying, he walked heavily over to the speaking-tube end rang the electric bell. “Shut her off for a bit!” he shouted to Atterbury. “But stand by the switch until I call you!” Then he returned to the deadlight and threw himself on the floor again. “We're going to get a new sensation now, all right,” he said, “but don’t be alarmed. It isn’t anything to worry about.” The shrill note of the dynamo dropped rapidly in pitch, and the glowing wake of helium beneath the car faded away slowly and presently disappeared. The Ring was coasting. It was at this precise moment that Thornton had lost it in the finder of the big telescope at Georgetown. As the helium blast died away, a curious sensation made itself apparent to all of them. The pressure which had drawn them to the floor gradually relaxed, and their bodies became lighter. Hooker placed his hands on the floor at his side and, pushing down gently, raised himself to the full length of his arms, easily supporting his weight on the tips of his two forefingers. Then, suddenly, he raised his hands, and, to the surprise of his companions, instead of falling, he slowly settled back to his original position, like a body suspended in water. “We shan’t weigh anything in a moment,” he announced. “The tractor is still pushing a little, but, as soon as it stops entirely, good-by to gravi- There was now no sensation of movement in the car, which seemed, as it were, to be hanging motionless in space. Like the inhabitants of the earth, who are being carried through the universe at a speed of sixty- eight thousand miles an hour, the travelers were un- conscious of their transportation. “How do you mean —weigh nothing at all?’’ demanded Burke. “Isn’t the earth attracting us still?” “Of course,”’ retorted Bennie, “the earth is still attracting us, but its only effect will be gradually to reduce our velocity.” “Oh dear, I certainly feel very queer!” suddenly declared Rhoda. “TI feel as one does in a ‘flying’ dream—terribly weird inside. I’m afraid I am going to be ill.” “No, you’re not,” Bennie encouraged her. “That is just an impression. You see, out here in space where we don’t weigh anything, neither do our insides.’ They just sort of float around, and all the supporting membranes relax. It will pass off in a minute.” “Sure it will,” put in Burke. “You get the same thing, only not as bad, when you make a fast dive in an aeroplane or drop through an ether whorl. I’ve noticed it often.” “Try holding your breath for a minute,” suggested Doc- tor Bennie. “Td rather hold your hand, I think,” she said softly, with a little blush. ‘But I’m beginning to feel better already.” “Now the fun is going to start!” announced their com- mander. “TI think I'll leave you. Please excuse me for a moment. ”’ He pressed quickly against the floor with his hands, and floated slowly up into the air over their heads until he grasped the stage below the telescope. “T’ve got to take a squint at Medusa and see if we’re on our direct course,” he called down over his shoulder, at the same time navigating himself into position under the tele- scope. Holding the eyepiece lightly between his fingers, he reclined easily in a horizontal position in an attitude of rak- ish nonchalance in mid-air. “We're a degree or two off, but it will do for the present,” he said. ‘Now, here I go again!” And, thrusting lightly against the telescope, he sailed over their heads on his back with his arms at his side. “Heavens!”’ cried Rhoda, half rising from her chair. To her consternation, she also floated upward and, still in a graceful sitting posture, sailed slowly up to the ceiling to Bennie’s side. Burke shook with laughter. “Human Zeppelins, by thunder! How are you ever going to get down again?” Rhoda wrapped her skirts tightly around her ankles with one hand and waved to Burke with the other. “Why don’t you come up and join us? It’s fine!” Professor Hooker assumed an expression of great solemnity. “We've blown that staging into the middle of next week!” chuckled Bennie

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64 The Moon-Maker “ Action and reaction—to use the words of one I. Newton —are equal and opposite in their effects,’ he declaimed, giving Rhoda a slight push to one side, which caused them to drift apart until they bumped lightly against the opposite walls of the room. “Isn’t this great? If we’d only brought along some balls and cues, we could play billiards in three dimensions.” Burke had thrust his face close to the deadlight and was . peering down into the abyss of space that yawned below. “By George,” he cried, “you’re missing something! Better come down here and take a look.”’ “But how shall I get down?” gasped Rhoda, in great embarrassment. “What on earth shall I do!” “Not what you do on earth,” grinned Bennie. “Grab a life-line and pull yourself -down. We’re in the center of the universe—so to speak.” Together they slowly drew them- selves back to the chart-table bymeans of the clothes-lines, and then to the deadlight. The glare from the tractor had now en- tirely disappeared, and the Ring swam in the Stygian dark- ness of space. Their first impression was that the earth had vanished. In its place was a vast black firmament, crowded with mil- lions of blazing worlds. Though the great orb of the moon was full, and shone like a sun through the pure ether above their heads, thelunar light, undiluted and undimmed by the earth’s atmosphere, diminished in no way the brilliancy of the stars. It was a new and marvelous effect — the _ black- velvet robe of night studded with incan- descent and appar- ently motionless orbs, which gleamed like resplendent meteors in countless myriads on every side, but with a calm and absolutely steady light. Then, as they looked, they saw, just below them, what ap- peared to be a vast black hole in the darkness, covering per- haps one-tenth of the sky, within which not a single star could be seen. ‘Put out the lights,” directed Bennie, rubbing off with his handkerchief the condensation, due to the intense cold of interplanetary space, which had formed on the inside of the deadlight. And now, as their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, they saw that the great circle in the galaxy of stars was not quite black but shone with a pale-gray, ashen phosphores- cence, through which they could eventually discern the out- lines of the continents of North and South America. This huge circular disk, which blotted out so much of the night below them, was naught but the dark side of the earth illumined by the light of the moon alone. For many minutes, they gazed in silent wonder at the dis- tant globe. No sound, no movement suggested the fact that they were flying through space at the rate of twenty miles a second. The only indication of their flight was the gradual, almost imperceptible shrinking that went on in the size of the earth beneath their feet. ‘Atterbury ought to see this!” exclaimed Burke suddenly, and, acting upon his own suggestion, he moved himself, hand over hand, to the tube and called to the engineer, who, after a few moments’ delay, made his appearance. He had hardly joined the others around the deadlight when a silvery light manifested itself in the form of faint streamers stretching A few minutes, and the whole Atlantic seaboard was out from one side of the dark circle of the earth below. Each moment these streamers increased in length and brilliancy. ‘‘What is going on down there?” cried Burke, in excite- ment. “Is the old globe on fire?” “That must be the sun’s corona,’ answered Bennie. ‘““We’ve been watching an eclipse of the sun by the earth. It was night when we left Washington, so, of course, the sun was behind the earth. I hadn’t thought of it before. Now we are getting near the edge of the earth’s conical shadow, and before long shall be out in full sunlight.” “How wonderful!” gasped Rhoda. ‘That alone makes the trip worth the taking!” “Look!” cried Bennie. ‘‘The sun is coming—watch!”’ ere

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— +s spread out below them Arthur Train 65 A half-ring of luminous violet light now encircled the great disk of the earth. Gradually it increased in brilliancy, changed to white, and finally to orange-red. Then, as the Ring shot out of the cone of the shadow, the rim of the earth kindled with a blinding glare as the blazing orb of the sun emerged like a golden furnace. Immediately the air turned warm, and the frost disap- peared from the glass of the window. Yet, in spite of the fact that the universe was filled with light, the sky re- mained as black as midnight and was still filled with un- dimmed stars. There being no atmosphere, no light came from the sky, and the sun, burning out of a profundity of darkness, produced no illumination inside the car except to project through the glass window a circular spot of light upon the ceiling, which shone there like an arc-lamp in an opal globe. Thus, the interior of the car, in spite of the fact that they were in full sunlight, was illu- minated only by the light which radiated from the glowing spot over their heads. And now the unim- peded rays of the sun, playing directly upon the sides of the alu- minum car, began to raise the tem- perature inside it to a degree almost insupportable. “Phew!” gasped Burke. “If we don’t take care, we shall melt.” Bennie turned on a switch beneath the table, to the side of which was at- tached a_ spirit thermometer. It indicated eighty- nine degrees. “Tt will only take a few seconds to fix this,” he assured Rhoda. “You see those jacketed coils there — running around the room just above the floor? That is our cooling apparatus. I have just turned iton. Watch the thermometer.” The men kad taken off their coats, and Rhoda was fan- ning herself violently. But, even as they watched it, the thermometer began to fall until the instrument registered less than seventy degrees. “Really,” exclaimed Rhoda, in admiration, “what a perfect housekeeper you'are! You don’t happen to have a soda-fountain under that table, do you?” Bennie laughed. “No; that was something I forgot. But I can give you a glass of ice-water if you like.”’ “Tf you please,” she acquiesced. Bennie pulled himself over to the water-cooler, where he held a pitcher under the spigot and opened the cock. But nothing happened. ““What’s the trouble?” inquired Rhoda. Bennie grinned. “Of course,” he answered, “the water won’t run out, for there isn’t any gravity to make it.” He lifted the lid off the cooler and filled the pitcher by scooping up the water. Then he floated back to Rhoda with the remark, “T’ll show you an experiment which no one has ever seen before.” Holding the pitcher upside down, he lifted it quickly away from the water inside, which remained suspended in the air as a pulsating, transparent mass of irregular form. Gradually the mass ceased its pulsations and, as it did so, collected itself into a perfect sphere resembling a crystal ball. “See what surface-tension will do!’”’ he exclaimed ad- miringly. “Did you ever see a soap-bubble as beautiful as that?” “How extraordinary!” murmured Rhoda. “Anyhow, it’s just what I wanted.” And, leaning forward, she ap- plied her lips to the floating sphere and sucked in a deep draft of the icy fluid. “The latest thing in hygienic drinking-fountains,” she remarked, as she settled herself back in her armchair. “I really don’t need this chair for repose, but without it I feel like a picture without a frame,”’ she added. “This is crazy-house, all right!” nodded Atterbury. “Gee, but we’ve got to be awful careful or we'll break every bone in our bodies!” “Tf we can only manage to sit still for an hour,” answered Bennie, “we shall have our tractor running again. Just now, I feel like a toy balloon!”’ At this point, Burke elevated his legs and gave him- self a shove with his hands. “So long!” he remarked, as he shot forward, and, float- ing horizontally through the door of the control-room, disappeared. “Easy way to go to work!” chuckled Atterbury. ‘Lie on your back and kick yourself down-town. Watch me!” He lifted himself with his forearms until he was poised like an athlete above a pair of parallel bars. Then, ex- tending his arms in front of him, he gave a jerk with his legs and swam through the doorway after Burke. Rhoda and Bennie looked at each other in amusement. “Have you thought what is going to happen when we begin to get within the sphere of Medusa’s attraction?” she inquired. “You mean that, since that is the direction of our flight gravitation will lift us wp instead of down?” “Exactly. We shall have to walk on the ceiling with our heads toward the floor.”’ “That won’t be very convenient, will it?” he replied. ‘““You know, I never thought of that at all. All our fixtures will be in just the wrong places. This table, for instance, will be way down below us and upside down at that. . No- I mean it will be upside down above us on the ceiling. No- what do I mean?” “T don’t know,”’ she retorted. “If we are right side up, it will be upside down, but if we are wrong side up, it will be right side down, for if the up side becomes the dow n side then the wrong side will be the right side, and the up side and the down ‘side—” “Stop—stop! For heaven’s sake, stop!” shrieked Bennie. “You're talking nonsense, anyway. We’re going to turn the Ring over before we slow down.” It is problematical in what result the complexities of the situation would have involved them had not Bennie sud- denly noticed that the spot of sunlight upon the ceiling had shifted slightly to one side. Calling Rhoda’s attention to this unexpected phenomenon, they returned to the dead- light, to find that the sun was no longer below them but considerably to one side, and, shielding their eyes with their

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66 The Moon-Maker hands, they were able to observe, where the vast black circle had been beneath the car, a shining crescent, light- bluish white in color and fifteen or twenty times the diam- eter of the moon. Neither Rhoda nor Bennie could repress a gasp of awe as they saw, for the first time, the enor- mous silvery arch of the earth pinned, as it were, against the utter blackness of space, with all its seas and continents plotted like a map. “The crescent earth!” she breathed, in wonder. “The crescent earth!” echoed Bennie. ‘How marvel- ous—like the new moon! I suppose we should call it ‘the new earth.’ See, there is the whoie Atlantic coast line from Cape Horn to Hudson Bay—Florida and the Gulf of Mexico, Greenland and the Arctic ice-cap! Look at the cloud-banks over the Atlantic Ocean and along the west coast of South America. Quick—get your camera and put in a tele- photo lens!” The camera.was still hanging by its strap from Rhoda’s shoulder, and it took but a moment to exchange the lenses. Then she threw a puzzled glance at her comrade. “How shall I do it? I don’t understand,” she hesitated. “You will have to take the picture through the deadlight,”’ he answered. “But how long an exposure shall I make?” she inquired. “Oh—a tenth of a second,” he suggested, “or a fifth, perhaps.” Rhoda was having a hard time to preserve her equilib- rium and handle the camera. “Oh dear,” she complained; “I can’t keep still. This weighing nothing is very awkward—you slip around so.” With Bennie’s assistance, however, she managed to hold the lens firmly against the deadlight. “Push it down hard and squeeze the bulb,” he directed. While Rhoda was engaged in making different exposures, Bennie floated up to the observation-stage to ascertain their direction. To his astonishment, he discovered that Medusa was no longer in the field. “There’s something wrong!” he shouted to Burke. “We're way off our course!” ““What’s happened?” yelled Atterbury, shooting, in his favorite posture, feet foremost, out of the condenser-room. “We're running all cock-eyed! Look where the sun is— the earth!” “They ought to be nearly in line,” replied Burke, in a confused way. “‘There’s some new influence at work here.” “But I’ve lost Medusa entirely!”’ Hooker called down to them. “TI can’t imagine what’s up. Of course, we left the earth with its axial and orbital velocities as well as our own. I thought I’d worked it out all right, but I must have over- looked something. Anyhow, the first thing to do is to get back on our course. Atterbury, start up your engines half- speed. I'll call to you when I want your whole force. Burke, you must slant the tractor over and turn the Ring until we are pointing toward Medusa. I don’t know just how she’ll act, but I think we can tip her almost any way we please. When we’re pointed in the right direction, we’ll straighten out the tractor and give her full-speed ahead. Are you ready?” ; Atterbury darted back toward the condenser-room, and almost immediately the hum of the dynamo began again. With its resumption, their weight returned, but hardly enough to enable them to walk in comfort. “‘Ah,” exclaimed Burke, “‘it sure feels good to be on foot again! I was getting darn tired of this spook business.” Under Hooker’s directions, he moved the control-lever until Medusa again swam into the field of the telescope. Then, as the green star neared the center of the lens, Bennie ordered him to straighten the course and directed Atter- bury to turn on full-speed. The noise of the machinery increased, and with it came a further increase in their weight. The whole force of the tractor was again pressing them on toward their distant goal. Bennie once more de- scended from the observation-cage and took his place be- side Rhoda at the deadlight on the floor of the car. ? Hypnotized by the wonder and beauty of the crescent earth beneath them, they hardly noticed that it was grad- ually shifting its place. Suddenly, it slipped entirely out of sight. “Hang it!” shouted Bennie, in despair. ‘We've lost control of the Ring!” Where, before, the earth had been, there now appeared the stupendous disk of the full moon. At the same moment, Burke uttered an exclamation of fear. “We're all out of kilter!” he cried. “I was looking down through the observation-window at the earth, and—all of a sudden it wasn’t there!” “The Ring is evidently slowly turning over,” stammered Bennie. “If our tractor were not running, it wouldn’t matter, but our direction must now be changing from mo- ment to moment. We may have been captured or pulled out of our course by the moon! It’s pretty near us, and you know how Jupiter changes the orbits of the comets that pass near it.” At that moment, Atterbury appeared in the doorway. “Shall I keep the engines running?” he asked. ‘Our uranium is getting low, I’m afraid. The gage indicates that over seventy per cent. has been used.” “Troubles never come singly!” exclaimed the master of the Ring. ‘“ Here we are, going we don’t know where, gravi- tating around the moon, perhaps, and our fuel giving out! We’ve got to get a fresh cylinder into the tractor to get back, and it will be bad business making the change in space. We ought to land and make repairs and get a fresh start with new bearings.” “Land?” gasped Rhoda, in astonishment. “Where?” “On the moon, of course. It’s only ten thousand miles away, and we’re headed straight for her, apparently. Turn her over again, Burke, and we'll slow down. It’s going to be ticklish business, but I don’t see what else we can do. We may go to smash and we may not. It all depends on whether we have time to overcome our velocity before we get there. We could slue off and run by, of course, but our uranium might give out, and then what should we do? Anyhow, there’s no time to be lost.” Yet, accustomed as Rhoda now was to supernormal situ- ations and surroundings, Bennie’s practical suggestion of landing on the moon, which, after all, was the one celestial body with which they were at all familiar, seemed utterly inconceivable of execution. “The moon!” she repeated vaguely. “The moon!” She had seen the moon off and on with thegreatest regu- larity for nearly thirty years—had photographed it, drawn pictures of it, made calculations about it, and read all sorts of fanciful yarns concerning it and its imaginary inhabitants. She really knew a good deal about it and could call some of its mountains and dried-up seas by name— Copernicus, for instance, and Tycho—but she had never taken it seriously—had regarded it rather as a sort of stage- setting for the earth. Thus, when Bennie proposed, almost casually, to set foot on what had hitherto been nothing more than an abstraction or figure of speech, it left her un- comprehending. She had always associated the moon with harvest-fields, straw-rides, weddings, and green cheese. There was a “man in the moon,” a “lady in the moon” and “two children carrying a pail” up there—in it. That was the moon of her childhood and when she was “off duty”—the real moon. The other one--the imaginary moon, far less real in every respect—was the one she knew in her work—a dead world of pitted craters, dry oceans, marked with strange, shining furrows and concentric circles, just so many thousand miles from the earth and having regular habits that could be absolutely relied upon. That was not the real moon at all. The genuine moon, as far as she was concerned, was the old-fashioned one—that cast its yellow light over pumpkin-sprinkled fields and down leafy lanes, or rose like a huge red lantern out of a sparkling blue-black ocean. The real mocn (Concluded on page 190)

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{ 7 \Woote ail 2 Karatov faced Kennedy squarely. There was an air almost of triumph in his eyes. ‘I think I had better say no more, except under the advice of my lawyer,” he remarked finally The Rubber Dagger By Arthur B. Reeve Author of “The Vital Principle,” “The Submarine Mine,” and other Craig Kennedy stories Illustrated by Will Foster It would seem that it cannot be long before the 7 YPNOTISM can’t begin practical work of the psychologist will receive some —suggestion, he calls it, though it to accomplish what degree of recognition in the investigation and prosecu- _js really something more than that. Karatov claims. He’sa __ tionof crime, however contrary it may be tothe present As nearly as I can make out, it fake, Kennedy, a fake!’’ established rules of evidence. The success of Craig must almost amount to thought- Professor Leslie Gaines, of the De- | Kennedy in this most peculiar and puzzling case will transference, telepathy, or some partment of Experimental Psychol- doubtless attract attention to the possibilities of the such thing. Oh, he has a large ogy at the university, paced excited- ly up and down Craig’s laboratory. “There have been complaints to the County Medical Society,” he went on, without stopping, ‘and they have taken the case up and arranged a demonstration for this afternoon. I’ve. been delegated to attend it and report.” I fancied, from his tone and manner, that there was just a bit more than professional excitement involved. We did not know Gaines intimately, though, of course, Kennedy knew of him and he of Kennedy. Some years before, I recol- lected, he had married Miss Edith Ashmore, whose family was quite prominent socially, and the marriage had attracted a great deal of attention, for she had been a student in one of his courses when he was only an assistant professor. “Who is Karatov, anyway?” asked Kennedy. “Doctor Galen Karatov—a Russian, I believe,’ returned Gaines. “He claims to be able to treat disease by hypnotism newer and more scientific methods of detective work. following; in fact, some very well known people in the smart set are going tohim. Why,” he added, facing us, “‘ Edith—my wife —has become interested in his hypnotic clinics, as he calls them. I tell her it is more than half sham, but she won’t believe it.” Gaines paused, and it was evident that he hesitated over asking something. “When is the demonstration?” inquired Kennedy, with unconcealed interest. The professor looked at his watch. “T’m going over there now; in fact, I’m just a bit late— only, I happened to think of you, and it occurred to me that perhaps if you could add something to my report, it might carry weight. Would you like to come with me?” Gaines need not have asked. It was just the thing that appealed to Kennedy. ‘“‘How did Mrs. Gaines become interested in the thing?” 67

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68 The Rubber Dagger he queried, a moment Jater outside, as we climbed into the car with the professor. “Through an acquaintance who introduced her to Kara- tov and the rest—Carita Belleville, the dancer, you know?” Kennedy glanced at me, and I nodded that I had heard of her. It was only a few nights before that I had seen Carita at one of the theaters, doing a dance which was de- scribed as the “hypnotic whirl,” a wild abandon of grace and motion. Carita Belleville had burst like a meteor in the sky of the Great White Way. She had even been “taken up”’ by society, or, at least, a certain part of it, and had become much sought after to do exhibition-dancing at social affairs. “What is Miss Belleville’s interest in Karatov?” pursued Craig keenly. Gaines shrugged his shoulders. “Notoriety, perhaps,” he replied. ‘It is a peculiar group that Karatov has gathered about him, they tell me.” There was something unsatisfactory about the answer, and I imagined that Gaines meant purposely to leave it so as not to prejudice the case. There was little time for further questions, for our destina- tion was not far down the Drive from the university, and the car pulled up before a handsome studio-apartment. We followed Gaines into the building, and the hall-boy directed us to a suite on the first floor. A moment later, we were admitted by Karatov himself to what had become known as his “hypnotic clinic,” really a most artistically furnished studio. Karatov himself was a tall, dark-haired fellow, bearded, somewhat sallow. Every feature of his remarkable face, however, was subordinate to a pair of wonderful, deep-set, piercing eyes. Even as he spoke, greeting Gaines on the rather ticklish mission he had come, and accepting us witha quick glance and nod, we could see instantly that he was indeed a fascinating fellow, every inch a mystic. His clinic, or, as I have said, studio, carried out well the impression of mysticism. There were only two or three rooms in the apartment, one being the large room down the end of a very short hall, to which he conducted us. It was dark- ened, necessarily, since it was on the first floor of the tall building, and the air seemed to be heavy with odors that suggested the Orient. Doctor Karatov paused at the door to introduce us, and we could see that we were undergoing a close scrutiny from the party which was assembled there. On a quaint stand, tea was brewing, and the whole assem- blage had an atmosphere of bohemian camaraderie which, with the professions of Karatov, promised well that Kennedy was not wasting time. I watched particularly the exchange of greetings between Professor Gaines and Edith Gaines, who was already there. Neither of them seemed to be perfectly at ease, though they betrayed as little as they could. However, one could not help notic- ing that each was watching the other. Edith Gaines was a pretty little woman, petite, light of hair, dainty, the very type of woman who craved for and thrived on attention. Here, at least, there seemed to be no lack of it. There was only one other woman in the room who attracted the men equally—Carita Belle- ville herself. She was indeed a stunning woman, tall, slender, dark, with a wonderful pair of magnetic eyes. As I watched, I could see that both women were quite friendly with Doctor Karatov—perhaps even rivals for his attentions. I saw Gaines watching Carita attentively, never, in the mean time, failing for long to lose sight of Mrs. Gaines. Was he trying to estimate the relative popularity of the two in this strange group? If so, I failed to see any approval of either. Introductions were now coming so fast that neither Ken- nedy nor I had much opportunity except for the most cur- sory observation of the people. Among the men, however, I noticed two especially, who proved worth observation. One was Armand Marchand, well known as a broker, not so much for his professional doings as for his other activities. Though successful, he was better known as one of those who desert Wall Street promptly at the hour of closing, to be found late in the afternoon at the tea-dances up-town. Another was Cyril Errol, a man of leisure, well known also in the club-world. He had inherited an estate, small per- haps, but ample to allow him to maintain appearances. Errol impressed you as being one to whom the good things of the world appealed mightily—a hedonist, and, with all, very much attracted to and by the ladies. fs A

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- ~~ ——— Arthur B. Reeve 69 It was fortunate that the serving of tea enabled us to look about and get our bearings. In spite of the suppressed ex- citement and obvious restraint of the occasion, we were able to learn much over the teacups. Errol seemed to vibrate between the group about Mrs. Gaines and that about Miss Belleville, welcome wherever he went, for he was what men commonly call a “good mixer.”’ Marchand, on the other hand, was almost always to be found not far from Edith Gaines. Perhaps it was the more brilliant conversation that attracted him, for it ran on many subjects, but it was difficult to explain it so to my satisfaction. All of which I saw Gaines duly noting, not for the report he had to make to the medical society but for his own information. In fact, it was difficult to tell the precise degree of disapproval with which he regarded Karatov, Errol, and Marchand in turn, as he noted Edith Gaines’ intimacy with them. I wished that we might observe them all when they did not know it, for I could not determine whether Edith was taking pleasure in piquing the professor or whether she was holding her admirers in leash in his pres- ence. At any rate, I felt I need lay no claim to clairvoyance to predict the nature of the report that Gaines would prepare. The conversation was at its height when Karatov de- tached himself from one of the groups and took a position in a corner of the room, alone. Not a word was said by him, yet, as if by magic, the buzz of conversation ceased. The Russian looked about as though proud of the power of even his silence. Whatever might be said of the man, at least his very presence seemed to com- mand respect from his followers. I had expected that he would make some reference to Gaines and to us and the pur- pose of the meeting, but he chose to leap right into the middle of things. “So that there can be no question about what I am able to do,” he began, “‘T wish each of you to write on a piece of paper what you would like to have me me A * rl A sharp cry escaped Marchand. I looked quickly. He had fallen forward on the floor ose?’ ! cause anyone to do or say under hypnotism. You will please fold the paper tightly, covering the writing. I will read the paper to myself, still folded up, will hypnotize the subject, and will make him do whatever is desired. That will be preliminary to what I have to say later about my powers in hypnotic therapeutics.” Pieces of paper and little lead-pencils were distributed by an attendant, and, in the rustling silence that followed, each cudgeled his brain for something that would put to the test Karatov’s powers. Thinking, I looked about the room. Near the speaker stood a table on which lay a curious collection of games and books, musical instruments, and other things that might suggest actions to be performed in the test. My eye wan- dered to a phonograph standing next the table. Somehow, I could not get Mrs. Gaines and Carita Belleville out of my head. Slowly I wrote, Have Mrs. Gaines pick out a record, play it on the phonograph; then let her do as she pleases. Some moments elapsed while the others wrote. Evi- dently they were trying to devise methods of testing Doctor Karatov’s mettle. Then the papers were collected and de- posited on the table beside him. Apparently at random, Karatov picked out one of the folded papers; then, seem- ingly without looking at it and certainly without unfolding it, so far as I could determine, he held it up to his forehead. It was an old trick, I knew. Perhaps he had palmed a sponge wet with alcohol or some other liquid, had brushed it over the paper, making the writing vis- ible throvgh it and drying out rapidly so as to leave the paper opaque again, long before any of us saw it asecond time. Or was he really exercising some occult power? At any rate, he read it, or pretended to read it, at least. ‘‘T am asked to hypnotize Mrs. Gaines,” he announced, dropping the paper unconcernedly on the table beside the other pile. It was something of a shock to realize that it was my paper he had chanced to pick up first. Mrs. Gaines rose, and every eye wes riveted on her as Karatov placed her in an easy chair before him. There was an expectant silence, as the Russian moved the chair so that she could concentrate her attention solely on a bright silver globe suspended from the ceiling. The half-light, the heavy atmosphere, the quiet, assured manner of the chief actor in the scene—all combined to make hyp- notization as easily possible as cir- cumstances could. Karatov moved before her, passing his hands, with a peculiar motion, before her eyes. It seemed an_ incredibly short time before Edith Gaines yielded to the strange force which fasci- nated the group. “Quite susceptible,’ murmured Kennedy beside me, engrossed in the operation. : “Tt is my test,” I whispered back, and he nodded. Slowly Edith Gaines rose from the chair, faced us with unseeing eyes, except as Karatov directed. He himself was

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70 The Rubber Dagger a study. It seemed as if he had focused every ounce of his faculties upon the accomplishment of the task in hand. Slowly still, the woman moved, as if in a dream-walk, over toward the phonograph, reached into the cabinet beneath it, and pulled out a book of records. Her fingers passed over page after page until, finally, she stopped, drew forth a record, placed it on the machine, wound it, then placed the needle on the revolving disk. My first surprise was quickly changed to gratification. She had picked out the music to “The Hypnotic Whirl.” I bent forward. What would she do next? As she turned, I could see, even in the dim light, a height- ened color in her cheeks, as though the excitement of the catchy music had infected her. A moment later, she was executing, and very creditably, too, an imitation of Carita herself in the dance. What did it mean? Was it that, con- sciously or unconsciously, she was taking the slender dancer as her model? The skill and knowledge that she put into the dance showed plainly. Next to Kennedy, I saw Gaines leaning far forward, look- ing now at his wife, now at the little group. I followed his eyes. To my surprise, I saw Marchand’s gaze riveted on Edith Gaines as if she had been the star performer in a play. Evidently, my chance request to Karatov had been builded better than I knew. I ran my gaze over the others. Errol was no less engrossed than Marchand. Quickly I glanced a a 4 Fa . i] “Without your new plethysmograph, Gaines, you might have thrown the guilt on an innocent person!” at Carita, wondering whether she might be gratified by the performance of a pupil. Whether it was natural grace or real hypnotism in the hypnotic whirl, I was surprised to see on Carita’s face something that looked strangely akin to jeal- ousy. It was as though some other woman had usurped her prerogative. She leaned over to speak to Errol with the easy familiarity of an old admirer. I could not hear what was said, and perhaps it was inconsequential. In fact, it must have been the very inconsequentiality of his reply that piqued her. He glanced at Marchand a moment, as if she had said something about him, then back at Edith Gaines. On his part, Professor Gaines was growing more and more furious. I had just about decided that the little drama in the audi- ence was of far more importance and interest than even the dance, when the music ceased. Karatov approached, took Mrs. Gaines by the hand, led her back to the chair, and, at a word, she regained her normal consciousness. As she rose, still in a daze, it seemed, it was quite evident that she had no waking realization of what had happened, for she walked back and sat down, quite unperturbed, beside her husband. As for me, I could nut help wondering what had actually happened. What did it all mean? Had Mrs. Gaines ex- pressed her own self— or wasit Karatov—or Marchand —or Errol? What was the part played by Carita Belleville? Gaines did not betray anything to her, but their mutual attitude was elo- quent. There was something of which he disapproved, and she knew it—some a . lack of harmony. What was the cause? As for Karatov’s exhibition, it was all truly remarkable, whether, in his therapeutics, the man was a faker or not. The Russian seemed to realize that he had made a hit. Without giving anyone a chance to question him, he reached down quickly and picked up another of the papers, repeating the process through which he had gone be- fore. “Mr. Errol,” he summoned, placing the second folded paper on the table with the first. Errol rose and went forward, and Karatov placed him in the chair as he had Mrs. Gaines. There seemed to be no hesitation, at least on the part of Karatov’s followers, to being hypnotized. Whatever it was written on the paper, the writer had evidently not trusted to chance, as I had, but had told specifically what to do. At the mute bidding of Kara- tov, Errol rose. We watched breathlessly. Deliberately he walked across the room to the table and, to the astonishment of all, save one, picked up a rubber dagger, one of those with which children play, which was lying on the table. Quickly Errol turned. If he had been a motion-picture actor, he could not have better por- trayed the similitude of hate that was written on his face. A few strides, and he advanced toward our little audience, now keyed up to the highest pitch of excitement. “Of course,” remarked Karatov, as, at a word, Errol paused, still poising

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a —————— Arthur B. Reeve 71 the dagger, “‘you know that, under hypnotism in the psychological laboratory, a patient has often struck at his ‘enemy’ with a rubber dagger, going through all the motions of real passion. Now!” No word was said by Karatov to indicate to Errol what it was that he was todo. But a gasp went up from some one as he took another step, and it was evident that it was Marchand whom he had singled | out. For just a moment, Errol poised the rubber dagger over his “victim,” as if gloating. It was dra- matic, realistic. As Errol paused, Marchand smiled at the rest of us—a sickly smile, I thought—as though he would have said that the play was being carried too far. Never for a moment did Errol take from him the menacing look. It was only a mo- ment in the play, yet it was so unexpected that it seemed ages. Then, swiftly, down came the dagger on Marchand’s left side just over the breast, the rubber point bending pli- antly as it descended. A sharp cry escaped Marchand. I looked quickly. He had fallen forward on the floor. Edith Gaines screamed as we rushed to Marchand and turned him over. For the moment, as Kennedy, Karatov, and Gaines bent over him and endeavored to loosen his collar and apply a restorative, consternation reigned in the little circle. I bent over, too, and looked first at Marchand’s flushed face, then at Kennedy. Marchand was dead! There was not a mark on him, apparently. A moment before he had been one of us. We could look at each other only in amazement tinged with fear. Killed by a rubber dagger? Was it possible? “Call an ambulance—quick!” directed Kennedy to me, though I knew that he knew it was of no use except as a matter of form. We stood about the prostrate form, stunned. In a few moments, the police would be there. Instinctively we looked at Karatov. Plainly he was nervous and over- wrought now. His voice shook as he brought Errol out of the trance, and Errol, dazed, uncomprehending, struggled to take in the horribly real tragedy which greeted his return to consciousness. ‘“‘It—it was an accident,”’ muttered Karatov eagerly, try- ing to justify himself, though trembling for once in his life, ‘arteriosclerosis perhaps—hardening of the arteries—some weakness of the heart. I never He cut the words short as Edith Gaines reeled and fell into her husband’s arms. She seemed completely prostrated by the shock. Or was it weakness following the high mental tension of her own hypnotization? Together, we endeavored revive her, waiting for the first flutter of her eyelids, which seemed an interminable time. Errol, in the mean time, was pacing the floor like one in a dream. Events had followed one another so fast in the con- fusion that I had only an unrelated series of impressions. It was not until a moment later that I realized the full import of the affair when I saw Kennecy standing near the table in the position Karatov had assumed, a strange look of perplexity on his face. Slowly I realized what was the cause. The papers on which were written the requests for the exhibitions of Karatov’s skill were gone! Whatever was to be done must be done quickly, and Kennedy looked about with a glance that missed nothing. Before I could say a word about the papers, he had crossed the room to where Marchand had been standing in the little group about Edith Gaines as we entered. On a side- table stood the teacup from which he had been sipping. With his back to the rest, Kennedy drew from his breast- pocket a little emergency-case he carried, containing a few, thin, miniature glass tubes. Quickly he poured the few drops of the dregs of the tea into one of them, then, into others, tea from the other cups. Again he looked at the face of Marchand, as though trying to read, in the horrified smile that had petrified on it, some mysterious secret hidden underneath. Slowly the Karatov detached himself from one of the groups and took a position in a corner of the room, alone " question was shaping in my mind. Was it, as Karatov would have us believe, an accident? The clang of a bell outside threw us all into worse con- fusion, and a moment later, almost together, a white- coated surgeon and a blue-coated policeman burst into the room. It seemed almost no time, in the swirl of events, before the policeman was joined by a detective assigned by the Central Office to that district. “Well, Doctor,” demanded the detective, as he entered, “what’s the verdict?” ‘Arteriosclerosis, I think,” replied the young surgeon. “They tell me there was some kind of hypnotic séance going on; one of them named Errol struck at him with a rubber dagger, and——”’ “Get out!” scoffed the Central Office man. “Killed by a-rubber dagger! Say, what do you think we are? What did you find when you entered, Sergeant?” The policeman handed the detective the rubber dagger which he had picked up where Errol had dropped it when he came out from the hypnotization. The detective took it gingerly and suspiciously, with a growl. “T’ll have the point of this analyzed. It may be—well— we won’t say what may be; but I can tell you what is. You, Doctor Karatov, or whatever your name is, and you, Mr. Errol, are under arrest. It’s a good deal easier to take you now than it will be later. Then if you can get a judge to release you, we'll at least know where you are.” (Continued on page 121)

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High Street, Marlow. This town ' was the best loved spot in . the world to Charles Frohman Eprror’s Nore—England was Charles Frohman’s There, the inaccessibility which marked him in vanish. He found time to devote to his friends friendships, especially that with James M. Barrie. his biography deals with the happy times and tions he always looked forward to on his annual Red-Letter Days in HE fortunes of Charles Frohman’s English produc- é tions ebbed and flowed. & Actors and actresses came '¢ and went; it was all part of a big and fascinating game. What really covnted and became permanent were the man’s friendships, ‘often made in the theat- rical world of make- believe, but always cemented in the domain of very sincere reality. In England were some of his greatest and dear- est personal bonds. They grew out of the fact that Charles Froh- man had the rare genius of inspiring loyal friend- ship. He gave much and he got much. Yet, like (Above) Pauline Chase and Charles Frohman, after a game of croquet at the latter's cottage on Stevenson, it was a case Farnham Common. (Below) Miss Chase and her dog, Doodie, who was also Frohman’s friend of “a few friends, but Je

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Se eee eee: This instalment of England CHARLES FROHMAN by Daniel Frohman and Psaac ‘F. WM arcosson holiday country. America seemed to and to cultivate congenial associa- trip abroad. these without capit- ulation.” In England, Charles Frohman 3 co a seemed to be a differ- -_ ent human being. The . a The Compleat Angler, a famous inn on the bank inaccessibility that hedged him in oh ten Chinen Mh America vanished. He emerged from his social shell; he gave out interviews; he relaxed and renewed his youth in jaunt and jest. His annual trip abroad, therefore, was like a joyous adventure. It mattered little if he made or lost a fortune each time. Frohman was happy in London. He liked the soft, gray tones of the somber city. “It’s so restful,’ he always said. Even the “bobby” delighted him. He would watch the stolid policeman from the curb and say admiringly, ‘‘He is wonderful; he raises his hand, and all London stops.”” He was greatly interested in the traffic regulations. Although he had elaborate offices, his real London headquarters were in the Savoy Hotel. Here, in the same suite that he had year after year, and where he was known to all employees from manager to page, he literally sat enthroned, for his favorite fashion was to curl up on a settee with his feet doubled under him. More than one visitor who saw him thus ensconced called him a ‘‘ beaming Buddha.”’ From this informal eminence, he ruled his world. Arovnd him assembled the Knights of the Dramatic Round Table. Wherever Frohman sat became the unofficial capital of a large part of the English-speaking stage. In those Savoy Pauline Chase, Pink- rooms was made much significant theatrical history. To the rotund little American Pajama Girl, in“ The Liberty Belles” 73

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74 The Life of Charles Frohman > ay came Barrie, Pinero, Chambers, Jones, Sutro, Maugham, Morton, with their i plays; Alexander, Tree, Maude, Bourchier, with their projects. } Like Charles Lamb, Frohman loved to ramble about London. Often he would stop in the midst of his work, hail a taxi, and go for a drive in the parks. The Zoological Garden always fascinated him. He often stopped to watch the animals. The English country always lured him, and especially the long green hedges, which held a peculiar fascination. He walked considerably, and he \ took great delight in peering into shop windows. In London, as in New York, the theater was his life and inspiration. Almost without exception, he went to a performance of some kind every evening. At most of the London theaters, he was given the royal box whenever possible. He liked the atmosphere of the British playhouse. He always said it was more like a drawing-room than a place of amusement. To Charles Frohman, London meant J. M. Barrie, and to be with the man who wrote “Peter Pan” was one of his supreme delights. The devotion between these two men of such widely differing temperaments constitutes one of the really great friendships in modern art. It took character on both sides to weld such a communion of interest and kinship. No two people could have been more opposite. Frohman was quick, nervous, impulsive, bubbling with optimism; Barrie was the quiet, canny Scot, reserved, repressed, and elusive. Yet they had two great traits in common—shy- ness and humor. As Barrie says, “Because we were the two shyest men in the world, we got on so well and understood each other so > perfectly.” There was another bond between these two men in the fact that A each adored his mother. In Charles Frohman’s case, he was the : rte 14 pride and the joy of the maternal heart; with Barrie, the root and in- Sen et spiration of all his life and work was the revered Margaret Ogilvy. : ‘ te He is the only man in all the world who ever wrote a life of his mother. ah There was still another and more tangible community of interest between these two remarkable men. Each detested the silk hat. - Frohman had never worn one since the Haverly Minstrel days, when oe | he had to don the tile for the daily street-parade. Barrie has had only one silk hat in all his life. It is of the vintage of the early Seventies. The only occasion when he wears the much detested head-gear is at / the first rehearsal of the companies that do his plays. Then he ‘ ; attires himself in morning clothes, goes to the theater, nervously : holds the hat in his hand while he is introduced to the actors. Just as Charles Frohman used to hide his silk hat as soon as the minstrel- parade, was over and put on a cap, so does Barrie send the objectionable head-gear home as soon as these formalities are over, and welcomes his more comfortable bowler as an old friend. Curiously enough, Froh- man and Barrie did not drift together at once. When the little Scotchman made his first visit to America, in 1896, and “dis- covered” Maude Adams as the one person to act Lady Babbie, thus starting her on her road to fame and fortune, he met the man who was to be his great friend, but only in a casual, business way. Indeed, the negotiations for “ The Little Minister” were conducted through an agent. But when Frohman went abroad the following year, the friendship between the men started, and continued with increasing intimacy until Frohman’s death. The men be- came great pals. They would Pauline Chase, in ‘Our Miss Gibbs,’ and James wander about London, Barrie smoking M. Barrie, a devoted friend of Charles Frohman ° ° a short, black Ps, Frohman ee his stick. They walked for hours without saying a word to each other. Each had the great gift of silence. Barrie and his pipe were inseparable, as the world knows. # ‘ rr et ai

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4 Daniel Frohman and Isaac F. Marcosson 75 theatrical lore that Froh- statue of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens as his gift to Barrie’s flat one night. the children of London who so adored his play. It was mood, so the instruction done as a surprise, for the statue stood revealed one May- : day morning, having been set up during the night. down to Adelphi Terrace, When he planned this statue, Barrie mentioned it casually to his friend, and _ said nothing more about it. Frohman never visited the park There is a legend in London man wanted to drive to He was in his usual merry he gave was this: . “Drive to the Strand; go § and stop at the first smell of pipe-smoke.” Frohman never tired of asking All Saints’ Church, - Marlow to see it, but when the model was put " on exhibition at the Academy, he said to Barrie about ‘Peter Pan.” It was a curious commentary on the man’s tenacity of interest and purpose that, although he made over seven hundred productions in his ~ at, Lestocq, life, the play of the Boy “Where is that Who Would Never Grow ies Peter Pan model?” ; When. he was told, he said, ‘‘I want to see it, but do I have to look at anything else in the gallery?” On 7 being assured that he did not, he said, “All right.’” (Continued on page 174) Up tugged most at his heart. Nor did Barrie ever weary of telling him how the play began as a nursery - tale for children; how their insistent ¢ demand to “tell: ¢/ us more” made it { the“longeststory in the world;” how, when one pirate had a been killed, little Peter (the “ey original of the character, and now a soldier in the great war) ex- citedly said, “One man isn’t enough; let’s kill a lot of them!” No one will be surprised to know that in connection with ‘Peter Pan” was one of the most sweetly gracious acts of Frohman’s life. The original of Peter was sick in bed at his home when the play was produced in London. The little lad was heart-sick be- cause he could not see it. Barrie told Froh- man about it. “Tf the boy can’t come to the play, we will take the play to the boy,” the latter said. Frohman sent his company out to the boy’s house with as many “props” as could be jammed into the sick-room. While the delighted and excited child sat propped up in bed, the wonders of the fairy-play were unfolded before him. It is probably the only instance where a play was done before Pauline Chase. a child at his house. in “Pantaloon Barrie, at his own expense, erected a Haddon Chambers, at his cottage, Marlow

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The Career of Katherine Bush By Elinor Glyn Illustrated by André Castaigne ATHERINE BUSH had been a shorthand typist in the office of Livingstone & Devereux (“Liv & Dev”), money-lenders, but through her own efforts has become secretary to Lady Garribardine, one of the great ladies of London society. Katherine’s consuming ambition is to lift herself above the cultural plane of her brothers and sisters, whom she considers hopelessly vulgar, and for whom, except her eldest sister, Matilda, she has no affection. While at “Liv & Dev’s,” she had a brief love-affair with Lord Algernon (‘‘Algy”’) Fitz Rufus, younger son of a Welsh marquis, but she knows that his family would ne*er accept her as his wife, and consequently thrusts him completely out of her life. Lady Garribardine becomes very fond of Katherine, and offers her many opportunities to cultivate her mind and manners. The girl finds a staunch friend and adviser in Gerard Strobridge, Lady Garribardine’s nephew, who falls in love with her; but he is a married man, and Katherine gives him to understand that he can never be more than a friend, and he accepts the réle. Finally, she meets the Duke of Mordryn, an aristocrat of the most conservative type, middle-aged, a widower, and recently re- turned to England after a long absence. The duke does not then suspect that she is not of his own station in life, and is greatly attracted to her. When he learns the truth, which he does when he goes to Lady Garri- bardine’s estate, Blissington Court, for an Easter party, he is inclined at first to be angry, but soon begins to ask himself whether the barrier of the enormous difference in their position cannot be overcome. Lady Garribardine has included several marriageable women of his station in her party, but the duke finds them insufferable. He seeks opportunities to be with Katherine, and she handles the situation with great tact. She realizes that the position of this man’s wife would be one of the greatest to be achieved in the land. The duke is quite shocked when Lady Garribardine tells him that she has a plan to marry Katherine to Sir John Townly, an elderly and tiresome baronet. Mordryn announces that he will give a house-party at his own place, Valfreyne, at Whitsuntide, under Lady Garribardine’s chaperonage, and asks that Miss Bush come as an invited guest. On arriving at the magnifi- cent house, Katherine finds every provision made for her comfort even the favorite books which she has discussed with the duke are in her room. She finds a sentence deeply underscored in “‘ The Letters of Abé- lard and Héloise: “‘I wish to heaven you had not such a power over me.” This makes her unhappy, and she knows that if she attracts this duke fur- ther, the complications of the situation will increase. She is so absolutely honest that she cannot entertain the thought of being Mordryn’s duchess without his full knowledge of her past life. There would be no joy in the great position if she obtained it at the sacrifice of self-respect. On the other hand, the duke makes it clear that, although he loves her there exists an immense barrier created by difference in social position. ONDON seemed very noisy and tumultuous to Kath- erine when she and Lady Garribardine returned When the duke arrived by motor, tea His glance traveled to London, and the routine of her work came _ know if she would see the duke—hot and cold as she went almost as a relief. into a room. But he did not come, and she heard casually What would be the outcome of this visit to Valfreyne? She could not guess. That the duke loved her, she knew— but with what kind of love? With an almighty passion which, one day, would break all barriers and seek for fulfilment? Or with a restrained emotion which, when the temptation of her presence was removed, would settle down? But of what matter, really, whether he loved her with the one or the other, since both were equally forbidden and useless? And she? What were her feelings? She knew, in her heart, that if she were to permit herself to indulge in natural emotion, she could shower upon him a love that, in its white heat of devotion and fervor, would make that which she had formerly given to Lord Algy appear but a puny, school- girl thing. She must not give way to any such feelings, though; the pain was quite bitter enough as it was—and nothing but stern discipline of mind and an iron self-control could make it bearable at all. She felt restless during that week—on tenter-hooks to 76 that he was still at Valfreyne. And, on Saturday morning, they went down to Blissington until the Monday afternoon, as was their custom at each week-end. Lady Garribardine watched Katherine critically and knew that she was suffering, and so she was unusually kind and witty and sarcastic, and acted asa tonic. She had a shrewd way of looking at men and things which always delighted Katherine, and they seemed to grow closer friends than ever. “You are a great comfort to me, girl,” she said. “I can talk to you and air all my notions as I could to a man—and you do not answer upon another subject. For you know, my dear, that if the basis of your argument with nine women out of ten happens to be that the sea is salt, they will reply that, on the contrary, thesmoon is made of green cheese. You mildly protest that it is the taste of the sea, not the composition of the moon, which is in question, and then they say they totally disagree with you and that the sun is warm. You are done. There is nothing left for you but to smile and talk of clothes.” CoPYRIGET, 1916, BY INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPa re ore

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1 OES Ws Verge riel GPRS ain . a3 = oma a ng Ne NS malt ett OR = SO ee ee #2 eee rapidly over the group. Miss Bush was not present Katherine laughed delightedly. How well she knew this style of argument! Matilda had always practised it. “T believe I owe to my dear lady the faculty of seeing a little differently.” “Not at all! You always were as sharp as a needle. I may merely have encouraged you, perhaps.” “Tt is through your kindness and sympathy that I have emerged and broken away from the stultifying bonds of my class. Oh, if you only knew how deep is my gratitude!”’ She was very seldom moved like this, and Lady Garri- ‘ bardine looked at ker closely. “Tut, tut, child! You were made for great things, and it is because I realized this at once, almost, that I have sympathized with you. I could not have kept you back any more than I could have created qualities in you. I could merely have delayed your upward progress or, as I hope I have done, advanced it. The spirit in you is God-given, and I have nothing to do with it.” Katherine’s eyes softened with love and reverence—her dear, dear friend and benefactress! When she was alone, Lady Garribardine thought deeply over everything; their respect and affection were mutual. (COBMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE) COPYRIGHTED IN GREAT BRITAIN had just been brought out onto the terrace at the eastern side of the house. It troubled her a little to see the girl so quiet—Mordryn had played quite fairly, she hoped—but, yes, he could never do otherwise. She guessed what was the reason of the estrangement—if estrangement there was—on his side, and it caused her no permanent concern. ‘‘When a man feels as Mordryn feels, no class-prejudice in the world will keep him from the woman in the end. Only let him suffer enough and then give them an oppor- tunity to meet, and all will be well.”’ Thus she mused. And what a weight off her mind it would be to see them happily married! So that her con- science might be at rest, and she could feel that she had more than made up for her action of long ago. Yes; Katherine Bush was a peerless creature, and would be the brightest jewel in any crown. Nota trace of the jealousy or antago- nism which, once or twice, for the fraction of a second, had sprung up from natural hereditary instinct and class-preju- dice remained in Lady Garribardine’s heart. Her just and wise judgment had sifted and weighed all the pros and cons. No two human beings on earth were more suited to one another than her humble secretary from Bindon’s Green and this great nobleman. And she could launch Katherine 77

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78 The Career of Katherine Bush successfully, and make her accepted without question. And after the marriage, she could safely leave to the girl’s own superb tact and common sense the task of maintaining the position of duchess with illustrious distinction. So that the only barrier left to be overcome was Mordryn’s tiresome prejudice about class—that most annoyingly obstinate sense of duty and noblesse oblige—duty to his rank and to his race. But his mind was not narrow, and once he could have time freely to think out what real nobility meant, he would realize that highness of birth was not essential at all. Lady Garribardine knew the duke’s nature so well; she -was aware that if she spoke to him upon this subject and sought to influence him more than her speech at the picnic had already done, his desire being so forcibly upon her side, he would then still more determinedly make up his mind not to be convinced, from the fear that he was allowing inclina- tion to weaken his sense of duty. To leave fate to manage matters was the best plan, and to be ready to give a helping hand at the critical moment. Mordryn was certainly suffering deeply, or he would have returned to London instead of staying on at Valfreyne. Not by word or insinuation did she ever indicate to Katherine that she had remarked the duke’s interest in her, or the apparent cooling of it. Indeed, since that day at the Easter party when she had lightly spoken of his coming to the schoolroom, she had never mentioned him to her secre- tary in connection with her at all. So, on the surface, every- thing was calm and peaceful, and life flowed in its accus- tomed stream. Mordryn must be made to come to Berkeley Square again as of old, and he must not be allowed to see Katherine for some time. He must get into the way of dropping in as usual, without fear. And in the third week after Whitsuntide, the duke returned to town and did dine there, and Miss Bush was nowhere to be seen. He had spent very miserable days down in his beautiful home. He had not reached the stage of reason yet; he was merely fighting desire with all his might —while daily it grew stronger. How cold her hand had been when they had said a polite good-by on the Tuesday morning; he could feel it through the glove! How pale her face had looked, too! He hoped she was not suffering—that would be too cruel, and he could not feel guiltless if it were so. He had certainly played upon her feelings, although in the most subtle manner, which made his conduct the more cowardly and inexcusable. This thought brought extreme discomfort and plunged him into frantic work. He filled all his hours with the business of his estate in order to banish memory, but with no great success, so, at last, he came up to London, determined to crush out every weakness. But when he went to Berkeley Square to dine, he felt agitated, and he knew that he was fearing, and yet hoping, to see Katherine. But he caught no glimpse of her, nor was she even men- tioned—it was as though she had never been. He grew anxious. Had she left Seraphim’s service? This must be ascertained immediately before he left the house. ‘‘Miss Bush is not dining to-night, Seraphim,” he said, after dinner, when he had a moment with his hostess. ‘“‘T hope she is well.” “Yes; thanks.” And Lady Garribardine turned the conversation at once, so that he was left with this meager information. As he drove away to St. James’s, he found himself think- ing incessantly of the girl. She had understood! She was so fine! She had grasped the situation completely! Had she not herself explained to him the duty he owed to his race? But a woman who could take such an abstract view must surely have a very wonderful soul. Every one of her ideas had shown the highest sense of duty, the most profound grasp of what was meant by noblesse oblige. He remembered even her remark about his attending the House of Lords— how she had said it was cowardly of him to shirk his work there just because he so despised modern views. In what high esteem, too, she was held by Seraphim—a woman not to be imposed upon by any mere charm, and one who would bring the most critical judgment to bear upon every question before she would accord her friendship. And that Katherine had Lady Garribardine’s friendship in full, he knew. He went into his library, which looked out on the Green Park, and he opened the window wide and walked onto the terrace. In the distance, the roar of Piccadilly thundered by, but his immediate neighborhood was quiet, and he could think. He reviewed every minute incident from the beginning of his acquaintance with Katherine that night, not so very long ago, at the house of Gerard Strobridge. She had admitted that it was she herself who had desired this meeting after she had heard him speak. That proved that she had been drawn to him even then. And how attractive she had appeared, how cultivated and polished, how clever and refined! And to think that such achievement was the result of steadfastness of purpose, a will to compass an ideal against extraordinary odds, an intelligence great enough to realize that facts alone count, and that no assumption of the rights of ladyhood or demonstration in words would convince anyone, but only the inward reality of fineness of soul directing outward action. How much more meritorious and to be respected was her achievement, then, than if these things had been her natural heritage! She had obtained a state of perfection through deliberate intention in a far greater degree than anyone he knew except Seraphim. Her every idea, thought, expression, and point of view accorded exactly with his own. Her sense of duty was paramount. Her level-headedness and her common sense and _ her balance were such as he had never before seen in woman. And she was young and beautiful and in perfect health. No nervous fancies beset that evenly poised brain. Suddenly, as he stared up into the deep-blue, starlit sky, it seemed that the scales fell from his eyes, and fog was lifted from his inner vision of the soul. This beloved creature—daughter of an auctioneer and granddaughter of a butcher—was truly and really an aristocrat in the purest and truest sense of the term. And just because he could trace his pedigree back for countless generations, who was he to stand aside and not give her her due, when her spirit and character were so infinitely above him? (Thus, love engenders humility in noble hearts.) Where in the whole world could he find one so worthy to share his great name and great estate? He laughed aloud in glee. It would not be giving way to temptation for per- sonal joy to think of her as his duchess, but it would be conferring the greatest honor upon his house that it had ever known. He marveled at his blindness, marveled at his pitifully conventional point of view. How had it ever weighed with him a second? How had he not realized at once the utter paltriness of the designation of “aristocrat, ”’ unless the inner being carries out what that word is intended to convey? He thought of his wife, Laura, with her stupid, mean little brain, developing into madness. He thought of Gerard’s wife, Beatrice—of what use was she to any man? He thought of his own cousin, Dulsie Dashington, with her vulgar, barmaid’s instincts and her degradation of her great state, and he thought of all the crew of frivolous, soulless, mindless worldlings who had flung themselves at his head at Blissington, any one of whom society would call a well- bred lady suitable for him to marry and take to his home. And then he thought of Katherine’s simple dignity. She had not tried to entrap him. She had not been insulted at his holding back; she had understood. In her humility of greatness, she had understood what would be likely to be his view—or, rather, the view of his class. But now he saw the truth, and the truth was that she stood out a star among womenkind, and none other was worthy to tie the latchet of her shoe! . . ES

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WN BY aNDRE CasTalGNE \ The awful moment was over; the story was done. She had been true to herself and had lost her love. and ‘ ° a: now she must have courage to behave with dignity and go back to the house

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80 The Career of He would not hesitate another second. He would tele- phone in the morning to Seraphim and propose himself for Saturday; and then he should see her—this sweet Katherine —and talk to her and tell her the truth. And if she would so honor him, then she should be his own. The vision exalted him. He let his imagination, curbed and denied expression for so long, have full rein. She was not cold by nature; she would not have to simulate love, like Julia Scarrisbrooke. Hers, if she felt it at all, would be real. She had experienced that part of love before. He even thought of this without a pang, for that was past—and some- thing told him that she was not indifferent to him now. How enchanting to make her really love him! And then their life together there at Valfreyne! Yes; this was the true kind of strength which she had spoken of, the strength which breaks down all shams. And to think how near he had been to allowing the stupid, blind, hypocritical ideas of his world to part them forever! He must have been mad, since he had known her worth always, from the first day. Seraphim would help him, after all. Had she not told him not to go against his conscience but only against custom and tradition and any other man - made barrier? And now conscience was with him, and he would break every bar which divided him from his heart’s delight! Lady Garribardine’s surprise was great on receiving the tele- phone message in the morning: “Might his grace speak to her ladyship personally?” Katherine repeated the mes- sege of the servant. Certainly, his grace might. Katherine handed the re- ceiver and was preparing to leave the room, but Lady Garri- bardine made a sign for her to stay while she sat up in bed. “Ts that you, Mordryn? ... Oh—why, of course you may come down to-morrow! .. . Yes; London is hot.... It will only be a dull party— Gwendoline and the Colvins and old Tom Hawthorne. I was merely going for rest my- self... . You don’t mind; you would like that? ... Oh, very well; come either by motor or the three o’clock train.... All right—good-by.”’ Then she looked at Katherine, who met her eyes with a perfectly unmoved face. ‘The duke proposes himself to come to us to-morrow at Blissington. He is bored with London, and out of sorts.” But no joy appeared on the secretary’s countenance; in fact, she turned a shade paler as she asked if she should transmit any orders to the housekeeper about his room. ‘‘She feels things like the devil,” her ladyship thought. “But Mordryn has evidently come to his senses; so they will presently settle the matter all right.” Katherine was glad that her duties now took her out Katherine Bush shopping. She felt she must be in the open air and free to think. What did this mean? Why was he coming to Blissington so suddenly? Would it produce a climax in her fate ? And as Mordryn had done the night before, on his terrace overlooking the Green Park, so she, too, reviewed all their acquaintance and what it had grown to mean to her— something very bitter-sweet. Should she allow herself a fool’s paradise for just a day? Should she let him make love to her, if that was his intention With a stifled cry, in coming to Blissington? But no; she must be firm with herself, and act always as she thought right. But her mind was in a turmoil, and she felt tired and excited. The picture held out nothing but pain. If he came and made love to her, she would have to cut his protestations short. And if he ignored her, that would hurt still more. She devoutly wished she might run away. At luncheon the next day, after their arrival at Blissing- ton, her ladyship said rather irrelevantly: “You look thoroughly tired out, girl. I advise you to ose pe opie a ‘i: ids es lle Be Ze ee ee —

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er ere — Elinor Glyn 81 take a rug and a book and go out under the chestnut trees in the beautiful air and have a nap—and don’t come in for tea if you do not want to. There are so few of us I can man- age by myself.” And Katherine, glad to escape, did as she was bid. XXXII WHEN the duke arrived by motor, tea had just been brought out onto the terrace at the eastern side of the ge ed Bie ee os ties wg ee AMON EEL Ey IIB Gi es she burst into tears house. His glance traveled rapidly over the group. Miss Bush was not present. His impatience had been growing and growing ever since the Thursday night when his resolution had been taken, and now he almost felt like a boy in his great dis- appointment at noting Katherine’s absence. How was he going to talk to the Colvins and Tom Hawthorne and old Gwendoline? However, he did manage to be almost his usual self, though Lady Garribardine was quite aware that his nerves were strung to a high tension. She got through tea as quickly as possible, and then walked him off to see a new set of herbaceous borders. The very second that they were alone, Mordryn began to talk openly to her. He had determined to have no further cross-purposes of any kind. “Do you guess, Seraphim, what has brought me here to-day?” he asked. “T have some shrewd idea—you have decided to appreciate reality and discard appearance, as my Katherine Bush would say.” “That is it. Have I your sympathy, dear friend?” “My warmest. sympathy, Mordryn; your happiness means a very great deal to me. I have had some horrible moments in those past years —of remorse for my part in your sorrows—but if you secure this girl, I can feel that you will be amply compensated.”’ “IT am deeply in _ love, Seraphim, and you, I know, will not laugh at me or think it absurd.” She gave him a frank smile full of affection. ‘Indeed, no—and, what is more important, the girl will not laugh either. She is full of feeling, Mordryn — have you ever watched her little nostrils quiver? She is not of the type of poor Lio Delemar or Julia Scarrisbrooke. But she is too entirely self-controlled to let even me see what her real feelings are, though I shrewdly suspect she is in love with you — you, the man, Mordryn, and not, strange to say, the dukedom at all.” His grace thrilled with delight. “Tf it had been the duke- dom, she could have tantalized me into committing any mad- ness weeks ago; but she has done nothing of the sort. She has simply understood—that is the wonderful part.” “She is an amazing creature, a wonderful character, old friend — perfectly honest and intensely proud. Not with the pride which sticks its chin in the air, but that which carries the head high; there is all the difference in the world between the two. Upstarts nearly al- ways have their chins in the air, but are unacquainted with the other attitude. She will make the most perfect duchess your house has ever known—and think of your children!” The duke drew in his breath sharply; a new joy permeated him at her words. “Just think of your children? Why, my dream of the six sturdy boys may yet come true!”’ “Seraphim—teally!”’ Her ladyship chuckled happily. ‘‘Now we must use common sense; there must not be a flaw in the whole affair. If she agrees to marry you, I will begin to arrange the situation at once. I will bring her out more and present her to people—and we will not announce the engagement for a few weeks. No one will dere to

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And thus, in the evening glory of sunset. they found content question who she is or where she came from if I choose to do that. People may think what they like. She is so absolutely honest, she would tell anyone the truth herself without a care; but I think I shall advise her to be silent and let people make up what they please. No one can dispute her perfect refinement or suitability to take any position in the world.” “Seraphim, you are an angel!” “No, Iam not; I am merely a capable craftsman. I like to do everything I undertake well. Your duchess shall start unhandicapped.”’ “How deep is my gratitude, dear friend!” “Tut, tut!” But her dark eyes beamed mistily. “‘When T see you safely off—with the knot tied, on your way to Valfreyne for the honeymoon, I shall feel content.”’ “Where is she?” “T told her to go and rest under the chestnuts this after- noon. She looked as pale as a ghost.” “‘May I find her there, then, now?” “Yes. Be off—and bless you!” They wrung hands, and the duke strode away, looking, as her ladyship admitted with a fond half-sigh, still the hero of any woman’s dream. His years sat so lightly upon him. . But he searched under the chestnuts and beyond, and Katherine was nowhere to be seen. A rug was folded be- neath one great trunk—she had evidently been there, and had now wandered on and perhaps was not far off. He continued his search for some time without success, and when he reached the edge of the near woods, with their beautiful paths, some of which ran down to a bit of orna- poe wees just big enough to be called a lake, he stopped, puzzled. as to which one to follow. His heart was beating as it had not beat for years. He decided to go straight to the water’s edge to a Chinese tea- house which was there. When he came at length in sight of this, he perceived the flutter of a gray-linen skirt disappearing round the corner of it—on the veranda, which over- hung the water, great white water- lilies growing in masses just beneath, while two stately swans swam about in the distance. The sun was sinking; it was past six o’clock, and the lights were very lovely and all was serene and still. His footfalls did not sound on the soft turf, and Katherine did not know of his approach until he actually stood before her on the broad veranda - step. She was leaning against the balustrade, gazing out over the lake, and she turned and caught sight of him. He came forward with outstretched hands, his face aglow. “‘So I have found you at last!” he cried gladly. ‘What made you hide away here all alone?” Katherine controlled herself sternly. She shook hands calmly, saying it was cool by the water and a pleasant place to be. “Solitude is good sometimes.” She had felt too restless to stay beneath the trees—even her will could not keep her disturbed thoughts from specula- tion as to what the day might bring. And now the duke was here beside her, and the situation must be faced! He came close and leaned upon the quaint wooden rails, trying to look down into her averted face, while he whis- pered, “T had rather enjoy a solitude a deux.”’ He saw that she was pale and that her manner was restrained. Did she possibly misunderstand the purpose of his coming? “Look”’—and she pointed over to the swans—‘they, perhaps, agree with you! They swim lazily about together, dignified and composed, far from turmoil and agitating currents. One envies the birds and beasts and fishes— sometimes.’’ And she sighed. “You must not sigh—look at me, Katherine! I want to see your eyes.”’ But she disobeyed him, and turned the broad lids down. He leaned closer still, and this caused a wave of emotion to sweep over her, so that the duke saw those little nostrils quiver, which his friend Seraphim had spoken to him about, and the sight gave him great joy. “Look at me, Katherine!”” And now his voice was full of command. (Continued on page 114) ee ee oe A na ART tee ee EE sat LS TET rnin at" SilereesecesimussiiaTtiasath. ©

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oe eS ert . . — or ee a A ta oe Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 83 sae ES ee ean ene yah ni Ready on the minute— and piping hot! Delicious, warming, nourishing soup. What a comfort to have it steaming fragrantly before you just when you want it most, and without a moment’s delay. Of course we shouldn’t eat in a hurry. But in the hustling, bustling days of ‘‘just before Christmas,” we often have to break this excellent rule —one more good reason why your pantry shelf should never be without a supply of Campbell’s Tomato Soup Easy to prepare, easy to eat, easy to digest, this is one of the few food- products which you can eat in a hurry with satisfactory results. iii is ie You take only three minutes to prepare it as a rich Cream of Tomato — simply by adding hot milk instead of water. The directions on the label make this perfectly easy. And it isso wholesome and nourishing that in itself this provides the best part of a satisfying light meal. Or serve it with boiled rice in it or noodles, or with plain bread and butter, and even if you do not eat another thing you have enjoyed a palatable and sus- taining repast. ON In fact, when hurried or nervous or crowded with extra responsibilities, you are actually better off to eat only a light meal like this which is readily appropriated by the system and quickly converted into energy and strength. __ Make use of Campbell’s Tomato Soup often in this sen- sible way, and notice the improvement in your feelings and your health. 21 kinds Cea . vt ed ses S19) FOR THz RED-AND-Wrire LAs 10c a can

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caution, ‘‘A heap more than was good for her, seein’ that I had no inclination her way. “Well, as I was sayin’, she had another visitor. He was a lean, tall, white-headed old Indian, with a beak on him like an eagle. He walked right in without knock- ing. Vahna gave a little cry that was half like a yelp and half like a gasp, and flumped down on her knees before me. Then, for a minute that seemed as long as a lifetime, she and the old fellow glared at each other. Paloma was the first to talk, in his own lingo, for he talked back to her. But, great Moses, if he wasn’t the high and mighty one! Paloma’s old knees were shakin’, and she cringed to him like a hound-dog. And a all this in my own house! I’d have thrown him out on his neck, only he was so old. “Tf the things he said to Vahna was as terrible as the way he looked! Say, he just spit words at her! But Paloma kept whimperin’ and buttin’ in, till something she said got across. because his face re- laxed. He condescended to give me the once-over and fired some questions at Vahna. She hung her head, and looked foolish and blushed, and then replied with a single word and a shake of the head. And, with that, he just naturally turned on his heel and beat it. I guess she’d said, ‘No.’ “For some time after that, Vahna used to fluster up whenever she saw me. Then she took to the kitchen for a spell. But, after a long time, she began hangin’ around the big room again. She was still mighty shy, but she’d keep on followin’ me about with «& those big eyes of hers——” “The hussy!” I heard plainly. But Julian Jones and I were pretty well used to it by this time. “TI don’t mind sayin’ that I was gettin’ some interested myself—oh, not in the way Sarah never lets up lettin’ me know she thinks. That two-pound nugget was what had me going. If Vahna’d put me wise to where it came from, I could say good-by to 1ailroadin’ and hit the high places for Nebraska and Sarah. “And then the beans was spilled—by accident. Come a letter from Wisconsin. My aunt Eliza’d died and up and left me her big farm. I let out a whoop when I read it; but I could have canned my joy, for I was jobbed out of it by the courts and lawyers afterward—not a cent to me, and I’m still paying ’em in instalments. .“But I didn’t know then; and I pre- pared to pull back to God’s country. Paloma got sore, and Vahna got the weeps. ‘Don’t go! Don’t go!’—that was her song. But I gave notice on my job, and wrote a letter to Sarah here—didn’t I, Sarah? “That night, sittin’ by the fire like at a funeral, Vahna really loosened up for the first time. ‘Don’t go,’ she says to me; ‘I'll show you where my brother got the nugget if you don’t go.’ ‘Too late,’ said I. And I told her why.” iM The Hussy (Conti :ued from page 23) “And told her about me waiting for you back in Nebraska,” Mrs. Jones ob- served, in cold, passionless tones. ‘*Now, Sarah; why should I hurt a poor Indian girl’s feelings? Of course I didn’t. Well, Vahna says, ‘If you stay, I'll show you the biggest nugget that is the father of all other nuggets.’ ‘How big?’ I asks. ‘As big as me?’ She laughed. ‘Bigger than you,’ she says, ‘much, much bigger.’ ‘They don’t grow that way,’ I said. But she said she’d seen it, and Paloma backed her up. She’d never seen it herself, but she’d heard about it—secret of the tribe which she couldn’t oA a ena ee Jerry A Brave and Loyal Hero-Dog Gripping Fiction-Brother of Buck and White Fang, Batard and Brown_Wolf, Spot and Possum Portrayed, body and soul of him, as only Jack London, of all the’ world’s writers, can characterize a Dog will be introduced to readers of January Cosmopolitan in a brisk, exciting narrative Jerry By Jack London HAG AR A share, being only half Indian herself.” Julian Jones paused and heaved a sigh. “‘ And they kept on insisting until I fell for——” “The hussy,” said Mrs. Jones, pert as a bird, at the ready instant. “No; for the nugget. What of aunt Eliza’s farm, I was rich enough to quit railroadin’, but not rich enough to turn my back on big money—and I just couldn’t help believing them two women. So I started in to pump Vahna. But she wouldn’t give down. ‘You come along with me,’ she says. ‘We can be back here in a couple of weeks with all the gold the both of us can carry.’ ‘We'll take a burro, or a pack-train of burros,’ was my suggestion. But nothin’ doing—and Pal- oma agreed with her. It was too dangerous. The Indians would catch us. “The two of us pulled out when the nights were moonlight. We _ traveled only at night, and laid up in the days. Vahna wouldn’t let me light a fire, and I missed my coffee something fierce. We got up in the real high mountains of the main Andes, where the snow on one pass gave us some trouble; but the girl knew the trails, and, though we didn’t waste any time, we were a full week gettin’ there. I know the general trend of our Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 travel, because I carried a pocket-compass; and the general trend is al I need to get there again, because of that peak. . There’s no mistakin’ it. There ain’t another peak like it in the world. I can take you straight to it. “Tt’s no easy thing to climb, and the person doesn’t live that can climb it at night. We had to take the daylight to it, and didn’t reach’ the top till after sunset. The top was flat as a billiard-table, about a quarter of an acre in size, and wasalmost clean of snow. Vahna told me that the great winds that usually blew kept the snow off of it. “We were winded, and I got mountain-sickness so bad that I had to stretch out for a spell. Then, when the moon come up; I took a prowl around. It didn’t take long, and I didn’t catch a sight or a smell of anything that looked like gold. And when I asked Vahna, she only laughed and clapped her hands. Meantime, my mountain-sickness tuned up something fierce, and I sat down on a big rock to wait for it to ease down. “Come on, now,’ I said, when I felt Detter; ‘stop your foolin’ and tell me where that nugget is.’ ‘It’s nearet to you right now than I'll ever get,’ she answered, her big eyes going sudden wistful. ‘All you gringos are alike. Gold is the love of your heart, and women don’t count much.’ “T didn’t say anything. That was no time to tell her about Sarah here. But Vahna seemed to shake off her de- pressed feelings, and began to laugh and tease again. ‘How do you like it?’ she asked. ‘Like what?’ ‘The nugget you’re sittin’ on.’ “T jumped up as though it was a red- hot stove. And all it was was a rock. I felt my heart sink. She gave me the hatchet and told me to. take a hack at the boulder, which I did, again and again, for yellow spots sprang up from under every blow. By the great Moses, it was gold—the whole blamed boulder!” Jones rose suddenly to his full height and flung out his long arms, his face turned to the southern skies. “Gold, I tell you—solid gold—and that pure and soft that I chopped chips out of it! It had been coated with some sort of rain-proof paint or lacquer made out of asphalt or something. No wonder I’d taken it for a rock. It was ten feet long, all of five feet through, and taperin’ to both ends like an egg. Here—take a look at this.” From his pocket he drew and opened a leather case, from which he took an object wrapped in oiled tissue-paper. Unwrap- ping it, he dropped into my hand a chip of pure soft gold the size of a ten-dollar gold-piece. I could make out the grayish substance on one side with which it had been painted. a ARR A MLA m4

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 “T chopped that from one end of the | thing,’’ Jones went on, replacing the chip in its paper and leather case, ‘“‘and lucky I put it in my pocket. For right at my back came one loud word—more like a | croak than a word, in my way of thinkin’. | And there was that lean old fellow with ! the eagle beak that had dropped in on | about | thirty Indians with him—all slim young | us one night. And there was fellows. “Vahna’d flopped down and begun whimperin’, but I told her, ‘Get up and make friends with them for me.’ no,’ she cried; ‘this is death! amigo!’ ” Here Mrs. Jones winced, and her hus- | band abruptly checked the particular flow of his narrative. “*Then get up and fight along with me,’ I said to her. And she did. She was some hellion, there on the top of the world, clawing and scratching, tooth and nail— a regular she cat. And I wasn’t idle, though all I had was that hatchet and my long arms. But they were too many for me, and there was no place for me to put my back against a wall. When I come to, minutes after, they’d cracked me on the head. Here—feel this.” Removing his hat, Julian Jones guided my finger-tips through his thatch of sandy hair until they sank into an indentation. It was fully three inches long, -and went into the bone of the skull. “When I come to, there was Vahna, spread-eagled on top the nugget, and the old fellow with a beak jabberin’ away solemnly as if goin’ through some sort of religious exercises. In his hand he had a stone knife—you know, a thin, sharp sliver of some obsidian-like stuff, same as they make arrow-heads out of. I couldn’t lift a hand, being held down, and being too weak, besides. And—well, anyway, that stone knife did for her, and me they didn’t even do the honor of killin’ there | on top their sacred peak. They chucked | me off of it like so much carrion. ‘“* And the buzzards didn’t get me either. I can see the moonlight yet, shinin’ on all those peaks of snow, as I went down. Why, sir, it was a five-hundred-foot fall, only I didn’t make it. I went into a big snow-drift in a crevice. And when I come to (hours after, I know, for it was full day when I next saw the sun), I found myself in a regular snow cave, or tunnel caused by the water from the melting snow runnin’ along the ledge. In fact, the stone above actually overhung just beyond where I first landed. A few feet more to the side, either way, and I’d almost be going yet. It was a straight miracle “But I paid for it. It was two years and over before I knew what happened. All I knew was that I was Julian Jones and that I’d been blacklisted in the big strike, and that I was married to Sarah here. I mean that. I didn’t know any- thing in between, and when Sarah tried to talk about it, I got pains in the head. ‘“‘And then, sittin’ on the porch of her father’s farmhouse back in Nebraska, one moonlight evening, Sarah came out and put that gold chip into my hand. Seems she’d just found in it the torn lining of the trunk I’d brought back from Ecuador— I, who, for two years, didn’t even know I’d been to Ecuador or Australia or any- thing! Well, I just sat there lookin’ at the chip in the moonlight, and turnin’ it over ‘No, | Good-by, | Doing “the Impossible” The Gordian knot is the ages- old symbol of the seemingly impossible. Alexander the Great gave it a place in legendary his- tory when, unable to untie it, he cut it in twain with his sword. This famous incident of an- tiquity has its modern counter- part in the real work of the men | whose vision and unrestricted | initiative brought forth the great Bell System. In. the development of the telephone, one Gordian knot after another has been met with. Yet each new obstacle yielded to the enterprise of the telephone pioneers. Every difficulty was handled with a will and a cour- age which knew not failure. Man’s words have been given wings and carried wherever his will directs. Electrical handi- caps have been overcome one by one. The feeble current of tele- phone speech has had a way hewn for its passage through all physical impediments, until the entire country, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, is within hearing of a child’s faint cry. This record of the Bell System for past achievements is an earnest of future accom- plishment. New problems are being met with the same in- domitable spirit, which guaran- tees a more comprehensive as well as a more perfect service. AMERICAN TELEPHONE AND TELEGRAPH COMPANY AND ASSOCIATED COMPANIES -One Policy and over and figurin’ what it was and where it’d come from, when, all of a sud- den; there was a snap inside my head, as if something had broken, and then I could see Vahna spread-eagled on that big nugget and the old fellow with the beak waving the stone knife, and—and everything. That is, everything that had happened from the time I first left Ne- braska to when I crawled to the daylight out of the snow after they had chucked me off the mountain-top. But every- thing that’d happened after that I’d clean forgotten. When Sarah said I was her husband, I wouldn’t listen to her. Took all her far-ily and the preacher that’d married us vince me. One System Universal Service “Later on, I wrote to Seth Manners. The railroad hadn’t killed him yet, and he pieced out a lot for me. I'll show you his letters; I’ve got them at the hotel. One day, he said, making his regular run, I crawled out onto the track. I didn’t stand upright; I just crawled. He took me for a calf or a big dog at first. I wasn’t anything human, he said, and I didn’t know him or anything. As near as I can make out, it was ten days after the mountain-top to the time Seth picked me up. What I ate, I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t eat. Then it was doctors at Quito, and Paloma nursing me (she must have packed that gold chip in my trunk), until they found out I was a man without

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 The Statesman’s Choice—“PIPER’ : Nothing helps mental concentration and clear judgment like a companionable chew of “PIPER.’’ Men whose occupations de- mand careful deliberation and reflection naturally acquire the helpful habit of using plug tobacco—and experience leads them to the highest type of chewing tobacco made— PIPER Heidsieck CHEWING TOBACCO The famous flavor of “PIPER,” blended through the ripeness and mellowness of the finest tobacco leaf grown, affords the most appetizing, relishful, enjoyable chew in the world. The carefully selected, thoroughly matured white Burley leaf in ““PIPER”’ retains this pleasing taste, and insures lasting satisfaction. There is no other tobacco like “PIPER’’—as a trial will quickly demonstrate. 5c and 10c cuts, foil-wrapped, in slide boxes. Also 10c cuts, foil-wrapped, in metal boxes. Sold everywhere. THE AMERICAN TOBACCO COMPANY — ea nme een a mnaneeee ons lh pe AG epee ae en gaara nn ee ae ene Ea eee a Ai 7 =

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 a mind, and the railroad sent me back to Nebraska. At any rate, that’s what Seth writes me. Of myself, I don’t know. But Sarah here knows. She corresponded with the railroad before they shipped me and all that.” Mrs. Jones nodded affirmation of his words, sighed, and evidenced .unmistak- able signs of eagerness to go. “T ain’t been able to work since,” her husband continued. “And I ain’t been able to figure out how to get back after that big nugget. Sarah’s got money of her own, and she won’t let go a penny’ ‘‘He won’t get down to that country no more!” she broke forth. “But, Sarah, Vahna’s dead—you know that,” Julian Jones protested. “T don’t know anything about any- thing,” she answered decisively, ‘‘except that that country is no place for a married man.” Her lips snapped together, and she fixed an unseeing stare across to where the afternoon sun was beginning to glow into sunset. I gazed for a moment at her face, white, plump, tiny, and implacable, and gave her up. “How do you account for such a mass of gold being there?” I queried of Julian Jones. “A solid-gold meteor that fell out of the sky?”’ “Not for a moment! It was carried there by the Indians.” “Up a mountain like that—and such enormous weight and size!” I objected. “Just as easy,” he smiled. “I used to be stumped by that proposition myself after I got my memory back. ‘Now, how in Sam Hill——’ I used to begin, and then spend hours figurin’ at it. And then, when I got the answer, I felt downright idiotic, it was that easy.” He paused, then announced, “‘They didn’t.” “But you just said they did.” “They did and they didn’t,” was his enigmatic reply. ‘“‘Of course, they never carried that monster nugget up there. What they did was to carry up itscontents.” He waited until he saw enlightenment dawn on my face. ‘And then, of course, melted all the gold, or welded it, or smelted it, all into one piece. You know the first Spaniards down there, under a leader named Pizarro, were a gang of robbers and cutthroats. They went through the country like the hoof-and-mouth disease and killed the Indians off like cattle. You see, the Indians had lots of gold. Well, what the Spaniards didn’t get, the surviving Indians hid away in that one big chunk on top the mountain, and it’s been waitin’ there ever since for me—and for you, if you want to go in on it.” And here, by the Lagoon of the Palace of Fine Arts, ended my acquaintance with Julian Jones. On my agreeing to finance the adventure, he promised to call on me at my hotel next morning with the letters of Seth Manners and the railroad, and conclude arrangements. But he did not call. That evening I telephoned his hotel and was informed by the clerk that Mr. Julian Jones and wife had departed in the early afternoon with their baggage. Can Mrs. Jones have rushed him back and hidden him away in Nebraska? I remember that, as we said good-by, there was that in her smile that recalled the vulpine complacency of Mona Lisa, The Wise. | | | | WOODSTOCK TYPEWRITER CO. Dept. D614, Chicago, =| 99 VA A Gift to Last a Lifetime You can make one gift this coming Christmas that will be remembered gratefully many Christmases hence. The passing of the years will not affect its enduring usefulness. Time and again its recipient will turn to it and its presence will serve as a continuing reminder of the good taste of the giver. This gift is THE NEW INTERNATIONAL ENCYCLOPAEDIA SECOND EDITION Every American will be proud to own this latest achievement of American scholarship. In these twenty-four volumes is more than the mere recital of many facts—there is opportunity and a new breadth of vision. For the business or professional man—The New International offers a broadened outlook on life— an all-around education that leads on to success. 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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 “AV BROTHERS’ S.B. COUGH DROPS Absolutely Pure. Just enough charcoal to sweeten the stomach

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‘Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 ‘The Dark: Star (C ontinued from page 48) should have died, I think, without her, what - f with my seasickness and homesickness, and 1 — : , é brooding over my terrible fall. | ia Xs : : me Well, I have passed through the most awful part of my life, I think. I feel strange and different; as though I had been very sick and had died, and as “though it were another girl sitting here’ writing to you, and not the girl | h f 2 4 who was in your studio last August. : NA é : a All dreams are ended for me; all that re- | & Ne Se a ast an OTE ' Ry fd apt mains in life for me is to work very hard, so | Maw ; , i : . 4uh that I may learn to support myself and: my arents. I should like to make a great deal | i of money so that, when I die, I can leave it to | Youre Always charity. I desire to be remembered for my “ "| good works. But, of course, I shall first have Next! to learn how to take care of myself and mother | —_ and father before I can aid the poor. ’ Paris is very large and a sort of silvery gray color, full of trees with yellowing leaves—but za Years oh, it is so lonely, Mr. Neeland! I am de- | EPETIENCe s s,s * perfected the termined not to cry every day, but it is quite | GEM. Madeit iffic | , simple—yet effi- difficult not to. a a GEM JAMA ENE BLADES This seems such an ungrateful letter to | yet light. Con- write you, who were so good and kind tome in | & aon ¥ee By my dreadful hour of trial and disgrace. Iam | Handsome- { yet low priced, afraid you won’t understand how full of grati- aareuior am XK a ; wift, soft, Saas ide Tam to you and to the Princes Site | BBY Cg) o-3" WIM seals, rendy— for, amis smooth shan tchenka. She insisted that I go home with AY —at any time — a ~ — eo ome her, and I had to, because I didn’t know where { far-off day — when a GEM wears out — we'll then else’ to go, and she wouldn’t tell me. In fact, | The Only ' f know how long they mi ae Lo eas 7 out aoe ‘ . ; act, ee . s agg pat ages e 5 es — Ss as go s ours. sec S—on a BIL- I can’t go anyw here or find any place, because Blade eae a ae i a ard saya Yori-out GEM I speak no French at all... Bi The ee : : ve But I have begun to learn. A cheerful > AM. GEM CUTLERY CO., Inc., New York , P — ; KEENE Blade “anadian Branch: 591 S:. Catherine St. W.. M | old lady comes for an hour every day to teach fits most safe- Canadian Branch: 591 S:. Catherine St. W., Montrea me. Only, it is very hard for me, because she Sh nea speaks no English, and I am forbidden to gives DOUBLE utter one word of my own language. are ; LEADING I am to study drawing and painting at a 7 for 35c DEALERS studio for women. The kind princess has arranged it. I am also to study piano and voice-culture. This, I did not suppose would be possible’ with the money I have, but the Life- ; Outfit includes Princess Mistchenka, who has asked me to Service aaa” Seemann let her take charge of my money and my ex- for a endle with + penses, says that I can easily afford it. But Dollar- ek ae chee I am.a little frightened at the dresses she is Bill handsome Case. having made for me. They can’t be inexpen- sive—such lovely clothes and shoes and hat8. Well; I must close, because déjeuner is ready—you see I know one French word. And one other—‘ Bonjour, monsieur’—which counts 00 two, doesn’t it—or three in all? Meme 50ct: Gennine $ 1¢°¢¢ full Gifts. — ro 00 for the bill. nto Xpeg Git purse, Both made Jot genuine leather. onbiltod, ead and Re I hope you will not think it a presumption. ; “cas: ase of genuine blac bisck © Srehae ont At tte ice. And now I will say thank you for your great kindness to me in your studio on that most frightful night of my life. It is one of those things that a girl can never, never forget— as g > f, > > Ti 7 a It has made me feel better to write to you. Pe fiaded | on ailof these. Extra lines 20c e Kk uted of genuine men ret men: n fog 0c tag (35 Poa ). Name la Gold " each. Fraternal emblems 25c. | your aid in my hour of need. Through all my Packed in fine gif, boxes. Send money order of postage. Eleventh shame and distress, it was your help that | u.5. LEATHER GOODS CO, St oot a enswood, CHICAGO susfained me; for I was so stunned by my disgrace that I even forgot God himself. But I will prove that I am thankful to him, and worthy of your goodness to me; I will , ; profit by this dreadful humiliation and devote ee eG my life\to a more worthy and lofty purpose , than merely getting married just because a PW -auLTLESs NIGHTWEAR means origin- man asked me so persistently and I was too ality in style, material, and manufacture at a young and ignorant to continue saying, “No.” price that gives maximum valuetothewearer. — winners Also, I did want to study art. How stupid, E. ROSENFELD & CO., Baltimore and New York inna Flexible Flyer With every wie and prayer for your hap- The sled with the famous non-skid runners piness and success in this world of sorrow, believe me, your grateful friend, RUE CAREW. The always welcome gift for youth of all ages. A real ‘‘snow-mobile’’ which means healthful fun and companionship. New construction includes grooved runners of chrome nickel steel which prevent skidding, and increases speed and control. Every naive and labored line of the stilted letter touched and amused and also flattered Neeland; for no young man is entirely insensible to a young girl’s grati- tude. He meant to write her some kind, en- couraging advice; he had every intention of answering her letter. But, in New York, young men are very busy they are. 1ll-steel front adds durability, flexibility and accuracy of steering. No more drag- ging of wet feet and wearing out shoes. Prevents colds and saves doctor’s bills. So strong and scientifically made it OUTLASTS 3 ORDINARY SLEDS. Flexible Flyers are sold by hardware and department stores, nine sizes, 3 to 84 ft. It isn'ta Flexibl nae it cep Aad J R carries two children, 4 ft., 10} lbs., price $3. 50. unior acer } Express paid _East of the “Missouri River. Trademark Seeaepeeeeneeregeaes S. L. Allen & Co., Box 1101 K, Philadelphia & x = = Attractive booklet and cardboard model showing = = Free Offer tow Flexible Flyers steer. Send Postal.

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102 FAMOUS PARKER The makers of Pit, Halma and other successes offer THE GREAT NEW GAME POLLYANNA “The Glad Game” The popular new board game now played every- | where! Absorb- iigly fascinating. Splendid new fea- tures. Easily § learned in a few minutes. POLLY- ANNA is a per- f fect game for Two, Three orFour play- j ers. Partnership Games are great 7 Fun! It holds the interest of young ff and old from start to finish. Price 85 cents at all DEALERS’ or by mail from us. ROOK The Game of Games The best loved house- hold game in America. The largest selling home game in the world. Enjoyed by every member of the family! For evening hours, parties,socia!s. ROOK is for Two, Three, Four, Five or Six players. Price 50 cents at your Dealer's or by mail from us. PING-PONG is being played again. There is no better game, and thousands of dining- room tables are again ‘‘working over-time.” All genuine Ping-Pong bears the name of PARKER BROTHERS. There is no other. Excellent sets from $3 upwards, and cheaper sets as well. Send for descriptive list. Be sure Christmas finds these Games in your home. PARKER BROTHERS" SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS All Season Top For 1915-1916-1917 Ford Cars Warm and snug in winter. Cool and comfortable in Fits flush to body of car—no overhang. Positively no rattle or squeak. Finished of same material as used in upholstering car. and panels easily removed if desired and set of cur- tains used in their place. Get full details from your dealer, or write us for illustrated catalog. summer. So he neglected to reply—waited a little too long. Because, while her childish letter stiil remained unanswered, came a {note from tk2 Princess Mistchenka, en- closing a tremulous line from Rue. MON CHER JAMES: Doubtless you have already heard of the sad death of Ruhannah’s parents—within a few hours of each other—both stricken with | pneumonia within the same week. The local | care. | wildly of going back at once. | purpose now, mon ami? minister cabled hcr as Mrs. Brandes in my Then he wrote to the child; the letter has just arrived. My poor little protégée is prostrated—talks But to what Her loved ones shall | have been in their graves for days before | papers to Ruhannah here. | attorney. Glass doors | Ruhannah could arrive. No; I shall keep her here. She is young; she shall be kept busy every instant of the day. That is the oniy antidote for grief— Youth and Time, its only cure. Please write to the Baptist ministcr at Gayfield, James, and find out what is to be done, and have it done. Judge Cary, at Orangeville, had charge of the Reverend Mr. Carew’s affairs. Let him send the necessary I enclose a paper which she has executed, conferring power of If a guardian is to be appointed, T shall take steps to qualify through the good offices of Lajeune Brothers, the international lawyers, whom I have put into communication with Judge Cary through the New York rep- resentatives of the firm. There are bound to be complications, I fear, in regard to this mock marriage of hers. I have consulted my attorneys here, and they are not very certain that the ceremony was not genuine enough to require further legal steps to free her entirely. A suit for annulment is possible. Please have the house at Brookhollow locked up and keep the keys in your possession for the present. Judge Cary will have the keys sent to you. James, dear, I am very deeply indebted to you for giving to me my little friend. Ruhannah Carew. Now, I wish to make her entirely mine by law until the inevitable day arrives when some man will take her from me. Write to her, James; don’t be selfish. Yours alwa Naia. The line enclosed from Ruhannah | touched him deeply. I cannot speak of it yet. Please, when you go to Brookhollow, have flowers planted. You know where our plot is. Have it made pretty for them. RUE. He wrote at once exactly the sort of letter that an impulsive, warm-hearted young man might take time to write to a bereaved friend. He-was genuinely grieved and sorry for her, but he was glad when his letter was finished and posted and he could turn his thoughts into other and gayer channels. To this letter, she replied, thanking him for what he had written and for what he had done to make the plot in the local cemetery “pretty.” She asked him to keep the keys of the house in Brookhollow. Then followed a simple report of her quiet and studious daily life in the home of the Princess Mistchenka, of her progress in her studies, of her hopes that she might become suffi- ciently educated to take care of herself. It was a slightly dull, labored, almost emotionless letter. Always willing to shirk correspondence, he persuaded him- WADSWORTH MANUFACTURING CO., 1262 Jefferson Ave., Detroit, Mich, | Self that the letter called for no immediate Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 answer. After all, it was not to be ex- pected that a very young girl whom a man had met only twice in his life could hold his interest very long when absent. However, he meant to write her again; thought of doing so several times during the next twelve months. It was a year before another letter came from her. And, reading it, he was a little surprised to discover how rapidly imma- turity can mature under the shock of cir- cumstances and exotic conditions which tend toward forced growth. MON CHER AMI: I was silly enough to hope you might write to me. But I suppose you have far more interesting and important matters to occupy you. -You have no idea how busy I have been during this long year in which you have forgot- ten me. Among other things, I have been busy growing. Iam taller by two inches than when I last saw you. Please be impressed with my five feet eight inches. Also, Iam happy. The greatest happiness in the world is to have the opportunity to learn about that same world. I am happy because I now have that op- portunity. During these many months since I wrote to you, I have learned a little French; I read some, write some, understand pretty well, and speak a little. Piano and vocal music, too, occupy me; I love both, and I am told encouraging things. But, best and most delightful of all, I am learn- ing to draw and compose and paint from life in the Académie Julian. Think of it! It is difficult; it is absorbing; it requires energy, persistence, selt denial, but it is fascinating. Also, it is very trying, mon ami; and I descend into depths of despair, and I presently soar up out of those depressing depths into intoxicating altitudes of aspiration and self- confidence. You yourself know how itis, of course. At the criticism to-day, I was lifted to the seventh heaven. “Pas mal,” he said; continues, mademoiselle.” Which is wonderful for him. Also, my weekly sketch was chosen from among all the others, and I was given number one. That means my choice of fabourets on Monday morning, voyez vous? So, do you wonder that I came home walking on air, and that as soon as déjeuner was finished, I flew in here to write to you about it? The Princess Mistchenka is such a darling! I owe her more than I owe anybody except mother and father. She simply took me as I was, a young, stupid, ignorant, awkward country girl with no experience, no savoir faire, no clothes, and even no knowledge of how to wear them, and she is trying to make out of me a fairly intelligent and presentable human being. I have lived in these few months more years than my own age adds up. I am growing old and wise very fast. Please hasten to write to me before I have grown so old that you would not recognize me if you met me. Your friend, RUHANNAH. The letter flattered him. He was rather glad he had once kissed the girl who could write such a letter. But the days passed, and he did not re- ply to her letter. Then there came still another letter from her. Why don’t you write me just one line? Have you really forgotten me? You’d like me if you knew me now, [ think. I am really quite grown up. And I am so happy! The princess is simply adorable. Always we are busy, Princess Naia and I; and, now I have laid aside mourning, we go to concerts; we go to plays. We have been six times tc the ete arenes

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 Discard Every Wasteful Carbon Lamp for Sunlight s Only Rival HE Power House can give you ail the light you want, but the socket only as much as the lamp you put in it. If, in your sockets you have old-style car- bon lamps, replace them with the modern EDISON MAZDA LAMPS and enjoy three times as much light, and a finer, brighter, whiter light, too, without in- creasing your current bills one cent. Because carbon lamps can only give a limited amount of light;— because if you want MORE light with them you must use MORE of them and spend MORE for current; it is both to your pleasure and your profit to put in every socket the modern lamps of bright white brilliance, the lamps of economy, EDISON MAZDA. In usual household and office sizes, EDISON MAZDA Lamps cost 27c. each: for convenience they come packed five-in-a-row in handy cartons. You can get them individually if you wish, of your lighting company or nearest MAZDA Agent. EDISON LAMP WORKS of General Electric Company, HARRISON, N.J., U.S. A. EDISON MAZDA LAMPS Made in U. S. A. and Backed by MAZDA Service

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She was sixty before she played cards F COURSE, her children played but she always thought that she never could tellone card from anothér. One day when she had tired of 7 | reading and crocheting, her son taught her to play solitaire. Now she takes keen pleasurein almost any game that the young folks suggest. There are thousands of other young old people like her and perhaps the | most important factor in converting them to the innocent recreation of ) PLAYING BICYCLE 233° Bicycle Cards satisfy and delight everybody. >» ty The beginner. finds them easy to shuffle and ie 4 deal because of their air-cushion finish; and helpfulin learning to play because of their club indexes. The experienced playerissoac- + customed to their feeland appearance that — | any game loses its fascination without | them, In every detail they have the quali- ty that cards should have but they are so inexpensive that everybody can use them all the time. es Sears ib SS. SRLS daca: Matas co ae Congress Cards—The de luxe brand for ; “4 social play. Art backs of famous paintings in fullcolor. Gold edges. Air-cushion finish. “The Official Rules of Card Games’’—Set- tles every disputed point. Teaches you all the new games. 250 pages—Sub- stantially bound. New, re- vised edition. Send a 15¢ in stamps and Ss you will receive SS it post paid. Ad- 7; dress The U.S. Playing Card Co., Dept A2 Cincinnati, ma Ohio, or , Toronto, Canada, BEAUTIFUL CHRISTMAS KODAK ENLARGEMENTS FOR GIFTS | 10-inch mounted, 25c. Send only the negative. Best Kodak Developing. Any size roll roc. Six prints free with first roll. Or, send six negatives, any size, and 1oc (stamps for six prints. ROANOKE CYCLE CO., 50 Bell Ave., Roanoke, Va. OZ hadadaddaa . grade Under- wood Visible Writer on Ten Days’ Free Trial. Or, Rent this Underwood COPY THIS SKETCH and let me see what you can do with it. 6 months’ rent to apply Illustrators and cartoonists earn from on purchase price. Buy $20 to §125 a week or more. My practical on easy payments at less than 44 Guaran‘ee system of personal individual les manufacturer's price. Ask for Special Offer No. 214 TYPEWRITER EMPORIUM, mail will develop your talent. i years’ successful work for newspz and magazines qualifies me to teach you. Send me your sketch of President Wil- son with 6c in stamps and I will send you atest lesson plate,also collection of draw- ings showing possibilities for YOU. The Landon Schoo! of Ulustrating and Cartooning. 1439 Schofield Building, Cleveland, 0. "LEARN TO DANCE! Be Populai diithefun. Dancing gives CHICAGO, ILLINOIS you new fields of pleasure, Thousands taught suc- New,Simple Method 2reiiiiyVoucanicarn | at bome in your spare time. No music necessary. Same way I teach society leaders and professional dancers, | Write for Special LowTerms 9°)" | prisingly low offeron the ‘‘One-Step’’ and other dances. Prof.W.C.Peak,°°* 9 2izfeprets Ave- GAZINES J. M. Hanson-Bennett Magazine Agency is the largest | inthe world. You can save money on the magazine you want by writing for This Catalog FREE i), Our new Catalog lists more than 8000 Peri- |) odicalsand Club Offers. IT’S A BIG MONEY SAVER. Send us your name and address on post card today and get this big free catalog. Do it now. Write for full Agents Wanted sartinaiin J. M. HANSON-BENNETT Magazine Agency 706 Brooks Building, Chicago, IIlinois nae MN eat .. THE ORIGINAL MALTED MILK Richmilk,malted grain extract,in powder. ForInfants, Invalids and growing children. Pure nutrition, upbuilding thewhole body. Invigorates nursing mothers end the aged. The Food-Drink for all Ages More nutritious than tea, coffee, etc. Substitutes cost YOU Same Price | has nursed me through the worst. | pay me compliments. | mistakes, too, but I never make the same | mistake twice. days, and some women. ; a handsome boy! | stood it all, because I was too young. here is the curious thing about it all: Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 opera, and as many more to the ThéAtre Frangais; we have been to the Louvre and the Luxembourg many times; to St. Cloud, Ver- sailles, Fontainebleau. Always, when my studies are over, we do something interesting; and.I am beginning to know Paris, and to care for it with real af- fection, to feel secure and happy and at home in this dear, glittering, silver-gray city—full of naked trees and bridges and palaces. And, sometimes when I feel homesick and lonely, and when Brookhollow seems very, very far away, it troubles me a little to find that I am | not nearly as homesick as I think I ought to be. | But I think it must be like seasickness; it is too frightful to last. The Princess Mistchenka All I can say is that she is very wonderful. On her day, which is Thursday, her pretty | salon is thronged. Everybody is agreeable and gay,and I am sorry that I miss so much | that is witty in what is said; but I am learning Trench very rapidly. The men are polite tome. At first, I was so gauche, so stupid and provincial that I could not bear to have anybody kiss my hand and I’ve made a lot of other So many interesting men come to our Thurs- I prefer the men, I think. There is one old French general who is a dear, and there are young officers, too; and, | yesterday, two Cabinet ministers and several people from the British and Russian embassies | —and the Turkish chargé, whom I dislike. The women seem to be agreeable, and they | all are most beautifully gowned. Some have titles. I don’t know any of them except formally. But I feel that I know some of the men better—especially the old general and a young military atlaché of the Russian em- bassy, whom everybody likes and pets, and whom everybody calls Prince Erlik—such And his real name is Alak, and I think he is very much in love with Princess Naia. Now, something very odd has happened which I wish to tell you about. My father, as you know, was a missionary in the vilayet of Trebizond many years ago. While there, he came into possession of a curious sea-chest belonging to a German named Conrad Wilner, who was killed in a riot near Gallipoli. In this chest were, and still are, two very interesting things—an old bronze Chinese figure, which I used to play with when I was a child. It was called the Yellow Devil; and a native Chinese missionary once read for us the inscription on the figure which identified it as a Mongol demon called Erlik, the Prince of Darkness. The other object of interest in the box was the manuscript diary kept by this Herr Wilner to within a few moments of his death. This, I have often heard read aloud by my father; but I forget much of it now, and Inever under- Now, The first time you spoke to me of the Princess Naia Mistchenka, I had a hazy idea that her name seemed familiar to me. And ever since I have known her, now and then I find myself trying to recollect where I had heard that name, even before I heard it for the first time from you. Suddenly, one evening about a week ago, it came to me that I had heard both the names, “Naia” and “Mistchenka,” when I was a child. Also the name “Erlik.” The first two names occur in Herr Wilner’s diary; the last, I heard from the Chinese missionary years ago; and that is why they seemed so familiar to me. I didn’t speak of this to Princess Naia; but, about a week ago, there were a few people dining here with us—among others an old Turkish admiral, Murad Pasha, who took me out. And as soon as I heard his name, I thought of that diary; and I am sure it was mentioned in it. , Anyway, he happened to speak of Trebi- zond; and, naturally, I said that my father had been a missionary there many years ago.

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 105 Globe-Wernicke Sectional Bookcases IF E a Globe-Wernicke for Christmas! It is a gift that neatly compliments the intel- ligence of the recipient and lasts him as long as he lives. It is a gift that fosters the reading habit in young people—a gift a family soon takes into the very fabric of life—a gift of immeasurable influence for good. i Pek, ae It is also a very handsome gift, a last- ing gift, and a gift whose cost is as moderate or great as you. choose to make it. Write for catalog No. 1111, showing the various period styles and wood finishes of ‘‘the Bookcase you buy a section at a time,” and ask for a copy of ‘‘The World’s Best Books.”’ dhe Globe=Wernicke Co., Cincinnati Agencies in over 2000 cities; branch stores in New York, Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia, St. Louis, and Washington, D.C. F you purchase a Globe- Wernicke Sectional Bookcase as a result of this advertisement, write to TheGlobe-WernickeCo., Cincinnati, stating where you bought the bookcase and the price of it. Imnreturn for your trouble, The Globe-Wernicke Co. will present vou with as many beautiful book-pl~.zs as you have books, each book- plate neatly imprinted with your name. ATC) aen aan ite

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Don’t fail to use Cresolene for the distressing, and often Established 1879 It is a simple, safe, effective and drugless treatment. Vaporized Cresolene stops the paroxysms of Whooping Cough and relieves Spasmodic Croup at once. Inasthma it shortens the attack and ensures comfortable repose. The air carrying the antiseptic vapor inspired with every breath, makes breathing easy, soothes the sore throat, and stops the cough, assuring restful rights. Cresolene relieves the bronchial complications of Scarlet Fever and Measles and is a valuable aid in the treatment of Diphtheria. Cresolene’s best recommendation is its 37 years of success- uluse. Send us postal for Descriptive Booklet. For Sale by Druggists Try Cresolene Antiseptic Throat Tablets for the irritated throat, composed of slippery elm bar, licorice, sugar and Cresolere They ean’tharm you. Of your Druggist or from us 10c in stamps, THE VAPO-CRESOLENE CO. 62 Cortlandt St., New York or a Building, Montreal, Canada European Motorists are getting from 10,000 to 15,000 miles from a set of tires by ‘‘half-soling’’ them with Steel Studded Treads. Youcan do the same. Durable Treads are guaranteed 5000 miies without puncture. We deliver free without a cent deposit prepay. express and allow you to judge. to motorists in Special discount ‘0 P°tersts” on first shipment direct from factory. Write for sample and guarantee, Be sure and state tire sizes. The Colorado Tire & Leather Co. 1212 Tread Bidg., Denver, Colo. L-12 ansportation Bldg., Chicago, Mi. 720-1212 Woolworth Bldg., New York City GUARANTEED 5OOO MILES WITHOUT PUNCTURE e at Gallipoli, and how his effects came | As this seemed to interest him, and because he questioned me, I told him my father’s name and all that I knew in regard to his career as a missionary in the Trebizond district. And, somehow—I don’t exactly recollect how it came about—I spoke of Herr Wilner and his into my father’s possession. And because the old, sleepy-eyed admiral seemed so interested and amused, I told him about Herr Wilner’s box and his diary, and the plans and maps and photographs with which I used to play as a little child. After dinner, Princess Naia asked me what it was I had been telling Murad Pasha to wake him up so completely and to keep him so amused. So I merely said that I Eu if MrT TRAIT NT emp mR George Ade’s next Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 “And Herr Wilner’s—prop- greatly grieved. “Did you ever hear erty?” he inquired. what became of it?” “Oh, yes,” I said; “my father took charge of it.” “Oh! It was supposed, at the time, that al Herr Wilner’s personal property was de- stroyed when the school and compound burned. Do you happen to know just what was saved, mademoiselle?’ Of course I immediately thought of the bronze demon, the box of instruments, and the photographs and papers at home, with which I used to play as a child. I remembered my father had said that these things were taken on board the Oneida when he, my mother, and I were rescued. And I had been telling the : was just going to tell admiral about my child- New Fable in Slang this to Izzet Bey when Naturally, neither she | All that Triangle genom re Na ally, either she ze p ess £ s nor I thought about the = Stuff as Sized Up told me about giving incident any further. = by the Meal-Ticket any information, to Murad did not come & y : ; Ahmed Pasha. So I again; but, a few days = will appear in merely opened my eyes later, the Turkish chargé = very innocently, and d affaires was present at a penne Cosmopolitan. = gazed at Colonel Izzet a very large dinner given guonsmmsonuy iN wm, and a my head, as though I did not by Princess Naia. And two curious conversations occurred at that dinner. The Turkish chargé suddenly turned to me | and asked me, in English, whether I were not the daughter of the Reverend Wilbur Carew who once was in charge of the American mission near Trebizond. I was so surprised at the question; but I answered, “‘ Yes,” remembering that Murad must have mentioned me to him. He continued to ask me about my father, and spoke of his efforts to establish a girls’ school, first at Brusa, then at Tchardak, and finally near Gallipoli. I told him I had often heard my father speak of these matters with my mother, but that I was too young to re- member anything about my own life in Turkey. All the while we were conversing, I noticed that the princess kept looking across the table at us, as though some chance word had at- tracted her attention. After dinner, when the gentlemen had retired to the smoking-room, the princess took me aside and made me repeat everything that Ahmed Mirka had asked me. I told her. She said that the Turkish chargé was an old busybody, always sniffing about for all sorts of information; that it was safer to be reticent and let him do the talking. I thought this very humorous; but going into the little sa/on, where was the piano and where the music was kept, while I was looking for a song, Ahmed Mirka’s handsome attaché, Colonel Izzet Bey, came up to where I was rummaging in the music-cabinet. He talked nonsense in French and in English for a while, but somehow the conversation led again toward my father. ““Monsieur your reverend father must surely have told you stories about the destruc- tion of the Gallipoli school, mademoiselle,” he insisted. “Yes. It happened a year before the mis- sion at Trebizond was destroyed by the Turks,” I said maliciously. “So I have heard. What a pity! Our osman!i—our peasantry are so stupid! And it was such a fine school! A German engineer was killed there, I believe.”’ “Yes; my father said so.”’ “A certain Herr Conrad “Ves. How did you hear of him, Izzet?” “Tt was known in Stamboul. He perished | by mistake, I believe—at Gallipoli.” “Yes; my father said that Herr Wilner was | the only man hurt. He went out all alone into | the mob and began to cut them with his riding- whip. My father tried to save him, but they | killed Herr Wilner with stones.” “Exactly.” He spread his jeweled hands deprecatingly Wilner?” Colonel beautifully and seemed understand his question. The next instant, the princess came in to see what I was about so long, and she looked at Izzet Bey with a funny sort of smile, as though she had surprised him in mischief and was not angry, only amused. And when Colonel Izzet bowed, I saw how red his face had grown—as red as his fez. The princess laughed, and said, in French, ‘That is the difference between professional and amateur—between Nizam and Redif— between Ahmed Pasha and our esteemed but very youthful atlaché.’ I didn’t know what she meant, but Izzet Bey turned a bright scarlet, bowed again, and returned to the smoking-room. And that night, Princess Naia came into ry bedroom and asked me some questions, and I told her about the box of instruments, and the diary, and the slippery linen papers covered with drawings with which I used to play. She said never to mention them to any- body, and that I should never permit anybody to examine those papers. How odd and how thrilling! I am most curious to know what all this means. Don’t you think it promises to be romantic? Do you suppose it has anything to do with spies and diplomacy and kings and thrones and terrible secrets? Mr. Neeland, it thrills me to pretend to myself that I am actually living in the plot of a romance full of mystery and diplomacy and dangerous possibilities. I hope something will develop, as something always does in novels. And, alas, my imagination, which always has been vivid, needed almost nothing to blaze into flame. It is on fire now; I dream of courts and armies and ambassadors and spies; I construct stories in which I am the heroine always—sometimes the interesting and tempo- rary victim of wicked plots; sometimes the all- powerful, dauntless, and adroit champion of honor and righteousness against treachery and evil. Did you ever suppose that I still could re- main such a very little girl? But I fear that I shall never outgrow my imagination. And it needs almost nothing to set me dreaming out stories, or drawing pictures of castles and princes and swans and fairies. And even this letter seems a part of some breathlessly inter- esting plot which I am not only creating but actually a living part of and destined to act in. Do you want a part in it? Shall I include you? Rather late to ask your permission, for I have already included you. And, somehow, I think the Yellow Devil ought to be included, too.

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 107 Waltham ‘Colonial A” with **Maximus” Movement Slender Aristocrat of the Watch World The Jewelers Choice Why? Let us presume you are about to buy a watch. Plainly speaking, you know nothing about watches. They have not been your business. ‘‘I want a } handsome watch that will keep good time,’’ you say to yourself, as you step | | into a jewelry store. In a vague and rather general way you know what you want, but you do not know exactly how to select it. A watch is no ordinary purchase. You realize this and it makes you all the more conscious of the fact that to a large extent you must look to the man behind the counter to advise you in your choice. If it is a good jewelry store, he knows. You do not. The jeweler is only human. The better the jeweler, the more human he is. He is in business, with prestige and contented customers as his source of profit. Sentiment does not enter into his calculations. He advises you to buy a Waltham Watch because he knows that a Waltham in your pocket means a pleased and permanent customer for his store. Back of the jeweler’s advice is a record. He knows the Waltham Watch like a book, as his father probably knew it before him. He knows that the Waltham factory is the largest and greatest of its kind. That Waltham Watches have led the watch-world for three quarters of acentury. That half a hundred million Waltham Watches have been sold in every part of the globe. That Waltham Watches win every test for accuracy against all competitors— European or American. That Waltham Watches possess many exclusive features that make for accuracy, beauty and convenience. The jeweler has other watches in his show cases, but only of his Walthams can he say all this. Fine watches, like pearls, are not made in a day. They are the products of slowly acquired skill. In our great factory are artists and scientists who have been helping to make Waltham Watches for nearly half a century. You cannot - purchase a ripened experience like that in a watch without a history. Do not take a leap in the dark. Buy the watch with the reputation. The Waltham was the watch with the reputation even in our grandfathers’ time and now, as then, it is the selection of those who demand that the watch they buy shall not be a hope, but a certainty. , Consult your jeweler today. | | { } S| | Ask for the ‘‘Maximus’’ movement—the highest grade movement made. WALTHAM W/ATCH COMPANY, \W/ALTHAM, MASS. | In Canada: 189 St. James Street, Montreal |

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A Christmas Gift That is Sure to Please No gift could be more pleas- ing to any mother, wife, sister or friend upon whom ‘the re- sponsibilities of housekeeping rest, than a new Bissell. BISSELL’S ““Cyco”’ Bail-Bearing Carpet Sweeper makes sweeping simple, sanitary and easy. It requires no adjustment. No other cleaning device, at any cost, can take its place for the everyday uses to which it is put. r Made of the richest woods, hand polished and with metal parts all nickeled, the Bissell makes a most appropriate and attractive Christmas gift. It will be a daily reminder ot your thoughtfulness for 10 years or more. The Bissell Carpet Sweeper sells for from $3.00 to $5.50. A trifle more in the West, South and in Canada. Vacuum sweepers $7.50 and $9.00. Sold by the best dealers everywhere. Booklet on request. BISSELL CARPET SWEEPER CO. Dept. 294, Grand Rapids, Mich. Oldest and Largest Exclusive Manufa:- turers of Carpet Sweeping Devices in the World Made in Canada, too Our Hand Books on Patents, Trade-Marks, etc., sent free. 70 years’ experience. Patents pro- cured through Munn & Co. receive free notice in the SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN. MUNN & 677 Woolworth Bidg., N. Y. @ 625 Stre Washington, D. ©. Better Than Chickens Young pigeons (squabs) bring 40 to 60c each when 3 to4 weeks old. Big demand in city markets. Each pair of piveons easily clear $4 p penned wp. Very iittle spac Deeded to start. Free Bool Masgstic Sevan Co., Dept Susanna Cocroft’s Physical Culture for the FACE will make the outline of your face, neck and chin graceful—relieve wrinkles, sagging muscles and facial blemishes—make your skin clear and soft, your eyes bright. Youcan make your hair glossy and abundant—your hands smooth and white—your feet comfort- able, through definite directions which will take only a few minutes at home each day. Write for information and our free booklet giving many valuable hints. Grace-Mildred Culture Course Dept. 7, 624 So. Michigan Blvd., Chicago Good-night, dear Mr. Neeland. you will write to me. Your little Gayfield friend grown up, RUHANNAH CAREW. This letter he finally did answer, not voluminously but with all cordiality. And in a few days forgot about it and about the girl to whomit was written. And there was nothing more from her until early summer. Then came the last of her letters—an entirely mature missive, firm in writing, decisive, concise, self-possessed, eloquent with an indefinite something which be- trayed a calmly ordered mind already being molded by discipline mondaine. My DEAR MR. NEELAND: I had your very kind and charming letter in reply to mine written last January. My nezlect to answer it, during all these months, iivolves me in explanations which, if you like, are perhaps due you. But if you require them at all, I had rather surrender them to you personally when we meet. Possibly that encounter, so happily antici pated on my part, may occur sooner than you believe likely. I permit myself to hope so. The note which I enclose to you from the lady whom I love very dearly should explain why I venture to entertain a hope that you and I are to see each other again in the near future. As you were kind enough to inquire about myself and what you describe so flatteringly as my “amazing progress in artistic and worldly wisdom,” I venture to reply to your questions in order. They seemed to be pleased with me at the school. I have a life-drawing “‘on the wall,” a composition-sketch, and a “‘concours” study in oil. That I have not burst to atoms with pride is a miracle inexplicable. I have been told that my progress at the piano is fair. But I am very certain I shall not do more with vocal and instrumental music than to play and sing acceptably for such kind and uncritical friends as do not demand much of an amateur. In French, I am already becoming fluent. You see, except for certain lessc ns in it, I have scarcely heard a word of English since I came here; the princess will not use it to me or permit its use by me. And, therefore, my ear being a musical one and rather aecurate, I find—now that I look back upon my abysmal ignorance—a very decided progress. As for the future, the truth is that I feel much encouraged. I made some drawings in wash and in pen-and-ink—just ideas of mine. And Monsieur Bonvard, who is editor of The Gray Cat—a very clever weekly—has accepted them and has paid me twenty-five francs each for them. I was so astonished that I could not believe it. One has been reproduced in last week’s paper. I think, take it all in all, that seeing my first illustrations printed has given me greater joy than I shall ever again experience on earth. My daily intercourse with the Princess Mistchenka continues to comfort me, inspire me, and fill me with determination to so edu- cate myself that, when the time comes, I shall be ready and able to support myself with pen and pencil. And now I must bring my letter to its end. The prospect of seeing you very soon is agreeable beyond words. You have ' been very kind to me. I do not forget it. ' Yours very sincerely, RUHANNAH CAREW. The enclosure was a note from the Prin- cess Mistchenka. DEAR Jiu: If in the past it has been my good fortune to add anything to yours, may I now invoke in you the memory of our very frank and de- lightful friendship? | When you first returned to America from | Paris, I found it possible to do for you a few I hope Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 favors in the way of making you known to cer- tain editors. It was, I assure you, merely because I liked you and believed in your work, not because I ever expected to ask from you any favor in return. Now, Fate has thrown an odd combination from her dice-box, and Destiny has veiled herself so impenetrably that nobody can ‘read that awful visage to guess what thoughts possess her. Will you go at once to Brookhollow, go to Ruhannah’s house, open it, take from it a chest made of olive-wood and bound with some metal which looks like silver, lock the box, take it to New York, place it in a safe- deposit vault until you can sail for Paris on the first steamer that leaves? And, Jim, keep your eye on the box. Don’t trust anybody near it. Rue says that, as she recollects, the box is about the size and shape of a suitcase and that it has a canvas-and-leather cover with a handle which buttons over it. Therefore, you can carry it yourself exactly as though it were your suitcase, keep it with you in the train and on shipboard. Will you do this, Jim? It is much to ask of you. I break in upon your work, and cause you great inconvenience and trouble and expense. But—will you do it for me? Much depends upon your doing this. I think that possibly the welfare of your own country might depend on your doing this for me. If you find yourself embarrassed financially, cable me just one word, ‘“ Black,” and I shall arrange matters through a New York bank. If you feel that you do not care to do me this favor, cable the single word, ‘ White.” If you have sufficient funds, and are willing to bring the box to me yourself, cable the word, “Blue.” [ dare not tell you how vitally important to civilization these papers already are—how much they may mean to the world, what powers of evil they might encourage if, in any way, they fall into other hands than the right ones. Jim, I have seldom taken a very serious tone with you since we have known each other. I am very serious now. And if our friendship means anything to you, prove it! Yours, Naia. As he sat’ there in his studio, perplexed, amazed, annoyed, yet curious, trying to think out what he ought to do, what, in fact, must be done somehow or other, there came a ring at his doo1-bell. A messenger with a cable-despatch stood there; Neeland tore open the envelop. Please go at once to Brookhollow and secure an olive-wood box bound with silver, contain- ing military maps, plans, photographs, and papers, property of Ruhannah Carew. Lose no time, I implore you, as an attempt to rob the house and steal the papers is likely. Have written, but beg you not to wait for letter. Naia. Twice he reread the cablegram. Then, with a_ half-bewildered, half-disgusted glance around his studio, the unfinished work on his easel, he went to the telephone. It being July, he had little difficulty in reserving a good stateroom on the Vol- hynia, sailing the following day. Then, summoning the janitor, he packed a steamer-trunk and gave orders to have it take aboard that evening. On his way down-town to his bank he stopped at a cable-office and sent a cable-message to the Princess Mistchenka. The text con- sisted of only one word, Blue. He departed for Gayfield on the five o’clock afternoon train, carrying with him a suitcase and an automatic pistol in his breast-pocket. The next instalment of The Dark Star will appear in the January issue.

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 109 As a mathematical expression this may be poor arithmetic, but as applied to the Hatch ONE-Button UNION SUIT it states a valuable truth. For its one but- ton is equal to ten in the work that it does, and it’s better than ten in the way that it does it. Gone are the annoyances of torn buttonholes and lost buttons and the wasted time of fumbling with a row of ten or more. Gone, too, are the gapping and bunching. The one button lets you enjoy to the full the perfect fit and comfort of this garment’s splendid workmanship and quality fabrics. The Hatch One-Button and department stores; but Union Suit is obtainable in’ if you cannot get it easily all weights of cotton or wool and quickly, send your to suit all occupations and _ size with remittance to our temperatures. mill at Albany, N. Y., ak : : This garment is featured and we will gladly supply at the best haberdashers’ you direct; delivery free. Men’s Suits—$1.25, $1.50, $1.75, $2.00, $2.50, $3.00, $3.50 Boys’ Suits—75 cents, $1.25, $1.50 Our illustrated booklet describing the complete line of winter and summer weights of the Hatch One- Button Union Suits will be sent free upon request to & HATCH KNITTING COMPANY Manufacturers FULD ALBANY NEW YORK BARNES KNITTING CORPORATION Sole distributor to dealers, 303 Fifth Avenue, New York PATENTED TF 16,1914

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I1IO oa ee Ny ia | j Music Lessons Sent Free You too, can now quickly and easily satisfy your musical ambitions—learn to sing or play your favorite instrument, whether for pleasure, social e. restige or to teach music, by our wonderful home study essons under great American and European teachers. The lessons are a marvel of simplicity and completeness, en- dorsed by Paderewski and other great authorities. Any Instrument or Voice Write us the course you are interested in, age, how long you have taken lessons if at all, etc., and we will send you six lessons, free and prepaid, any of the following Complete Courses: Lessons in PIANO (students’ or teachers’ courses) bythe great Wm. H.Sherwood, HARMONY by Dr. Protheroe and Rosenbecker, PIPE ORGAN by Clarence Eddy, VOICE COURSE (with aid of Phonograph) by Crampton, PUBLIC SCHOOL MUSIC, by Frances E. Clark, VIOLIN, CORNET, MANDOLIN, GUITAR, BANJO, REED ORGAN, CHORAL CONDUCTING, by equally eminent teachers. This offer is Free—we do not ask an to pay one cent for the six lessons, eithernow orlater. e want to provein this remarkable way what fine lessons they are—SEEING IS BELIEVING. write today. A few Special Introductory Sioniiee now being awarded by our Faculty. Full particulars sent along with freelessons. Send no money. SIEGEL-MYERS SCHOOL OF MUSIC, CLARENCE EDDY, Dean 2051 Siegel-Myers Building, AT HOME! SPECIAL OFFER—EASY LESSONS FREE— | Piano, Organ, Violin, Banjo, Mandolin, Guitar, Cor- net, Harp, Cello, Clarinet, Piccolo, Trombone, Flute, orto sing. You pay only for music and postage— which is small. No extras. You learn by note. Begin- ners or advanced pupils. Plain. simple, systematic. 16 years’ success. Start at once. Send your name and get free booklet by retu . Address U. S. School of Music, h Ave., N.Y. City. George Ade’s next Fable in Slang “ALL THAT TRIANGLE STUFF AS SIZED UP BY THE MEAL TICKET” Wili appear in JANUARY COSMOPOLITAN. by William H. Walling, A.M.,M.D. = imparts in a clear wholesome way, in one volume: Knewledge a Young Man Should Have. Knowledge a Young Husband Should Have. Knowledge a Father Should Have. Knowledge a Father Should Impart te His Son. = Medieal Knowledge a Husband Should = Have. Knowledge a Young Woman Shonld Have Knowledge a Young Wife Should Have. Knowledge a Mother Should Have. Allinone volume, Knowledge a Mother Shonld Impart to illastrated. Her Danghter. $2.00 postpaid. Medieal Knowledge a Wife Should Have. Write for «Other People’s Opinions” and Table of Contents. PURITAN PUB. CO. 754 Perry Building, PHILA., PA. E san eneasipnemeenseennamrenmeminimananibimma tats MLM ihe Every Married Couple and all who contemplate marriage Should Own this complete informative bock “The Science of a New Life” BY JOHN COWAN, M.D. 8% x6 =f Endorsed and recommended by fore- 400 pees, most medical and religious critics sine throughout the U.S. Unfo'ds $2 i secrets of married happiness. so often prep revealed too late! No book like it 1 al to be had at the price. We can a few of the chapter sub- ° as this book is net meant Special Offer (Agents wanted.) The regular price {s $2.00. Ino Marriaze and It« Ad ges. Ageat Which Scodancis tsk to Marrs. Love Analysed. trod is | Qualities One in Choosing. An- atomy of Rep Amativeness: Con- tinence. Childre Conception Confinement 229 : TWILIGHT SLEEP. sing. ow 2 op: special $2.00 edition] Married Life is Secured 1°” * APPS to any reader of this Pane s fs Magazine, postpaid, Descriptive circular giving full and upon receipt of $2.00.| Complete table of contents mailed FREE J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Co., 324 "ese Street CHICAGO, ILL | LEARN MUSIC ‘SEXOLOGY-, are only temporarily impossible. There was a period in every revolutionary con- ception which demonstrated its utter unfeasibility. With few exceptions, the entrepreneurs of all radical stunts were only able to suggest the line of direction for further experiment. Because experience can point to so many instances of money lost through ; backing try-outs; because precedent could prove that the pioneers in every consider- able venture were more enthusiastic than competent; because promoters are damned by a reputation for inexactness and un- warranted optimism; ! because the hopes and promises of the pros- pectus are so seldom vindicated in the divi- | dend; because scarcely Henry Ford as seen through the eyes of Herbert Kaufman A feature-article of January Cosmopolitan. Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 The Achievement (Concluded from page 59) Horatio Alger didn’t dare presume upon the intelligence of his readers to the extent of advancing a red-headed youngster from a cub reportership to the presidency of a millionaire concern in less time than the processes of promotion would have landed him in the city-editor’s chair. Consider, too, the bicycle salesman who, starting with nothing ten years ago, can in the early forties already write his check for one hundred million dollars. Nor must we omit mention of the office-boy who fore- saw the future so clearly that he resigned a seventy - two - thou- sand -dollar position to risk his all in a project which has long since required~ acres to hold its shops. Scheherezade “pulled some strong stuff” in the ‘‘Thou- sand and One Nights,” i A AA MT TR anybody could reiZ0 (TwvWTwaao—mee, but her farthest how tremendously the twentieth century had amplified and per- fected its devices of production; because the same folk so rarely witness the birth of an industry and the attainment of its development; because there was no author- ity behind their claims and predictions, we discounted the vision and derided the pre- tensions of the automobile manufacturers. Theirs is probably the most amazing | story in the record of commercial achieve- ment. Here we have the phenomenon of a business already calculated by billions, created and still controlled by an outfit of men initially without.money, influence, training, or experience in big affairs—and all within about a dozen years. Essentially an engineering question, the motor-car failed to interest any engineer of note. Palpably a manufacturing proposition, of the two important concerns able to sense its potentialities, one made a ghastly mess of the new department, and the other so misgaged the situation that outsiders had to be called in to rescue the parent corporation itself from foundering. Patently destined for universal use, and therefore presenting a limitless field for _capital, the banking interests not only refused to underwrite the companies, but, even as recently as 1910, undertook to check the further spread of the “‘extrava- gance” by both a continued refusal of funds and an abortive campaign of warning against the “folly” among their depositors. In the light of a million-car annual pro- duction, these facts seem incredible. The automobile is not only a new game but a new man’s game. Mechanics, machinery salesmen, re- porters, and accountants, very young college graduates, a few wagon-builders, and some former sales-managers sired this new Titan. Fiction surrenders the long bow to reality when a stationary engineer can, within the memory of his twenty-two- year-old son, rise from a wage-job to control of an organization employing fifty thou- | sand workers, operating plants in half a | dozen countries, and earning profits at the rate of five million dollars a month. fancy didn’t quite reach to the automobile. We’ve had plenty of poor boys who became rich men, but, even after Carnegie and Rockefeller, such romances bring us all up-standing. The oil-crowd and the steel-crowd went about it in a leisurely way—grew to strength, capitalized natural forces, and won out by foul means and fair. But the story of the automobile is one of unflagging and unaided effort, of service, of decent men, of a big job cleanly done. Here’s definite, unassailable proof that millions can be amassed honorably and deservedly—more millions made honorably in less time than as many millions were ever made ruthlessly. They'll play a big part in our to-mor- rows—these men. Their wealth and abil- ity will give them a decided voice in the councils of finance and politics. Independent of the so-called “inter- ests,” and likely to hold a staggering aggregate of cash, no one can predict in what quarters and to what extent they will assert themselves. They have managed their enterprises without labor troubles, vicious competi- tion, or restraining combinations. They have displayed shrewdness without cunning, have demonstrated remarkable organization and administrative’ gifts. If pasts are earnests of futures, and prosperity does not change the fine com- mercial code under which they have thus far operated, if the lesson of their lives can be taught to their children, the biggest hope in the republic lies among the smoke-stacks of Michigan and Ohio. May not ten million youngsters—about to wrestle with their life-problems—have a compelling example to inspire their ethics? An America, saturated with the notion that centralized money-power can domi- nate when and wherever it chooses, must know that such a damnable theory is forever false. Every doubter and quitter, every self- appointed under dog, every sorehead, every scoffer in the land must, before the acknowledgment of this supreme achieve- ment, find in himself the secret of his failure as man and as citizen. «>

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 Temperature Right Day and Night Even, healthful temperatures auto- matically maintained are an absolute necessity if you are to enjoy home life during the cold and unsettled months. This device keeps the temperature exactly as desired day and night, affording an even, comfortable and healthful heat with the added results of safety and a saving of fuel. The thermostat, which is conveniently placed on the wall, can be easily so ad- justed that it will automatically and silently operate for an exact lower temperature for the night and again in the morning operate for a return to warmer temperature. Tip IN NEAPROLIS” HEAT REGULATOR Duplex Model No. 55 is a marvel of convenience. The action of the thermostat is continuous for a period of 8 days with one winding, both in the maintaining of tem- peratures and likewise for the definite morning and evening automatic changes. Has proven its merit in thousands of homes for 31 years and universally specified in all modern dwellings. Easily installed with motor power furnished by gravity, spring or electric motor as you may select. Works perfectly with any kind of heating plant —hot water, hot air, steam, vapor, or vacuum burning coal or gas. Your heating contract« or ha Write us for booklet describing Minneapolis Heat Regulator Co. 2752 Fourth Ave. So. Minneapolis, Minn. idles the ‘‘ Minneapolis. s and quoting price

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112 Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 ofl aa SMOKING Get the world-famous tobacco in the world- famous muslin sack. Troopers of the Eighth Cavalry, U. S. Army, leaving Fort Hancock on Scouting Expedition. Look for the famous muslin sack. W do a hundred thousand U. S. Soldiers along the Rio Grande show a universal preference for the same tobac- co—famous “ Bull’’ Durham ? do all: branches of the eer on the border and everywhere roll their own” with “Bull” Durham? has Uncle Sam served WH “Bull” Durham tobacco : as rations to his soldiers and sailors for years? “Roll Your Own” Sergeant Louis Thompson (in the fore- ground) Was Wounded in a Raid So After This Photograph Was Taken. . . ep ef

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gh oe « Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 y is “Bull’’ Durham sold a aenee all over the by men of every nation, class joi sae i do millions of men al- — “roll their own” “Bull” Durham in preference to ae ae smoke, regard- less of cost ? WHY : “Bull” Durham at _ ~ most satisfying and the most econom- ical smoke on earth? And Find Out Why faseg $Y Tl TOBACCO Ask for FREE packzge of papers with each Sc sack. SMOKING TOBACCO'S . » > Battery B, New Jersey Field Artillery. Photographed at Douglas, Ariz. for the famous muslin sack. Look

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The Key To Success e. ED VORA Wl increase Your Efficiency The secret of business and social suc- cess is the ability toremember. I can make your mind an infallible classi- fied index from which you can in- stantly select thoughts, facts, figures names, faces. Enables you to con centrate, develop self-control, over- come bashfulness, address an audi- ence. Easy. Simple. The result o 20 years experience in developing memories of thousands. Write today for copy of my book “How to Re- member” and Copyrighted Intensely Prof. Interesting Memory Test Free; also Henry how to obtain FREE copy of m Dickson, book “‘How to Speak in Public.” Principal Dickson School of Memory, 751 Hearst Bldg., Chicago Ill. Short- Story Writing Course of forty lessons in the history, fA form, structure, and writing of the Short-Story taught by Dr. J. Berg Esenwein, foryearseditorof Lippincott's One student writes: ** Before com- pleting the lessons, received over $1000 for manuscripts sold to Woman's Home ‘ompanion, Pictorial Review, McCall's and o her leading magazines.”’ Also” courses in Photoplay Writing, Versification and ‘Poetics, Journalism. In all, over One Hundred Courses, under professors in Harvard, Brown, Cornell and other leading colleges. —— Dr. Esenwein 250-Page Catalog Free. Please Address The.Home Correspondence School Dept. 85 Springfield, Mass. SPEAK A FOREIGN LANGUAGE ! The war has created unlimited opportunities a for those who know Spanish, French, German ,/ OF italian. Take advantage of the war situa- tion! Better your position. Extend your business to South American countries. Brush up on the language | you studied at school or college and make it of practical use. Acquire a new language, by the LANGUAGE-PHONE METHOD And Resesthal’s 5 Method of Practical Linguistry AL XMAS GIFT | This is the oak a “on learn a foreign language. You hear | the living voice of a native professor pronounce each word and phrase. He speaks slowly or quickly, for minutes or hours at atime. Itisa pleasant, fascinating study that all members of the family can enjoy. By practice during spare moments you can in a short tine speak, and understand a new language. Write for free ** Language Treatise,” tculars of Trial Ofer, Easy Payments. Our records fit alt cai king machines. THE LANGUAGE-PHONE METHOD, 915 Putnam Bidg., 2 W. 45th St., WN. Y. The University of Chicago HOM in addition to resident B STUDY 25th Year For detailed in- formation address : U. of C. (Div. G)Chicago, Hl. aiscssn tome nietly Learned At ae the Original German—Frenech—English—Italian —Spanish learned by the Cortina T& Method at home with Dise Cortinaphone Language Records. Inquire at your local phonograph dealer who carries or can get t our record#for you, or write to us for FREE booklet today, easy payment plan, = Academy of E.46th St.,N.Y. OE A BANKER are by mail for this high Deptession in which there are great op portunities. Six months’ term. Diploma awa: Send for free book, *‘How to —— ane SCHDOL OF BARRING! 5 ut 6 Bast State Street, COLUMBUS. OHIO — gpa anes Do You Like to Draw? Cartoonists are well paid We will not give you any grand prize if youanswerthisad. Norwill we claim to make you rich in a week. But if you are anxious to develop your talent with a successful cartoonist, 80 you can ns money, senda copy of this pic- in stemps for portfolio of d sample lesson plate, and let us explain. THE W. L EVANS SCHOCL OF CARTOONING | | 839 Leader Building. Cleveland, 0. i Cosmopolitan for December, 1¢16 The Career of Katherine Bush (Continued from page 82) Then she slowly raised her gray-green eyes, and he saw that they were troubled. “Why do you come here and speak to me like this?’”’ And in her voice there was reproach. ‘‘ We said farewell at Valfreyne —that was the end, I understood.” “Because I could not keep away—be- cause I love you, darling girl!”’ She drew back, shivering with the pain of the struggle in her soul. “Hush, you must not say that to me. I ask you not to, please.”’ ~ But since coldness and repulsion were not what he read in her glance, her words did not discourage him. “Twas very foolish at Valfreyne, Kathetine, ever to have said farewell. But now the blindness has fallen from my eyes. I adore you, my beloved one Katherine, I want you to be my wife!” For a few seconds, her brain reeled. The summit of her ambition was reached—and not ambition alone but, what now seemed to matter more, the realization of true love. Both were there for her to take and to enjoy. The fateful moment had come. She was face to face with the great problem of her life. How could she relinquish al! this glory, just to keep true to her ideal of right? She looked up into his proud face and saw it transfigured with worship, and she gave a little cry—no; she could never deceive him; he was far too fine for that. Whatever came between them, there should be only truth. But, even so, a flood of emotion burst all bonds. ‘Ah!” she cried, and let herself be clasped in his arms. Then, “I love you! I love you!” she went on wildly. “Kiss me—hold me; let me feel what it is like to be there next your heart—what it would mean—what it cou/d mean, if it might only be! Oh, you do not know what it costs really to say good-by. Do you remember, once, when I told you that I knew one side of love and asked you if there was not something beyond? Well I know now that there is. You have taught me to feel it—it is the soul’s victory. I love you with everything in me, with my body and my spirit and my life!” But she could articulate no further, for the duke bruised her lips with kisses. “‘ Ah, God, how divine!” And he sighed when, at last, after long, blissful seconds, his lips left hers. ‘‘Katherine, how dare you talk such folly to me of bidding me good-by? You shall never leave me again —you are absolutely mine!” Hush!” And she put her hand over his mouth tenderly, while she drew herself out of his arms. “As far as love goes, I am indeed all yours, but now you will have to listen to me—and you must not speak until the end. Let us sit here, for the story is long.” Just to humor her, he allowed her to draw him to the seat, and, with eyes devouring her, he waited. ‘Promise that you will not interrupt me until I have finished, no matter what you may feel or think.” He gave his word quite gaily, and took and held her hand. Katherine controlled her every nerve now and told the story in a deep, quiet voice—with no dramatic gestures, drawing a graphic picture of her home and of the office at “Liv & Dev’s.” And then she told of the coming of Lord Algy and of their acquaintance, and then she paused for a second and glanced at Mordryn’s face. It had grown a little strained, but he grasped more tightly her hand. “Now you must listen very carefully and try to understand. I suppose I must have been in love with him in a way, he was so very handsome and gay and full of charm—well, I decided to go away with him for three days. I decided deliberately.” The duke’s face became ashen white and his hand turned icy cold; but he did not speak. Katherine went on: ‘Well, we went-to Paris on the Saturday and came back on the Monday night. But he never touched my soul—that slept until you came. I never meant to remain his mistress. We parted at Charing Cross Station, and he went to Wales .to his family, and I went home. I wrote to him and told him that I would not see him again. Then I made up my mind that I would leave Livingstone & Devereux’s and begin my next rise in the world. Oh, you do not know how ignorant I was then; but I never lost sight of the goal I meant to win, to win by knowing how to fill the position desired. I had vast dreams even in those early days. I was fortunate to obtain the situation of Lady Garribardine’s secretary, and on leaving the house after being engaged, I met Lord Algy by chance in the park. He was very unhappy at my determination never to see him again, and he asked me to marry him. “T refused, of course, because I knew, even then, that he only attracted one side of me, and also I was not educated enough at that time to have been able to have carried off the position with success. I explained everything to him, and made him promise to try and be a fine soldier— he was being sent to Egypt for his ex- travagance—and so we parted. My goal was definitely fixed; I meant to educate myself to be able to take the highest posi- tion to be obtained in England some day. After I went to Lady Garribardine’s, Mr. Strobridge came upon the scene, and his great cultivation inspired me, and _pres- ently we became friends. I deliberately encouraged his friendship so as to polish my own brain. I knew he was im love with me, so this may have been wrong; but since he was weak enough to allow himself to ‘feel so, with my knowing he was married, he must pay the price in pain, not I. He has always been a loyal friend after the beginning, when he lost his head one night and made a great scene. My determination never wavered—it was in every way to improve myself, always to be perfectly true, and, finally, to obtain the height of my ambition. Things went on in this way for a year and a half, Lady Garribardine always helping me and encouraging my education until we became deep and intimate friends. But the goal never seemed to come in view until I went to the House of Lords that day and saw you and heard you speak. In a lightning- flash, the object of all my striving seemed revealed to me, and I began to lay my plans, but with some unusual excitement, because something in you had aroused an A iy ¢ RNR est + Teme

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- —~e oo eens neat ~y A pt fn | an Say * Cosmopolitan for December, 1016 WANTED- = —_ t DU(ye eesti tag lam in the $2.500 to $10,000 Class “I wasa carpenter, amnow a Sales- man and can proudly say I am in the $2,500.00 to $10,000.00 a year class. Wish I could invest more dollars that would bring me the big returns those invested in your Course did.” J. E. WOOD, Rooms 352-54 Pacific Bldg., San Francisco, California. I Am Earning $92 a Week «After six months of stccess as a Traveling Salesman in a position se- cured through your Employment Bureau, I am earning $92 a week. I am only at the beginning. and wonder how N.S. T. A. can give @ man so much little money.”"—P. W. BROE- di ., Woodhaven, 1 Now Earn as High as $100a Day “Ll took your Course two years ago. Was earning $15 a week clerking. Am now selling many of the largest firms nthe U. 8. I have earned more than $100 inaday. You secured me my position. Our Sales Mer. is a graduate of ronra.”” J. L. DEBONIS, 1260 So, Harding Ave., Chienco, DL. e I Earned $6500 This Year “Last year I oniy earn d $300.00 as a clerk. This year 1 have earned $6500.00 and have been promoted to Sales-manager and done it by studying your Course during spare time. Your Employment Bureau offers one many good positions.."—C. W. BIRMING- HAM, 129 Bank S8:., Dayton. Ohio. Your Course Makes Suecess Easy **More than 2 vears ago I joined the N.8. T. A, You secured me a good posi tion with one of the best firms in their ‘ine. Am making fine wages, Former exgerience is unnecessary — your Course makes success easy.”—W™M. fl. Senne, 199 N. 10th St., E. Orange, $2,500 to $10,000 Positions Now Open Many thousands of the biggest and best firms in America have and are constantly calling on us for Trained Salesmen. In response to these inquiries, thousands of our Students have been placed in good paying positions — positions that gave opportunity to travel on finest trains—to live at best hotels—to see th wonders of America—that offered pleasurable work independence. Read here five typical letters from N.S. T. A. Students. Then consider that the demand for Salesmen is greater right now than ever before. Decide that you, too, will investigate this remunerative, independence bringing profession. Mail the coupon below for our interesting free book, ‘‘A Knight of the Grip.” Highest Salaries are Paid SALESMEN —because the Salesman is a direct producer of profits. He it is who brings in the orders—who makes the div’dends possible. So it is only natural that Salesmen should receive the largest incomes. Big firms are always looking for men who can sell. While other lines of work are overcrowded with good men—the trained Salesman is always in demand. Salesmanship Taught by Mail Our Course of Instruction in Scientific Salesmanship gives you the training necessary for you to qualify for a big paying posi- tion as Salesman. You study at home—only a little of your spare time is required—an hour or so a day, for a few weeks— and you.will have many opportunities to earn Big Pay while you learn. Our Course has been planned by Master Salesmen —and gives just the needed training. It tells you how to approach the prospect—how to manage the interview—how and when to close—how to handle sa'es correspondence—how to be a good mixer. And our Free Employment Bureau helps you secure a good position. Our Students Make Good The best evidence we can offer of the value of our Course is in the success of our Students. We have in our files the originals of thousands of letters, telling of salaries increased—of inde- pendence won by N.S. T. A. Students. Mail the coupon and copies of hundreds cf these letters will be sent you—as well as a large list of the different lines of business in which there are now good openings for Salesmen offering opportunities to earn $2,500 to $10,000 a year. FREE Employment Bureau Service Employers recognize the worth of N.S. T. A. e ? Training. We have constantly on file more nvestigate requests for salesmen than we can possibly fill. $ . The serv:ce offered by our Free Delay may mean opportunity lost. Big paying positions are i _ now awaiting the Trained Salesman. You have the same abil- mos bs t ‘ ity as the thousands of other men who have succeeded through PP B > the study of this Course. A position as Salesman is ready for ¥ Sy ot with you—a good position where your earning power will be un- ae eee limited—when you are ready for it. Prepare yourself now goog posi~ mail this coupon for our FREE illustrated book, ‘‘ A Knight of aORS —- the Grip.” and help you make good. National Salesmen’s Training Association Chicago New York San Francisco Mail This Coupon National Salesmen’s Training Association Cuicaco New York Sawn Francisco Address Dept. 502B Send your request to the office nearest your home With no obligation on my part, please send me your Big FREE Illustrated Book—"‘A Knight of the Grip.” Name Street No. ‘Town State

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i), 10 Days Free Trial Guaranteed Invention Mfg. & Sales Co. 21 W. Broadway, New York City Enclosed find $1. ($1.25 in Canada) ; for which please send me postpaid one Leahey’s HEATLESS Trousers Press. If at the end of 10 days I do not wish to keep it, I will return it to you and you will return my dollar. emotion in my heart, the meaning of which I could not then determine. “T arranged with Mr. Strobridge to have the dinner, and to let me meet you— not as the secretary, because I knew that your unconscious prejudice would be insurmountable then. And I thought that, if you liked me that night, afterward the prejudice might not be so deep when you did know my real position. “You will remember what followed, but the second part of the story begins with the afternoon you came into the schoolroom. Until then, I had never had a backward thought or regret or worry about Lord Algy. But after I had told you of my life and parentage, you bent down and kissed my hand. And, from that moment, doubts began to trouble me. You had started the awaken- ing of my soul. And as love grew and grew, so the blackness of the shadow increased. I knew that, if I deceived you, I should only draw unhappiness and never respect myself. Where love is there can be no deceit—and so, at last, even before I went to Valfreyne, I put all thoughts of you from me, although each day you seemed to grow more dear until I knew that you meant everything to me. “T saw that my position in life held you back, and I was almost glad that it | should be so—because I loved you, and

I realized that what I did in the past the world could never forgive; and so I must pay the price of my own action and say an eternal farewell.” Her voice died away in a sob, and she did not then look at the duke’s face. His hand had grown nerveless in its clasp, and she drew hers away from him and rose slowly to her feet. The awful moment was over; the story was done. She had been true to herself and had lost her love, and now she must have courage to behave with dignity and go back to the house. But she must just look at him once more. He sat there in an attitude of utter dejec- tion, his face buried in his hands. For long, aching moments, Katherine watched him, but she did not speak, and life and hope and purpose died out of her, drowned in overwhelming grief. Then, after this horrible silence, the blood seemed to creep back to Mordryn’s heart, and reaction set in. He began gradually to think. His level judgment, his faculty for analyzing things reasserted themselves, and enabled him to view the | whole subject, and a reawakening to happi- ness slowly filled him. Suddenly, he realized the splendor of her courage, the glorious force of char- acter which had enabled her to jeopardize —nay, indeed, relinquish, love and high | estate and ambition rather than be false ' to herself For she need not have told him anything of her story! That fact was the great proof of her truth. He had asked no questions about her past. She had made no dramatic virtue of necessity; she had done this thing that she might not soil her own soul with deceit. Of what matter to him were three days in the past, long before they had met? That she was altogether his now, he had no faintest doubt. Was there any man living such a fool or Puritan that he would renounce life’s joy for such a foolish thing? The very qualities of courage and justice which her action in-telling him-had-shown Cosmopolitan for December, 1916

would wipe out any sin and give him ample guarantees for future security and peace. Such a woman was worth all the world. Away with all shams of the world! None of them should influence him! He had found a spirit strong and free and honest. Reality had won forever, and appearance had vanished away. So he rose and came to her again, and once more took her into his arms, and, bending, kissed her white forehead as if in blessing. “Oh, my beloved—and you deemed that this would part us, this long-past, ugly thing! Foolish one—you do not know how much I love you! Far beyond any of the earthly things, I honor your brave courage; I worship your truth. You shall come to me and be my adored wife and the mistress of my home. Katherine, heart of me, whisper that all sorrows are over, and let us enter heaven together and forget all else!” But Katherine, overwrought with emo- tion, lay there against his breast, limp and white. She was beyond speech; only her spirit cried out in thankfulness to God for having given her the strength to tell the truth. Joy kills not; and soon warm life rushed back to her. And thus, in the evening glory of sunset, ‘they found content. For the one sublime thing in this sad, mad world is LOVE. XXXII Ir was more than a month since, in the late July of 1914, the joy-bells had rung out on all the duke’s estates for the birth of the heir, the infant Marquis of Valfreyne. And it was just a year since Katherine had become his duchess. And what a year in a woman’s life! The bond between the two had grown always more deep, more sacred as the days went on, and, as Katherine said,one morn- ing fondly, ‘““Mordryn, we are just like Rochester and Jane Eyre, not modern people, because we never want to be away from one an- other for a minute—only, thank God, you are not blind!” Theirs was a real marriage, and Lady Garribardine was fully content. She took personal pride in the manner in which her protégée fulfilled the réle of duchess, and she rejoiced to see her old love in the midst of such bliss The year of perfect happiness and gratified ambition had molded Katherine into a new and noble being, in whom graciousness and sweetness and gentleness enhanced alt her old charms. The world had experienced a nine days’ wonder when the engagement was an- nounced; but, as her ladyship said, there was no use in having kept her iron heel upon the neck of society for all these years if she could not now impose upon it unquestioned what she wished. So Kather- ine had had a triumphant entry, and very little antagonism to surmount. But the most romantic and fantastic rumors got about, and Lady Garribardine wrote amusedly to Gerard in Russia, after the wedding in September, giving a description of events: I issued stern commands to Bronson, G, that there should be no talk below-stairs, no gratifying of anybody’s curiosity, and I think I can count upon their devotion to me, and their great liking for -the-girl herself, to feel

Sg

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i Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 THERE is a look of dis- tinction about this elec- tric lamp, from Its well- shod brass foot to Its trim green head. Its only mission in life is to give a better, more restful, kinder light to your eyes after sundown. Wher- ever It is placed—and you can place It any- where—It’s a_ sociable, companionable, faithful worker for your comfort. The Lamp with the Green Glass Shade is Kind to Your Eyes. This is three- fourths as big as life. $500 All genuine Emeralite lamps are branded with the name Emeralite. —~ Coal eZ EMERALITE, JR. will make this a brighter Christmas in a mighty big lot of homes—and Its good cheer will keep on glowing. It’s a personal gift, for It goes with the giver’s genuine thought for lasting comfort. It’s a different gift, for many homes are still without a portable electric lamp that will stand or hang anywhere or clamp wherever It can get a good grip. And It’s-a gift of permanent value —and not expensive. Look for it —it is your guarantee of satisfaction. Do you read in bed? Most people love it. $6" So do their eyes if the light is properly focussed. Ask about our many bed lamps in convenient sizes. Sole Manufacturers 40 Warren St., New York MERCHANTS! The Emeralite line sheds new light on electric lamps as a brilliant line to sell. MERALITE, JR. is only one member of the great Sis seietene big family of Emeralite Electric lamps and fixtures get tired when for every lighting need at home and at the office. Send FROM Fare for our descriptive booklet showing 30 different styles for SH i, winter? light house-keeping and office light-keeping. U See how your staff’s . work im- H. G. McFADDIN & COMPANY proves under Emeralite. Many styles and prices. Ask for our terms.

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‘e@ .6@ @ @ @ ee r) e e 6 C “ e CO) * YY e e tC a e e e ° ty e ) o Cd ° ae And More Follows As a Matter of Course When Its — ’ BUTTER-KIST The White, Crispy PopCorn With the Toasty Flavor And when it zs Butter-Kist—the more the better. It is such a delicious titbit—such a elean, pure, wholesome food. It is so easily digested, so nourishing, so appetizing. Butter-Kist Pop Corn has made pop corn popular. People who used to consider it merely as a children’s delight, now appreciate its food value and its flavor too. Grown-ups delight in Butter-Kist as much as children, and it will not hurt even those who have delicate stomachs. The white, fluffy, crisp morsels of Butter-Kist just melt in your mouth. But Be Sure You Get BUTTER-KIST There is no other way on earth that makes pop corn like the automatic Butter- Kist Machine. It automatically pops the corn, removes the unpopped grains, toasts the popped. ones to an appetizing crisp and butters each one to just the right proportion with pure creamery butter. No human hand touches Buftter-Kist. It is scientific, clean, wholesome. There are Butter-Kist Machines nearly everywhere. If there is none in your vicin- ity please tell us. Look for the ma- chine like the one in the illustration and see that the bag has the Butter-Kist Kiddies on it. Then you know it’s Butter-Kist— 5,10 and 25 cents everywhere. HOLCOMB & HOKE MFG. CO. 534-550 Van Buren Street Indianapolis, ind. To Retail Merchants: Write or wire us today for our Butter-Kist plan for you. There are still some localities where there is a heavy demand, waiting for you to supply it. pom b imei HOLCOMB & HOKE MFG. CO., 534-550 Van Buren St., Indianapolis, Ind, Send at once, without obligation, your Butter- Kist plan. Busine IIGIS inne os 0 oe sive pone pw kee se nce esse ees Bf | that they will cooperate. | been his secretary, | was in possession of all these facts and more | to be written, Her family were the entertaining thing. The sisters from America wrote sensible letters, realizing that the great divide had come, and, fortunately, the Bin- don’s Green remainder had themselves cut her off from their intimacy, because she was what they called a ‘‘paid servant, living in,” appar- ently a degraded status in that incredible class! Mordryn received a letter from her sister-in-law a few days after the news was in the papers—a most remarkable bit of feminine spite, which caused us all glee—informing him that, as he had no doubt been sadly deceived by Katherine Bush, she felt it her duty to enlighten him as to who she really was. Great stress was laid upon the butcher grandfather, and regrets that she herself had contracted an alliance so far beneath her station, but, having experienced the unpleasantness of it, she felt it was only right to warn the duke. I myself wrote the reply as though I had announcing that his grace from Miss Bush herself, and, with due apprecia- tion for the motive which had caused the letter the duke thanked her for it and would not require to hear from her again. So all that part is disposed of, fortunately, and Katherine can go ahead. Mordryn is frantically in love, and so is she. He is like a boy and looks ten years younger. He showers gifts upon her, and on the day of the wedding, when he walked down the aisle with his beautiful new duchess on his arm, I never have seen a man so proud. And when one comes to think of it, G, he has every right to | be, for I must say the creature carries out’ the whole thing with a perfection which justifies my greatest expectations of her, and I think they stand a very fair chance of happiness, because the girl has a logical brain. She is not one of those fools who only likes the excitement of a thing’s being out of reach; she has the supreme wisdom of a sense of intrinsic values. She realizes that she has secured a great position which will give ample scope for her vastest schemes—all high and fine ones, G; we shall hear of herin the future, boy, not only as a beautiful duchess but as a great Englishwoman. And when one reflects that she has accomplished all this, won her game, so to speak, through sheer force of character, sheer knowledge of cause and effect, sheer calculation of action and no low scheming, one cannot but deeply respect her. Force will always win, but it will bring its own retribution if it has been used ill. Kather- ine has had the great cleverness to use it always well. Weak virtue may draw some kind of namby-pamby, heavenly halo, but perfect honesty and strong common sense secure power and a substantial reward on earth. It will be very interesting to watch her career as it goes on. She is grateful for her happiness and knows that it is only weaklings who, once having secured this joy, then let it be taken from them by their own foolishness and discontent. Her whole mind is disciplined and ruled by an astonishingly sound judgment. Impulse is her servant, not her master; every view is broad. She sees all things as they really are, without the illusion which nearly every woman invests them with. So, altogether, G, my dear boy, I am satisfied. As for his age, he does not look a day more than forty; they probably will have a glorious fifteen years, and you cannot have everything in life. He suits her far better than some younger man; they are made for one another. Mordryn has perfect health and strength, and no human being could be more attractive. And when Gerard read this at Moscow, where he happened to be, he was glad, and yet sad. The wedded lovers wandered for several months in France and Italy, returning to England only in the new year, and all this interesting foreign travel still further THE Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 embellished Katherine’s mental gifts. Then, after some triumphant weeks in London, there were long months of joy at Valfreyne, awaiting the coming of the son and heir. And now in the early days of September, 1914, they were all again assembled there, with Lady Garribardine, for the christening —a great and importaiit event! But war and strain and sorrow lay with their black shadows over England, fallen with a suddenness which no one could realize as yet. Rumors of reverses had come—miscalculation of somebody’s plans. And anxiety was tense. Katherine was resting on the sofa in her boudoir, which looked out south over the exquisite gardens in the state suite at Valfreyne. The door opened, and the duke came in with letters for her from the second post and the opened Times he had been reading in his hand. He put them down upon a table near, and took a low chair close to his lady’s side; and she moved a little from the sofa, so that she lay half in his arms. ““My worshiped one!” he murmured fondly, kissing her hair, and smoothing it with infinite tenderness. “Oh, Mordryn, I am so happy—are not you? What a sublime day for us, dear love! Just to think that we have that darling little son, the very essence of us both! Tell me that he and I mean every- thing to you. Tell me that I have given you all you want?” He reassured her as though he could not say enough, and then he asked her again and again if she loved him. It was as if he must have confirmation of her content. But soon he held her closely to him. ““My darling, there is some news in the paper this morning which may cause you some concern—so I have brought it to you here while we are alone. It is about the retreat from Mons.” Katherine raised herself and looked at him inquiringly, and he found the column and began to read the glorious story, and of one supremely splendid stand made by a certain Guards regiment, which is now world-famed. Then he paused and hesitated for a moment. For the name of the bravest who would gain the V. C. was Lord Alger- non Fitz-Rufus who, single-handed, had performed an act of daring courage, resourcefulness, and_ self-sacrifice, which had saved his men, but who had paid with his life for his last supreme effort, being shot through the heart as he had returned to a wounded comrade, Lieutenant Jack Kilcourcy, to bring him in to safety. ‘“What is it, Mordryn? Please go on.” So the duke read to the end, and then put the paper down. And suddenly Katherine’s heart seemed to stand quite still, and a mist darkened the room, and when it lifted she saw only the young, debonair face gazing at her again, his gay blue eyes alight with laughter and love. And, with a stifled cry, she burst into tears. Thus Algy had fulfilled her hopes for him and become a fine soldier, and had died gallantly to save a comrade—a hero indeed! END SA 5 oon — —----—

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2 - Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 West of Rockies $7.00 In Canada $8.00 TT EE 7 119 Phonograph A Wonderful Christmas Present Here is the ideal Christmas gift—a Stewart Phonograph. It brings good cheer, music, fun and laughter right into your own home and makes them permanent factors in your home life. And it will do the same for the homes of your relatives and friends. The moderate price of $6.50 is actually astounding. No popular priced phono- graph can excel the Stewart in musical quality and clear and lifelike reproduction. The tone volume—as well as the quality —has been greatly improved by means of the newly designed tone arm and an im- provement in the sound chamber. Its universal swivel reproducer enables the Stewart Phonograph to play records of any type, any size, any make, any price. An unlimited collection of records is at your command. There is an automatic stop which keeps the needle from running off the grooved part of the record and gouging and de- stroying it. Another big feature is an in- stantaneous time control found on no other popular-priced phonograph. The Stewart Phonograph is finished in verde green, so often used in high grade clocks and costly vases. Every family wants a Stewart Phono- graph. Don’t fail to have it in your own this Christmas. The Stewart Phonograph is the greatest Christmas seller ever To Dealers put on the market. you. Order your Christmas stock now. It will be a wonderful money maker for Write today for our liberal proposition. Order from any music dealer, depart- ment store, drug, hardware, dry goods, novelty, stationery or furniture store. Or, if your dealer has not yet received his supply, use the coupon. Coupon for Order 4 10 Days’ Trial | Stewart Phonograph Corp. | 2861 N. Lincoln Street, Chicago, II. Gentlemen:—Enclosed please find $6.50 | (West of Rockies $7—In Canada $8) for | which please ship me one Stewart Phono- graph immediately. | It is understood that if I am not satisfied | with the phonograph at the end of ten days I can return it and get my money back immediately. (Remit by check, draft or money order) Name.....- . Street Address State

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I2C Cosmopolitan for December, 1916

This Preference for Saxon “Six” Is Based Upon Very Definite Reasons Throughout the country you will find a very marked preference for Saxon “Six” springing up among motor car buyers. Unlike many preferences it is not flavored with prejudice, but has more the aspect of a conclusion in favor of Saxon “Six” arrived at unhurriedly after careful com- parisons. We have told you time and again that the Saxon “Six” motor— both because of its type and its high development—is far su- perior to a motor of fewer cylinders. Evidently this statement has been confirmed by buyers themselves, for a census reveals that 75% of the owners turning in, their cars for Saxon “Sixes” for- merly drove cars of less than six cylinders. The reason for this change is found in the superiority of the Saxon “Six” motor. Between the power-impulses pro- duced by a “less-than-six- cylinders’ motor there are in- tervals. That is a mechanical truth. These intervals are responsible for vibration. And vibration is a dread danger to a motor. It impairs flexibility, slows up ac- celeration, makes a. difference of degrees in the quietness of operation, increases repair-service costs, and finally takes nearly 50° from the standard efficiency of the motor. In the Saxon “Six” motor, on the contrary, you geta power-flow of uniform, constant torque, that is, perfect smoothness or con- tinuity. SAXON 'SIX’ A BIG TOURING CAR FOR FIVE PEOPLE SAXON MOTOR CAR CORPORATION, DETROIT Saxon “Six” is $815 f. 0. b. THE SAXON MOTOR CAR CORPORATION DOES NOT ANNOUNCE YEARLY MODELS Vibration is practically nil. Briefly, that is why Saxon “Six’’ excels in pulling power, in acceleration, in high-gear work, in flexibility. And that is why the cost of re- pairs on Saxon “Six” is so in- significant. You will find the value of the highly efficient Saxon “Six” motor demonstrated in another definite advantage. And that is in respect to gasoline economy. It extracts full mile- age from each drop of gaso- line. 23.5 miles is the gallon average established recently by 206 stock model Saxon “Sixes” in a 300 mile non-stop run. Still another motor advantage is found in the fact that you get higher maximum and lower minimum speed with- out vibration. At | 14 miles per hour “on high” the motor pulls smoothly without “bucking” or jerking. At full speed you feel safe and secure. Detroit. 582)

Tan seamen om o ecmeumaen cninlaediiai cunt < a i

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et er eee i —— Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 The Rubber Dagger (Continued from page 71) “This is outrageous, preposterous!” stormed Karatov. “Can’t help it,” returned the officer. “Why,” exclaimed Carita Belleville, | excitedly projectitig-herself before the two prisoners, “‘it’s ridiculous! The ambulance- surgeon says it was arteriosclerosis.” “Very well, madam,” calmed the ser- geant; “‘so much the better. They’ll get out of our hands that much quicker. Just at present, it is my duty.” Errol was standing silent, his eyes averted from the hideous form on the floor, not by word or action betraying a feeling. The policeman moved to the door. Weak and trembling still from the triple shock she had received, Edith Gaines leaned heavily on the arm of her husband, but it was, as nearly as I could make out, only for physical support. “T told you, Edith, it was a dangerous business,” I heard him mutter. ‘Now you see what such foolishness can lead to.” Weak though she was, she drew away and flashed a glance at him, resenting his man’s, I-told-you-so manner. The last I saw of them in the confusion was as they drove off in the car, still unreconciled. Kennedy seemed well contented, for the present at least, to allow the police a free hand with Errol and Karatov. As for me, Mrs. Gaines and Carita Belleville pre- sented a perplexing problem; but I said nothing, for he was hurrying back now to his laboratory. At once, Craig drew forth one of the little tubes containing the few drops of tea, and emptied a drop or two into a beaker of freshly distilled water. As he was examining the contents of the beaker, his face clouded. “Do you find anything?” I asked. ““There’ssomething wrong,” he hazarded. “Perhaps it’s only fancy, but I am sure that there is something with a slight odor | in the tea, something tealike, but with a more bitter taste, something that would be nauseous if not concealed in the tea. There’s more than tannin and sugar here.”’ “Then you think that some one present placed something in the tea?” I inquired, shuddering at the thought that we had run some unknown danger. “T can’t just say without further inves- tigation of this and the other samples I | took.” “Still, you have eliminated that ridicu- lous dagger-theory,” I ventured. “The police can never appreciate the part it played,” Craig answered non- committally, laying out various chemicals preparatory to his exhaustive analysis. “T began to suspect something the moment I noticed that those notes which we all wrote were gone. When we find out about this tea, we may find who took them. Per- haps the mystery will not be such a mys- tery after all then.” There seemed to be nothing that I could do, in the mean time, except to refrain from hindering Kennedy in his investigations, and I decided to leave him at the labora- tory while I devoted my time to watching what the police might by chance turn up, even if they should prove to be working on the wrong angle of the case. I soon found that they were showing energy, if nothing else. Although it was

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Broadway, New Vouk an so soon after the death of Marchand, they had determined that there could not have been anything but rubber on the end of the toy dagger which had excited the doubts | of the detective. As for the autopsy that was performed on Marchand, it did indeed show that he was suffering from hardening of the arte- ries, due to his manner of living, as Karatov had asserted. in showing that it was just for that trouble that Marchand was going to Karatov, which, to my mind, seemed quite sufficient to establish the therapeutic hypnotist as all that Gaines had accused him of being. Even to my lay mind, the treatment of arteriosclerosis by mental healing seemed, to say the least, incongruous. Yet the evidence against Karatov and Errol was so flimsy that they had little trouble in getting released on bail, though, of course, it was fixed very high. My own inquiries among the other re- porters on the Star who might know some- thing offered a more promising lead. 1 soon found that Errol had none too savory a reputation. His manner of life had added nothing to his slender means, and there was a general impression among his fellow club-members that unfortunate in- vestments had made serious inroadsinto the principal of his fortune. Still, I hesitated to form even an opinion on gossip. Quite unsatisfied with the result of my investigation, I could not restrain my im- patience to get back to the laboratory to find out whether Kennedy had made any progress in his tests of the tea. “Tf you had been five minutes earlier,” he greeted me, ‘“‘ you would have been sur- prised to find a visitor.” “A visitor?” I repeated. “Who?” “Carita Belleville,” he wage “What could she want?” I asked. “€ The it's said. ‘‘Her excuse was plausible. She said that she had just heard why I had come with Gaines. to convince me that Karatov and Errol | could not possibly have had any connection other than accidental with Marchand’s death.” “Could it have been a word for them and half an hour for herself?” I queried. Kennedy shrugged. “T can’t say. At any rate, I must see both Karatov and Errol, now that they are out. Perhaps they did send her, thinking I might fall for her. She hinted pretty broadly at using my influence with Gaines on his report. Then again, she may simply have been wondering how she herself stood.” “Have you found anything?” I asked “Yes,” he replied laconically, taking a bottle of concentrated sulphuric acid and pouring a few drops in a beaker of slightly tinged water. The water turned slowly to a beautiful green. No sooner was the reaction com- plete than he took some bromine and added it. Slowly again the water changed, this time from the green to a peculiar violet- red. Adding some water restored the green color. “That’s the Grandeau test,” he nodded, with satisfaction. “I’ve tried the physio- logical test, too, with frogs from the Bio- logical Department, and it shows the effect on the heart that I——” “What shows the effect?” I interrupted. Indeed, the police succeeded | what I’ve been wondering,” he | I suppose it was half | an hour that she spent here, endeavoring | | such Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 OL LN A a IAT Holstein Cows’ Milk The Best Food Milk Purebred Holstein cows’ milk is naturally light colored and low in fat percentage, but richest of all in nourishing proteins. The most eminent physicians endorse Holstein cows’ milk, it has been conclu- siedy shown that heavy, yellow milk is not the most nutritious, for the simple reason that its large fat percentage renders it less easily digested. 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MFG.CO., 141 Fulton St., New Yor’ Desirable mi -P= Recipe Books Handsomely bound @®]P™ Ring Books, dur- able and substantial covers, white cloth, with silver lettering and gold index —a book in which choice re- cipes, written or clipped, may be preserved. A splendid gift for mother, wife, sister or sweetheart. t=]P=2 Memo Books—Diaries bound in finest morocco. Larger Ring Books bound in real cowhide, in canvas or combination of cloth and leather. Last for years—fillers obtainable any- where. For price books, scrapbooks, photo albums, house- hold accounts and hundreds of other purposes, At your stationer’s or prepaid on receipt of price, Irving-Pitt Manufacturing Company Largest Loose Leaf Manufacturers in the World. 406 Eighth Street, Kansas City, Mo. “Oh, to be sure,” he smiled. “I forgot I hadn’t told you what I suspected. Why, digitalis—foxglove, you know. I suppose it never occurred to the police that the rubber dagger might have covered up a peculiar poisoning? Well, if they'll take the contents of the stomach, in alcohol, with a little acidulated water, strain off the filtrate, and try it on a dog, they will see that its effect is the effect of digitalis. Dig- italis is an accumulative poison and a powerful stimulant to the arterial walls— | by experimental evidence an ideal drug for | | the purpose of increasing blood-pressure. Don’t you see it?” he added excitedly. | “The rubber dagger was only a means to | | an end. Some one who knew Marchand’s | | weakness first placed digitalis in his tea. | | That was possible, because of the taste of | | the tea. Then, in the excitement of the act | pantomimed by Errol, Marchand’s disease | carried him off, exactly as was to be ex- | pected under the circumstances. It was clever, diabolically clever. Whoever did it | destroyed the note in which the act was suggested, and counted that no one would ever stop to search for a poison.”’ Slowly but clearly I began to realize how certainly Kennedy was reconstructing the strange case. But who wasit? What was | the motive back of this sinister murder? I had hardly framed the queries when our telephone-bell rang. It was the Cen- tral Office man. The detective had found a clear record of the business relations existing between Errol and Marchand. One episode consisted of a stock-deal be- tween them, in which Errol had invested in a stock which Marchand was promoting, and which was known to be one of what brokers call ‘‘cats and dogs.” That, I reasoned, must have been the basis of the gossip that Errol had suffered financial | losses which Seriously impaired his little fortune. It was an important item, and Kennedy accepted it gladly. For a few moments after the talk with the detective, Kennedy seemed to be re- | volving the case, as though in doubt | whether the new information cleared it up or added to the mystery. Then he rose. “We must see Karatov,” he announced. We found the Russian at his studio- apartment, and we had no difficulty in gaining admittance. He knew that he was watched, and that frankness was his best weapon of defense. “Of course,” opened Kennedy, “you know that investigation has shown that you were right in your diagnosis of the trouble with Marchand. Was it arterio- sclerosis for which you were treating him?” “Tt would be unprofessional to discuss it,” hastily parried Karatov, “‘but, since Mr. Marchand is now dead, I think I may say that it was. In fact, few persons, out- side of those whom I have associated about me, realize to what a wonderful extent hypnotism may be carried in the treatment of disease. Why, I have even had wonder- | ful success with such disorders as diabetes mellitus. 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< . - - a eens Cosmopolitan for December, 1916

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“Tt was she who introduced Mr. Errol.” “They are quite intimate, I believe,” Illustration showing the biggest |, | | Put in Kennedy, at a chance. selling novel ever published,wrap- | ped with special Christmas slip, | “Really, I know very little about it,” || | Karatov avoided. “Did she introduce Mr. Marchand?” ‘She introduced Mrs. Gaines, who intro- duced Mr. Marchand.” “You were treating Mrs. Gaines?” “Yes,” admitted Karatov. “T imagine her trouble was more mental 'than physical,” remarked Kennedy, in a casual tone, as though feeling his way. Karatov looked up keenly. “T think,” he said slowly, “that one trouble was that Mrs. Gaines liked the social life better than the simple life.” | “Your clinic, Mr. Marchand, and. the |

rest, better than her husband and the social life at the university,’ amplified Kennedy. “I think you are right. She had drifted away from her husband, and |admirers—of a certain sort. I should say | |that Mr. Errol was the kind who would | |eare more for the social life than the simple life, as you put it, too.” ‘ “T had noticed something of the sort,”’ Karatov ventured. ‘I saw that they were

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and the other, deprived of free will, might jof actual murder cannot be denied. In this case, however, there can be no question | that it was an unfortunate accident.’ “No question?” demanded Kennedy. If Karatov were concealing anything, he made good concealment. “No question, so far as I know,” he The Vocalstyle is the complete musicroll. Notonly| «0 1 Ow DER an instrumental roll but a song roll. The melody | reite rated. , ‘ / notes are marked. The wordsand expression marks} Kennedy’s next query carried him are opposite them and are read as the roll unwinds | - ° = . coy, eapeenlcionl leat tates beng ar afield from the subject. /§ p CAS ‘6 ‘i and the corresponding notes play. With Vocalstyle ; , ’ iz The World Renowned House of iG Rolls you ca. have instrumental or vocal music at ‘Did you know that the medical societ y 5B f will. Two thousand favorite songs in Vocalstyle was interested in you and your clinic before {q ee PIVER PARIS. France 3\ form. Latest hitsadded monthly. Hand-played. as interested In you and y — { : || | $300.00 Prize Contest—$100.00 for the best the demonstration for Professor Gaines , AT ALL BEST DEALERS } letter telling why the interpretation marks on Vocal- | was arranged?” Face Powaer, Sachet and Perfumes 7 CHAS. BAEZ, Sole Acent for U. S. and Car SO, Dept. K 24 E. 22d 8st. % New York City X ON

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| “JT suspected some one was interested,” answered Karatov quickly. “But I had no ‘idea who it might be. As I think it over now, perhaps it was Professor Gaines who \instigated the whole inquiry. He would ms most likely be interested. My work is so

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A z a EE cil EL RR A Sr gg . . $$$ LT Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 E Ee CCN RN eR HHT Hii ii iii: iii ihisoTAasiRa i anMnK an Aes Onanes nase iuNRNWRKLNal waianansmili AEA MN RTT AOR mean tired feet. Real Help for Tired Feet A busy day and on your feet most of the time—a long, tiresome trip or a hike in the country—new shoes to break in—all these Soothe and rest them by applying a few drops of Absorbine, Jr. ial hae Or, if you are very tired and your feet burn, ache or [iiiiu@rascas i swell, water. ABSORBINE J& THE ANTISEPTIC LINIMENT TRADE MARK AEG. U.S. PAT. OFF. is a. different kind of liniment—it 1s antiseptic It will do what any other and germicidal. good liniment will do—and a soak them in a solution of Absorbine, Jr. Relief will be prompt and lasting. and r Swollen veins, sprains, SEE Mi calluses, corns, bunions; stop Samm - TO ALLAY PAIN —- CUTS, SORES, ULCERS, BOILS ABM P PYORRHEA AND SINUSES - BS MANUPACTURED BY lot more. Absorbine, Jr. is made of herbs and is positively harmless to human tissues. It can not only be used and prescribed with confidence and safety but with the assurance that it will £// germs and promote rapid healing. You will like the feel of this clean, fragrant and antiseptic liniment. It penetrates quickly, leaves no greasy residue and is intensely refreshing. Only a few drops needed to do the work, as Absorbine, Jr. is highly concentrated. You can find dozens of uses for Absorbine, Jr. a dependable first-aid remedy and regular toilet adjunct: To reduce inflammatory conditions— sprains, wrenches, painful, swollen veins. To allay pain anywhere. To spray the throat if sore or infected. To heal cuts, bruises, lacerations and sores. To render harmless, and relieve insect bites and plant poisoning. Absorbine, Jr. has strong endorsements Many letters in praise of Absorbine, Jr. have been received from physicians and den- tists who use and prescribe it. Several chemical and biological labora- tories have given this antiseptic liniment severe tests and their reports invariably support my claims for Absorbine, Jr. as a destroyer of germs. Then, of course, I have hundreds of testi- monials from individuals who have been materially benefited by Absorbine, Jr. in one way or another. Keep a bottle handy at home, at the office, or in your grip when traveling. $1.00 a bottle at most druggists or post- paid. Send 10c for Liberal Trial Bottle or procure a regular size bottle from your druggist today. W. F. Young, P. D. F. AAP 66 Temple Street Springfield, Mass. NMA Yt i iM AN MR UMN GAL WLLL LA a (it AAAs ant MANOS RMS ihe el AN RE RR,

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Civil Service Sec’y-Examiner. Write today—postal will do. addres PATTERSON CIVIL SERVICE SCHOOL 712 News Building © : i _ Rochester, -¥ . The Authority Send 2 stamp lusin's St, ores BURROWES Cedar Chest Moth-proof, Aromatic $12 DOWN ence Small monthly payments if you keep it, Many other styles, ali at factory prices. BURROWES "ris" * Chest nied Quickly y pays for itself by saving orage charges. Protects furs, feath , blankets and all fabrics — moths, mice, and will last for generat ions, an heirloom. andsome massive piece of furr iture exquisitely freetrial. Write for catalog. ROS South St., Portjand, Me made. Ad ch a THE E. 7%. RU RROWES C0, far in advance of any that the conservative psychologists do that he would naturally feel hostile, would he not?” “Especially with the added personal | motive of knowing that his wife was one of your patients, along with Carita Belleville, Marchand, Errol, and the rest,’’ added Kennedy. Karatov smiled. “T would not have said that myself. But, since you have said it, I cannot help admitting its truth. Don’t you suppose I could predict the nature of any report | Karatov faced Kennedy | he would make?” squarely. There was an air almost of “T think I had say no more, except under the advice of my lawyer,” he remarked finally. ‘‘When the police want me, they can find me here.” Quite evident to me now, as we went out fact that Karatov that he was better of the studio, was the f considered himself a martyr, } not only the victim of an accident but of | - in his eyes. persecution as well. “The fishing was good,” remarked Ken- nedy tersely, as we reached the street. |“ Now, see Gaines again.” I tried to reason it out lalong in silence. Kennedy a web about some one, I knew. about whom? was weaving But before I see Errol, I should like to | as he walked | As we passed a corner, he paused, entered a drug store, and called up several numbers at a pay-station telephone-booth. Then | we turned into the campus and proceeded ° the vas rapidly toward the laboratory of Psychological Department. Gaines there, sitting at his desk, writing. “‘T’m glad to see you,” he greeted, laying down his work. “I am just finishing the draft of my report on that Karatov affair. Is there anything new?”’ “Yes,” returned Kennedy; “there is something new. I’ve just come from Kara- tov’s, and, on the way, I decided suddenly that it was time we did something. So I have called up, and the police will bring |Errol here, as well as Miss Belleville. Karatov will come. He won’t dare stay |away, and I also took the liberty of calling Mrs. Gaines.” ‘To come here?” repeated Gaines, in | mild surprise. ‘All of them?” “Yes; I hope you will pardon me for intruding, but I want to borrow some of your laboratory apparatus.”’ ‘E verything i is at your service,” | Gaines. Kennedy had been running his eye over offered -'the various instruments which Gaines and his students used in their studies, and was now examining something in a corner on a little table. It was a peculiar affair, quite simple, but conveying to me no idea of its use. There seemed to be a cuff, a glass chamber full of water, into which it fitted, tubes, and wires that attached various dials and recording instruments to the chamber, and what looked like a chrono- graph. “That is my new plethysmograph,” re- imarked Gaines, noting with some satisfac- tion how Kennedy had singled it out. “T’ve heard the students talk of it,” returned Kennedy. “It’s an improved apparatus, Walter, that records one’s blood-flow.” I nodded politely, and concealed my ig- jnorance in a discreet silence, hoping that |Gaines would voluntarily enlighten us. Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 for this oupet lop Get this snug, classy ‘““Koupet Top” for your Ford Roadster. 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-———$———— Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 What is lightning? Did the American flag always have thirteen stripes? Why don’t we use the silk that spiders spin? Does an ant sleep? Was England always an island? Did Europeans visit America before Columbus? Where was the “Spanish Main”? What do we mean by “the land of El Dorado”? How are hailstones formed? What do we mean by “Utopian’’? How did Constantinople get its name? Who was “Mrs. Grundy”? Where do we get the word “Thurs- day”? Can diamonds be made? What is paper made of? What is the difference between iron and steel? Who are the Cossacks? QUESTIONS What language do the Belgians speak? Why does an iceberg float? Where do we get cork? How did Washington come to be the capital of the United States? Where did potatoes come from? Why is the eldest son of the King of England called “Prince of Wales”? What is glass made of? Do “lead pencils” contain lead? How did a bleak country like Greenland get such a misleading name? How did we come to use postage stamps on our letters? Is the whale a fish? Why are red men called “Indians”? How does a submarine find its way about when under water? How old is London? Whatis the greatest depth of the ocean? Why have factories such tall chimneys? Are safety pins a modern invention? You can now buy the Encyclopaedia Britannica at the easy rate of $1.00 first payment, and $3.00 a month for a limited period. 129 = F hildren— pa “Now! Ask me | pipet mega a public school edu- cation, they—or you— ought to be able to answer the following questions. If you or your children cannot answer these simple questions, you should certainly own the new Encyclopaedia Britannica, which can answer them or anything else that you may wish to know. If your children—or you—cannot answer all these questions, send us the below coupon with your name and address and we will promptly mail to you the correct answers. What is a rainbow? What is a tin “can” made of? Is it colder at the North Pole than any- where else? Why do silver spoons turn black when we use them to eat eggs? What causes bright colors at sunset? Was “King Arthur” a real person? What is radium? Can you name half of the animals that supply us with fur? How did weget our system of numbers? How long cana camel go without water? Was Robin Hood a real character? What is the difference between smoke- less powder and ordinary gun- powder? How deep is the deepest mine in the world? How does a snake move about? How did Austria come to own Bosnia? How many years can a cat live? If you would like to know more about our offer, we will send you, free, a book (“The Book of 100 Wonders”) the size of an ordi- nary magazine. This will give you fu// infor- mation about the Britannica and what it will mean to you and yours to have such a great work in your home; also, how we are able to sell it to you at so low a price, and on such liberal terms of payment. Mail to us, foday, the attached coupon, with your name and address, and we will send “The Book of 100 Wonders” to you at once. Name Address SELTTSISSTELSSSIESLELEDTTEDETEDEDE as TE, A-22 NNANNANANNANAAAAANAAAAARAAAAAAAAAAA AAA NO SEARS, ROEBUCK AND CO., Chicago, IIL. Please send me the correct answers to the above questions. Also please send me, postpaid,“The Book of 100 Wonders,” which will give full explanation regarding the Encyclopaedia Britannica and the ‘‘Handy Volume’’ Issue, which you are now selling on easy terms and at an exceptionally low price.

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HOE economy is not the price paid but the number of days’ wear. Leather, materials and labor have advanced so that shoes now cost more. If you want the same quality as hereto. fore wear The Florsheim Shoe. Six to eight dollars. There's a dealer ready to show the style you prefer. We'll give you his name and mail booklet, “Styles of the Times.” The Florsheim Shoe Co. Chicago, U. S. A. The Duke— One of two hundred styles— Look for name in shoe. s Free Trial Piedmont Red Cedar Chests protect furs _L and woolens from motbs, ce, dust and damp. — Xmas or wedding New Low Factory Prices "18 days’ free trial Wrue jor new catalog with reduced prices. Postpaid free. Viedmont Red Cedar Chest Co., Dept. 41, Statesville, N. C. “HENRY FORD’ as seen through. FIERBERT KAUFMAN the eyes of will be the subject of an article feature of a ANUARY COSMOPOLITAN ~ New Thought Help You? DO YOU KNO that the wron: kind of su ofttimes unconsciously given— ngs failure? DO YOU KNO that many dis eases are the esult of bad habits of thought? that family strife and d ne away with da changed vie “The Gist of New ELIZABETH TOWNE Seete Editor of Nautilu t chapters, expla FOR 10 CENTS 2 nh ak tae ean beth wr rz ore, Edwin Markham, Paul E Wa 5 a We Horatio Ww 7m w rent aan » Wheeler THE ELIZABETH TOWNE CO., Dept. A. 14, Holyoke, Mass. “One of my students is preparing an exhaustive table,’ went on Gaines, as I had hoped, “showing the effects on blood- distribution of different stimuli—for in- stance, cold, heat, chloroform, adrenalin, desire, disgust, fear. Physical conditions, drugs, emotions, all sorts of things can be studied by this plethysmograph, which can be set to record blood-flow through the brain, the extremities, any part of the body. When the thing is charted, I think we shall have opened up a new field.” “Certainly a very promising one for me,” put in Kennedy. “How has this machine been improved? I’ve seen the old ones, but this is the first time I’ve seen this. How does it work?” “Well,” explained Gaines, with just a touch of pride, “you see, for studying blood-flow in the extremities, I slip this cuff over my arm, we’ll say. Suppose it is the effect of pain I want to study. Just jab that needle in my other arm. Don’t mind. It’s in the interest of science. See, when I winced then, the plethysmograph recorded it. It smarts a bit, and I’m trying to imagine it smarts worse. You'll see how pain affects blood-flow.” As he watched the indicator, Kennedy asked one question after another about the working of the machine and the manner in which the modern psychologist was study- ing every emotion. - “By the way, Walter,” he interrupted, glancing at his watch, “‘call up and see if they’ve started with Errol and the rest yet. Don’t stop, Gaines. I must understand this thing before they get here. It’s just the thing I want.” “T should be glad to let you have it, then,” replied Gaines. “T think I'll need something new with these people,” went on Kennedy. ‘Why, do you know what I’ve discovered?” “No; but I hope it’s something I can add to my report.” “Perhaps. We'll see. In the first place, I found that digitalis had been put in Marchand’s t “They'll be here directly,” I reported from the telephone, hanging up the re- ceiver and joining them again. “Tt couldn’t have been an accident, Karatov said,” went on Kennedy rapidly. “The drug increased the blood-pressure of Marchand, who was already suffering from hardening of the arteries. In short, it is my belief that the episode of the rubber dagger was deliberately planned, an elab orate scheme to get Marchand out of the way. No one else seems to have noticed it, but those slips of paper on which we all wrote have disappeared. At the worst, it would look like an accident, Karatov vould be blamed _” There was a noise outside as a car pulled up. “Here, let of them see it,” ing the cuff, just as the door opened Errol, Karatov, Carita Belleville, Edith Gaines entered. Before even a word of greeting passed, Kennedy stepped forward. “Tt was not an accident,” he repeated. “Tt was a deliberately planned, apparently safe means of revenge on Marchand, the lover of your wife. Without your new plethysmograph, Gaines, you might have thrown the guilt on an innocent person!” The next Craig Kennedy story, The Gun- runner, will appear in the January issue. as me take this off before any whispered Gaines, remov- and and Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 Palace, Jagdalpur, : Bastar State, C. P. Dear Sir: The Ross .280 bore rifle I purchased from you is a very accurate rifle and has al- ways given me entire satisfaction — I was so very pleased with this rifle in shooting a tigress lately, that I spontaneously send you this certificate, with a photo of the tigress shot, allowing you to publish the same in your catalogue. With compliments. Yours faithfully, H. H. the Raja of Bastar. The Ross .280 handles the king of the jun- gles just as successfully as it drops the great grizzlies of the American continent. In many lands hunters of big game praise its power and accuracy. Ross .280 Rifles sell at $55.00, Ross Sporting Ammunition with hollow-point bullet $7.50 per 100; at best dealers’ everywhere. ROSS RIFLE Co., Quebec, Canada or Post & Floto, 14 Reade St., New York Agents for U. S. A. “The Truth About the Bible.” “Ee will empty our jails, insane asylums and hospitals, in time. * “John H. Powell, M.D. “For ideas it is the world’s greatest book."" “J. Silas Harris, A.M.”’ Price $3. Address the aise SIDNEY C. TAPP, Ph.B., Dept. C.M., Kansas City, Mo. Pro Cards. circulars, book, paper. Press $5. Lar- C= cer $18. Rotary $60. Save money. Print for @ others, big profit. All easy, rules sent. Write factory for catalogue presses, i, cards. ao THE PRESS CO. D-36, MERIDEN, CONN. Eiichnen Actifictel Link Co. 40 Was. Av. No., Minneapolis, v. No. Bi Mien. = End of Suamp Est! Over 20 Yrs. Information or Catalog Given PATENTED Statement of the Ownership, Management, etc., re- quired by the Act of Congress of August 24, 1912, or Cosmopolitan, published monthly at New York N. Y., for October 1, 1916. (State of New York, County of New York,) ss. Before me, a Notary Public in and for the State and county aforesaid, personally appeared F. L. Wurz- burg, who, having been duly sworn according to law, deposes and says that he is the Business Manager of the Cosmopolitan Magazine and that the following is, to the best of his knowledge and belief, a true statement of the ownership, management of the aforesaid publication for the date shown in the above caption, required by the Act of August 24, 1912, embodied in section 443, Postal Laws and Regulations, to wit: 1. That the names and ad- dresses of the publisher, editor, managing editor, and business manager are: Publisher, International Magazine cee 119 West 40th St., New York, N. Y.; Faltor, , Sisson, 119 West 40th St., New York, N. Y ging tee, George C: ‘asamajor, 119 West 40th St. New York, Y.;_ Business Manager, F. L, Wurzburg, 119 West soth St., New York, N. Y. That the owners ae: International Magazine Company, 119 West 40th New York, N. Y.; Stockholders: W. R. Hearst, 137 isesue Drive, New York, N. Y.; M. V. Hearst, 137 Riverside Drive, New York, N. Y. 3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders own- ing or holding 1 per cent or more of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities are: Columbia Trust Com- pany, 60 Broadway, New York, N. Y.; M. V. Hearst, 137 Riverside Drive, New York, N. Y.; W. R. Hearst, 137 Riverside Drive, New York, N. Y.; Arthur Brisbane, 238 William St., New_York, N. Y.; Lina Strauss, 27 West 72nd St., New York, N. Y.; George J. Gould, 165 Broad- way, New York, N. Y.; E. H. Gary, 856 Fifth Ave., New York, N, Y.; Samuel Untermyer, 37 Wall St., New_York, N. Y.; H. O. Sheppard Company, Chicago, til.; George WwW. Pe rkins, 71 Broadway, New York, N. Y.; James Speyer, 1038 Fifth Ave., New York, N. Y.: Phelps Pub- lishing Company, Springfield, Mass. 4. That the two paragraphs next above, giving the names of the owners, stockholders, and security holders, if any, contain not only the list of stockholders and security holders as they appear upon the books of the company but also, in cases where the stockholder or security holder appears upon the books of the company as trustee or in any other fiduciary relation, the name of the person or corporation for whom such trustee is acting, is given; also that the said two paragraphs contain statements embracing afflant’s full knowledge and belief as to the circumstances and condi- tions under which stockholders and security holders who do not appear upon the books of the company as trustees, hold stock and securities in a capacity other than that ot a bona fide owner; and this affiant has no reason to be- lieve that any other person, association, or corporation has any interest direct or indirect in the said stock, bonds, or other securities than as so stated by him. (Signe dy F. L. Wurzburg, business manager. Sworn to and sub- scribed before me this 30th day of September, 1916, 8. B. Flaum, {seal| Notary Public, New York County. (My commission expires March 30th, 1918.)

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| secure. Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 Beyond (Continued from page 31) breakdown, the faces, blank as hats, of the registrar and clerk were about all she had to distract her. She stole a look at her husband, clothed in blue serge, just opposite. Her husband! Mrs. Gustav Fiorsen! No! People might call her that; to herself, she was Ghita Winton. “Ghita Fiorsen’”’ would never seem right. And, not confessing that she was afraid to meet his eyes, but afraid all the same, she looked out of the window. A dull, bleak, dismal day—no warmth, no sun, no music in it! Suddenly she felt his hand on hers. She had not seen his face like that before— yes; once or twice when he was playing— a spirit shining through. She felt suddenly If it stayed like that, then! His hand rested on her knee; his face changed just a little; the spirit seemed to waver, to be fading; his lips grew fuller. He crossed over and sat beside her. Instantly she began to talk about their house, where | they were going to put certain things— presents and all that. He, too, talked of the house; but every now and then he glanced at the corridor and muttered. It was pleasant to feel that the thought of her possessed him through and through, but she was tremulously glad of that corridor. Life is mercifully made up of little things! And Gyp was always able to live in the moment. In the hours they had spent together up to now, he had been like a starved man snatching hasty meals; now that he had her to himself for good, he was another creature altogether—like a boy out of school, and kept her laughing nearly all the time. Presently he got down his practise violin, and, putting on the mute, played, looking at her over his shoulder with a droll smile. She felt happy, much warmer at heart now. And when his face was turned away, she looked at him. He was so much better-looking now than when he had those little whiskers. His face was not one to be easily got used to; she was not used to it yet, any more than she was used to his touch. When it grew dark, and he wanted to | draw down the blinds, she caught him by and said, they'll the sleeve, “No, no; mooners!”’ “Well, my Gyp, and are we not?” But he obeyed; only, as the hours went on, his eyes seemed never to let her alone. At Torquay, the sky was clear and starry; the wind brought whiffs of sea- scent into their cab; lights winked far out He had put his arm round her, and she could feel his hand resting on her heart. She was gratefu! that he kept so still. When the cab stopped and they entered the hall of the hotel, she whispered, ‘Don’t let’s let them see! Still, mercifully, little minus Inspect- ing the three rooms, getting the luggage divided between dressing-room and _ bed- room, unpacking, wondering which dress to put on for dinner, stopping to look out over the dark rocks and the sea, where the moon was coming up, dressing so quickly, fluttering when she found him suddenly there close behind her, beginning to do up her hooks. Those fingers were too skilful! It was the first know we're honey- time she had thought of his past with a sort of hurt pride and fastidiousness. When he had finished, he twisted her around, held her away, ‘looked at her from head to foot, and said, “Mine!” Her heart beat fast then; but suddenly he laughed, slipped his arm about her, and danced her twice round the room. He let her go demurely down the stairs in front of him, saying: “They shan't see—my Gyp. Oh, they shan’t see! We are old | married people, tired of each other—very!” At dinner, it amused him at first—her too, a little—to keep up this farce of in- difference. But every now and then he turned and stared at some inoffensive visitor who was taking interest in them, with such fierce and genuine contempt that Gyp took alarm; whereon he laughed. When she had drunk a little wine and he had drunk a good deal, the farce of indif- ference came to its end. He talked at a great rate now, slyly nicknaming the waiters and mimicking the people around— happy thrusts that made her smile but shiver a little, lest they should be heard or seen. Their heads were close together across the little table. They went out into the lounge. Coffee came, and he wanted her to smoke with him. She had never smoked in a public room. But it seemed stiff and ‘‘missish’’ to refuse—she must do now as his world did. And it was anotper little thing; she wanted little things, all the time wanted them. She drew back a window-curtain, and they stood there side by side. The sea was deep blue beneath bright stars, and the moon shone through a ragged pine tree on a little headland. He sighed and said, “Beautiful night, my Gyp!” And sud- denly it struck her that she knew nothing of what was in him, and yet he was her husband! ‘‘Husband’—funny word, not pretty! She felt as a child opening the door of a dark room, and, clutching his arm, said: “Look! There’s a sailing boat! What’s it doing out there at night?” Another little thing! Any little thing! Presently, he said: “Come up-stairs! Dll play to you.” Up in their sitting-room was a piano, but—not possible; to-morrow they would have to get another. To-morrow! The fire was hot, and he took off his coat to play. In one of his shirt-sleeves there was arent. She thought, witha sort of triumph, “T shall mend that!” It was something definite, actual—a little thing. There were lilies in the room that gave a strong, sweet scent. He brought them up to her to sniff, and, while she was sniffing, stooped suddenly and kissed her neck. She shut her eyes with a shiver. He took the flowers away <* once, and when she opened her eyes again, his violin was at his shoulder. For a whole hour he played, and Gyp, in her cream-colored frock, lay back, listening. She was tired, not sleepy. It would have been nice to have been sleepy. His gaze never left her face; he played and played, and his own fitful face grew clouded. At last he put away the violin, and said, “Go to bed, Gyp; you’re tired.” Obedient!y she got up and went into the

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— TT er tsgeeernenene Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 next room. An age—it seemed —she lay there, her eyes not quite closed, watching the flicker of the firelight. She 1 did not think—could not—just lay stiller than the dead. The door creaked. She |§ shut her eyes. Had she a heart at all? It did not seem to beat. She lay thus, with eyes shut, till she could bear it no longer. By the firelight she saw him, could just see his face—like a face—a face—where seen? Ah, yes—a picture— of a wild man crouching at the feet of Iphigenia—so humble, so hungry, so lost in gazing! She gave a little smothered sob and held out her hand. II Gyp was too proud to give by halves. And in those early days she gave Fiorsen everything except—her heart. She ear- nestly desired to give that too; but hearts only give themselves. He. knew he was not getting her heart, and it made him, in the wildness of his nature, go just the wrong way to work, trying to conquer her by the senses, not the soul. Yet she was not unhappy—it cannot be said she was unhappy, except for a sort of lost feeling sometimes, as if she were trying to grasp something that kept slipping, slipping away. There was al- ways that feeling that she was not close. When he was playing, with the spirit-look on his face, she would feel, ‘“‘Now, now, surely I shall get close to him!” But the look would go; how to keep it there she did not know, and when it went, her feel- ing went, too. Their little suite of rooms was at the very end of the hotel, so that he might play as much as he wished. While he practised in the mornings, she would go into the garden, which sloped in rock-terraces down to the sea. Wrapped in fur, she would sit there with a book. The air was often soft; the birds sang already and were busy with their weddings, and twice, at least, spring came in her heart—that wonderful feeling when first the whole being scents new life preparing in the earth and the wind—the feeling that only comes when spring is not yet, and one aches and rejoices all at — once. Out here, she had feelings that she did not get with him, of being at one with every- thing. She did not realize how tremen- dously she had grown up in these few days, how the ground-bass had already come into the light music of her life. Living with Fiorsen was opening her eyes to much; with her perhaps fatal receptivity, she was already soaking up the atmosphere of his philosophy. He was always in revolt against accepting things because he was expected to; but, like most executant artists, he was no reasoner, just a mere instinctive kicker against the pricks. He would lose himself in delight with a sunset, a Scent, a tune, in a rush of pity for a beggar or a blirid man, a rush of | aversion from a man with large feet or a long nose, of hatred for a woman with a flat chest or an expression of sanctimony. He would swing along when he was walking, or dawdle, dawdle; he would sing and laugh, and make her laugh, too, till she ached, and half an hour later would sit staring into some pit of darkness in a sort of powerful brooding of his whole being. Insensibly, she shared in this deep drinking of sensation, but always gracefully, fastidi- The gambler sits there, a big, eas ‘the woman slips in, with a black ragged skirt, white face, eyes a cross between Gabriel’s and a sick kitten’s. without a word and looks at the money. Old Jack gets up, peels off the roll and th Legal Tender 41 y-going man, when shawl, creepy hair, She stands there en—but O. HENRY tells it better. power. With swift, sure strokes he drives his story home. He saw, and seeing, understood. ‘That is the secret of his Never a word is wasted. From the first word the interest starts and you are carried on in the sure magic of his vivid sentences to the unexpected climax. O. Henry has come to fill American Life. Wherever you go—whatever you read you meet O. Henry. In the news stories from the war, there are intimate refer- ences to O. Henry—at social gatherings— at hunt meets—on the road—every- where everybody knows O. Henry and refers lovingly to his people and his stories. The founder of a new literature—no wonder the sale goes up and up—higher and higher each day. Long ago he reached beyond the world's record for short stories. 1,500,000 already in the United States. How many in France and England—Germany—Afriea — Asia and Australia—we cannot tell. As the KIPLING FRE years go by, our wonder grows greater— as the years go by, his fame grows greater for the wisdom—the understanding—the love—the humor—the sweetness of these pages. Always healthy in their influence —always facing truth when truth has to be told—a bracer to the heart and mind —while the tears and laughter struggle together and neither wins. Don’t get him to read him once—you’ll read him a hundred times—and find him each time as fresh and unexpected as at the first. He puts his finger on the pulse- strings of your heart and plays on them to your delight and your surprise. That is the mystery of O. Henry—his power beyond understanding. And besides to get your prompt action we give you, free, Kipling in six volumes —179 stories—the greatest he ever wrote—the red, red stories of fight and the keen blue stories of peace. 451 Short Stories—2 Long Novels 0 HENRY 12 volumes bound in green silk cloth and . gold. Gold tops; illustrated; 274 complete stories; one long novel. KIPLIN 6 volumes. 179 stories and poems; one long novel; red silk; gold tops. Webi ats gigs Peon Ne Send the books | Send No Money back—the whole 18—if they’re not the biggest, the best you ever saw or read. Better than moving ae —for these are permanent, real moving pictures of life. 25c a week pays for O. Henry. The Kipling is free. Send the coupon before it is too late and put the 18 books on your library shelves and the new joy in your heart. Don’t wait till tomorrow and be sorry. Send coupon today and be glad. REVIEW OF REVIEWS CO. 30 Irving Place New York Review of Reviews Co. Cosmo, 12-16 ff 30 Irving Place, New York Send meon approval, charges paid by you, O. Henry's works in 12 volumes, gold tops. Also the 6-volume set of Kipling, bound in cloth. If I keep the books, I will remit $1 per month for 15 months for the O. Henry set only and retain the Kipling set without charge. Otherwise I will, within ten days, return both sets at your expense. Name Address Occupation dcwaareGeaaa Therich % leather edition of O. Henry costs only a few cents more a volume and has proved a favorite binding. For this luxurieus binding, change above to $1.50 a month for 13 months.

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She could not get used to this utter oblivion of people’s feelings, to the fero- cious contempt with which he would look at those who got on his nerves, and make half-audible comments. She would visibly shrink at those remarks, though they were sometimes so excruciatingly funny that she had to laugh, and feel dreadful immediately after. She saw that he resented her shrinking; it seemed to excite him to run amuck the more. But she could not help it. Once she got up and walked away. He followed her, sat on the floor beside her knees, and thrust his head, like a great cat, under her hand. “Forgive me, my Gyp; but they are such brutes! Who could help it? Now tell me—who could, except my Gyp?” And she had to forgive him. But, one evening, when he had been really out- rageous during dinner, she answered: “No; I can’t. It’s you that are the brute. You were a brute to them!” He leaped up with a face of furious gloom and went out of the room. It was the first time he had given way to anger with her. Gyp sat by the fire, very disturbed— chiefly because she was not really upset at having hurt him. Surely she ought to be feeling miserable at that! But when, at ten o’clock, he had not come back, she began to flutter in earnest. She had said a dreadful thing! And yet, in her heart, she did not take back her judgment. He really had been a brute. Going to the window, she looked out over the sea, feeling beaten and con- fused. This was the first time she had given free rein to her feeling against what Winton would have called his ‘‘bounder- ism.” If he had been English, she would never have been attracted by one who could trample so on other people’s feelings. What, then, had attracted her? His strangeness, wildness, the mesmeric pull of his passion for her, his music! Nothing could spoil that in him. The sweep, the surge, and sigh in his playing were like the sea out there, dark and surf-edged, beating on the rocks; or the sea deep-colored in daylight, with white gulls over it; or the sea with those sinuous paths made by the wandering currents, the subtle, smiling, silent sea, holding in suspense its unfathom- able restlessness, waiting to surge and That was what she wanted from him—not his adoration, his wit, or his queer, lithe comeliness touched with felinity; no, only that in his soul which escaped though his fingers into the air and dragged at her soul. UH, when he came in, she were to run to him, throw her arms round his neck, make herself feel close, lose herself in him! Why not? It washer duty; why not her delight, too? But she shivered. Some instinct too deep for analysis made her recoil as if she were afraid, literally scared of letting herself go, of loving—the subtlest instinct of self-preservation against something fatal. She passed into their bedroom and be- gan slowly to undress. To go to bed with- out knowing where he was, what doing, thinking, seemed already a little odd; and she sat brushing her hair slowly with the silver-backed brushes, staring at her own pale face, whose eyes looked so very large and dark. At last there came to her the feeling: “I can’t help it! I don’t care!” Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 And, getting into bed, she turned out the light. It seemed queer and lonely. And then, without more ado, she slept. She had a dream of being between Fiorsen and her father in a railway-carriage out at sea, with the water rising higher and higher, swishing and sighing. Awakening always, like a dog, to perfect presence of mind, she knew that he was playing in the sitting-room, playing—at what time of night? She lay listening to a quivering, gibbering tune that she did not know. Should she be first to make it up, or should she wait for him? Twice she half slipped out of bed, but both times, as if fate meant her not to move, he chose that moment to swell out the sound, and each time she thought: “No, I can’t. It’s just the same now; he doesn’t care how many people he wakes up. He does just what he likes, and cares nothing for anyone.” And covering her ears with her hands, she con- tinued to lie motionless. When she withdrew her hands at last, he had stopped. Then she heard him coming, and feigned sleep. She submitted to his kisses without a word, her heart hardening within her—surely he smelled of brandy! Next morning, he seemed to have forgotten it all. But Gyp had not. She wanted badly to know what he had felt, where he had gone, but was too proud to ask. She wrote twice to her father in the first week, but afterward, except for a post- card now and then, she never could. Why tell him what she was doing, in company of one whom he could not bear to think of? Had he been right? ‘To confess that would hurt her pride too much. But she began to long for London. The thought of her little house was a green spot to dwell on. When they were settled in it, and could do what they liked without anxiety about people’s feelings, it would be all right perhaps. When he could start again really working, and. she helping him, all would be different. Her new house, and so much to do; her new garden, and fruit- trees coming into blossom! She would have dogs and cats, would ride when dad was in town. Aunt Rosamund would come, friends, evenings of music, dances still, perhaps—he danced beautifully, and loved it, as she did. And his concerts— the elation of being identified with his success! But, above all, the excitement of making her home as dainty as’she could, with daring experiments in form and color! And yet, at heart she knew that to be already looking forward, banning the pres- ent, was a bad sign. One thing, at all events, she enjoyed— sailing. They had blue days when even the March sun was warm, and there was just breeze enough. He was at his best with simple folk, and he got on excellently well with the old salt whose boat they used. In those hours, Gyp had some real sensations of romance. ‘The sea was so blue, the rocks and wooded spurs of that Southern coast so dreamy in the bright land-haze. Oblivious of “the old salt,” he would put his arm round her; out there, she could swallow down her sense of form, and be grateful for feeling nearer to him in spirit. She made loyal efforts to understand him in these weeks that were bringing a certain disillusionment. But the trouble lay deeper—the sense of an insuperable barrier. She could not let herself be known, and she could not know him.

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916

A few San-Tox Toilet Luxuries from the com- plete line of 125 Toilet and Health Preparations

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She Confidence Ketlected in a Sace for confidence. She is the San-Tox Nurse. You will do well to look for her. Expressing as she does the purest and best in toilet preparations, is it surprising that druggist and purchaser alike unite in a confidence in San-Tox quality? A {MONG her other qualities she stands Could such confidence be better exemplified than by the San-Tox druggist’s offer to return the purchase money on any San-Tox preparation which should not prove an utter and complete comfort? Or yet by the San-Tox purchaser's invariable delight in each San-Tox purchase after it is tried? This confidence in San-Tox is most encour- aging to those who, creating San-Tox, know what San-Tox purity and San-Tox quality are. All the cleansing wholesomeness of San-Tox Tooth Paste, -all the distinctiveness of San-Tox En- chantment Complexion Powder, all the grateful restfulness of San-Tox Cold Cream, all the con- tenting touch of San-Tox Velvet Lotion is but the result of quality, of purity in San-Tox making. This confidence in San-Tox, you, too, may share with that druggist who displays the “Sign of the Nurse” at his window—a druggist care- fully appointed as a representative of that better service and those forward moving ideals for which San-Tox stands. SAN-TOX FOR PURITY De Pree, Chicago Means Better Service

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+ 144 Why the Stomach is the Seat of All Ailments By Arthur True Buswell, M. D. A MAN’S success in life depends more on the co- operation of his stomach than on any other factor. Just as an ‘‘army moves on its stomach” so does the individual. Scien- tists tell us that 90% of all sickness is traceable to the digestive tract. As Dr. Orison Swett Marden, the noted writer, says, “the brain gets an immense amount of credit which really should go to the stomach.” And it’s true—keep the digestive system in shape and brain vitality is assured. Food is the fuel of the human system, yet some of the combinations of food we put into our systems are as dangerous as dynamite, soggy wood and a little coal would be in a furnace—and just about as effective. Is it any wonder that the average life of man today is but 39 years —and that diseases of the stomach, liver and kidneys have increased 103%; during the past few years! And yet just as wrong food selections and combinations will destroy our health and efficiency, so will the right foods create and maintain bodily vigor and mental energy. And by right foods we do not mean freak foods—just good, every- day foods properly combined. In fact, to follow Corrective Eating it isn’t even necessary to upset your table. Not long ago I had a talk with Eugene Christian, the noted food scientist, who is said to have successfully treated over 23,000 people without drugs or medicines of any kind, and he told me of some of his experiences in the treatment of disease through food. One case that interested me greatly vas that of a young business man whose efficiency had been practically wrecked through stomach acidity. fermentation and constipation resulting in physical slug- gishness which was naturally reflected in his ability to use his mind. He was twenty pounds underweight when he first went to see Christian and was so nervous he couldn’t sleep. Stomach and intestinal gases were so severe that they caused irregular heart action and often fits of great mental depression. As Christian de- scribes it he was not 50% efficient either mentally or physically. Yet in a few days, by following Christian's suggestions as to food, his constipation had completely gone although he had formerly been in the habit of taking large daily doses of a strong cathartic. In five weeks every abnormal symptom had disappeared—his weight having in- creased 6 Ibs. In addition to this he acquired a EUGENE CHRISTIAN store of physical and mental energy so great in comparison with his former self as to almost belie the fact that it was the same man. Another instance of what proper food combina- tions can do was that of a man one hundred pounds overweight whose only other discomfort was rheu- matism. This man’s greatest pleasure in life was eating. Though convinced of the necessity, he hesitated for months to go under treatment believ- ing he would be deprived of the pleasures of the table. He finally, however, decided to try it out. Not only did he begin losing weight at once, quickly regaining his normal figure, all signs of rheumatism disappearing, but he found the new diet far more delicious to the taste and afforded a much keener quality of enjoyment than his old method of eating and he wrote Christian a letter to that effect. But perhaps the most interesting case that Christian told me of was that of a multi-millionaire —a man 70 years old who had been traveling with his doctor for several years in a search for health. He was extremely emaciated, had chronic constipa- tion, lumbago and rheumatism. For over twenty years he had suffered with stomach and intestinal trouble which in reality was superaciduous secre- tions in the stomach. The first menus given him were designed to remove the causes of acidity, which was accomplished in about thirty days. And after this was done he seemed to undergo a complete rejuvenation. His eyesight, hearing, taste and all of his mental faculties became keener and more alert. He had had no organic trouble but he was starving to death from malnutrition and decomposition—all caused by the wrong selection and combination of foods. After six months’ treatment this man was as well and strong as he had ever been in his life. These instances of the efficacy of right eating I have simply chosen at random from perhaps a dozen Eugene Christian told me of, every one of which was fully as interesting and they applied to as many different ailments. Surely this man Chris tian is doing a great work. There have been so many inquiries from all parts of the United States from people seeking the benefit of Eugene Christian’s advice and whose cases he is unable to handle personally that he has written a little course of lessons which tells you exactly what to eat for health, strength and efficiency. These lessons, there are 24 of them, contain actual menus for breakfast, luncheon and dinner, curative as well as corrective, covering every condi- tion of health and sickness from infancy to old age and for all occupations, climates and seasons in- cluding special summer menus which enable you to withstand the heat and retain winter’s vigor. With these lessons at hand it is just as though you were in personal contact with the great food specialist, because every possible point is so thor- oughly covered and clearly explained that you can scarcely think of a question which isn’t answered. You can start eating the very things that will pro- duce the increased physical and mental energy you are seeking the day you receive the lessons and you will find that you secure results with the first meal. If you would like to examine these 24 Little Lessons in Corrective Eating simply write The Corrective Eating Society, Dept. 912, 460 Fourth Ave., New York City. It is not necessary to enclose any money with your request. Merely ask them to send the lessons on five days’ trial with the understanding that you will either return them within that time or remit $3.00, the small fee asked. ADVERTISEMENT. Please clip out and mail the following form instead of writing a letter, as this is a copy of the official blank adopted by the Society and will be honored at once. CORRECTIVE EATING SOCIETY, Dept. 912, 460 Fourth Ave., New York City You may send me prepaid a copy of Corrective Eating in 24 lessons. I will either remail them to you within five days after receipt or send you $3. Name eee Address...........0-02-0005- State. Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 One morning, he held up a letter. “Ah, ha! Paul Rosek went to see our house. ‘A pretty dove’s nest!’ he calls it.” The memory of the Pole’s sphinxlike, sweetish face and eyes that seemed to know so many secrets always affected Gyp un- pleasantly. She said quietly, “Why do you like him, Gustav?” “Like him? Oh, he is useful. A good judge of music, and—many things.” “T think he is hateful.”’ Fiorsen laughed. “Hateful? Why hateful, my Gyp? He is a good friend. And he admires you— oh, he admires you very much! He has success with women. He always says, ‘Jai une technique merveilleuse pour vaincre une femme.” Gyp laughed. “Ugh! He’s like a toad, I think.” “Ah, I shall tell him that! He will be flattered.” “Tf you do; if you give me away, I-——’ He jumped up and caught her in his arms; his face was so comically compunc- tious that she calmed down at once. She thought over her words afterward and regretted them. All the same, Rosek was > a sneak and a cold sensualist, she was sure. And the thought that he had been spying at their little house tarnished her anticipations of home-coming. They went to town three days later. While the taxi was skirting Lord’s Cricket Ground, Gyp slipped her hand into Fior- sen’s. She was brimful of excitement. They were in the road now. Five, seven, nine—thirteen! .Two more! There it was, nineteen, in white figures on the leaf- green railings, under the small green lilac buds; yes, and their almond-blossom was out! She could just catch a glimpse over those tall railings of the low white house with its green outside shutters. She jumped out almost into the arms of Betty, who stood smiling all over her broad, flushed face, while from under each arm peered forth the head of a black devil, with pricked ears and eyes bright as dia- monds. “Betty! What darlings!” ‘Major Winton’s present, my dear— ma’am!” Giving the stout shoulders a hug, Gyp seized the black devils and ran up the path under the trellis, while the Scotch- terrier pups, squeezed against her breast, made confused small noises and licked her nose and ears. Through the square hall she ran into the drawing-room, which opened out onto the lawn; and there, in the French window, stood spying out the spick-and-span room, where everything was, of course, placed just wrong. The coloring, white, ebony, and satinwood, looked nicer even than she had hoped. Out in the garden—her own garden—the pear trees were thickening, but not in blossom yet; a few daffodils were in bloom along the walls, and a magnolia had one bud opened. And, all the time, she kept squeezing the puppies to her, enjoying their young, warm, fluffy savor, and letting them kiss her. She ran out of the drawing-room, up the stairs. Her bed- room, the dressing-room, the spare room, the bathroom—she dashed into them all. Oh, it was nice to be in your own place, to be— Suddenly, she felt herself lifted off the ground from behind, and in that undignified position, her eyes flying, she turned her face till he could reach her lips.

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 II To wake, and hear the birds at early practise, and feel that winter is over—is there any pleasanter moment? That first morning in her new house, Gyp woke with the sparrow, or whatever the bird which utters the first cheeps and twitters, soon eclipsed by so much that is more important in bird-song. She turned and looked at her husband. He lay with his head snoozled down into the pillow, so that she could only see his thick, rumpled hair. And a shiver went through her, exactly as if a strange man were lying there. Did he really belong to her, and she to him—for good? And was this their house—together? It a!] seemed somehow different, more serious and troubling, in this strange room that was to be so permanent. Careful not to wake him, she slipped out and stood between the curtains and the window. Light was all in confusion yet; away low down behind the trees, the rose of dawn still clung. One might almost have been in the country but for the faint, rumorous noises of the town be- ginning to wake, and that film of ground- mist which veils the feet of London mornings. She thought: ‘‘I am mistress in this house, have to direct it all—see to everything! And my pups! Oh, what do they eat?” That was the first of many hours of anxiety, for she was very conscientious. Her fastidiousness desired perfection, but her sensitiveness refused to demand it of others—especially servants. Why should she harry them? Fiorsen had not the faintest notion of regularity. She found that he could not even begin to appreciate her struggles in housekeeping. And she was much too proud to ask his help, or perhaps too wise, since he was obviously unfit to give -it. To live like the birds of the air was his motto. Gyp would have liked nothing better; but, for that, one must not have a house with three servants, several meals, two puppy-dogs, and no great experience of how to deal with any of them. She spoke of her difficulties to no one and suffered the more. With Betty—who, bone-conservative, admitted Fiorsen as hardly as she had once admitted Winton— she had to be very careful. But her great trouble was with her father. Though she longed to see him, she literally dreaded their meeting. He first came—as he had been wont to come when she was a tiny girl—at the hour when he thought the fellow to whom she now belonged would most likely be out. She opened the door herself, and hung about him so that his shrewd eyes should not see her face. And she began at once to talk of the puppies, whom she had named Don and Doff. They were perfect darlings; nothing was safe from them; her slippers were completely done for; they had already got into her china-cabinet and gone to sleep there. He must come and see all over. Hooking her arm into his, and talking all the time, she took him up-stairs and down, and out into the garden, to the studio, or music-room, at the end, which had an entrance to itself onto a back lane. This room had been the great attraction. Fiorsen could practise there in peace. Winton went along with her very quietly, making a shrewd comment now and then. This Shumate “Barber” Here’s the reason—the blade is made for life. : Q Sent postpaid, $900 Established 1884 Capacity 6,000 razors daily Re ee Shumate edge‘than any ordinary steel can—and it holds it. You can use it for years without honing. The secret of this wonderful steel is ours alone, and we guard it jealously. 3 Here’s our unqualified guarantee: Buy a Shumate “Barber” razor and use it—not once, but as long as you like. If you say after an exacting trial that you don’t like it, we'll exchange it without a word. In remitting, mention your dealer's name, and a chamois lined, rust-proof case will be included with your razor. State whether you want light, medium or heavy blade. aA A Ma: 0M AA YouTakeNoRisk This Razor is GUARANTEED FOR LIFE razor is so good that we dare guarantee it to you from Tungsten Alloy Steel, which takes a keener Heavy blade for very strong beards. Razor Co., 630 Locust St., St. Louis, U.S.A. ] 7 Years a Failure—Then Sudden ‘Culture of Courage, Success! ”? a Work That Is Performing Miracles. Let Me Lend You a Copy. ‘For seven years I worked unsuccessfully on a project and had about giv en it up until I got a copy of ‘Culture of Courage.” By applying the inciples set forth in this great book, I was ible to put the proposition over in less than two months, and it wasn’t so hard after all.” These are the words of a man who recently became an owner of “Culture of Courage,” and they reflect the experience of thousands of other men and women in all walks of life who are fol- lowing the fear destroying, success achieving — secrets laid bare for the first time in this great course—secrets which show how to win life’s battles by cultivating the courage to succeed. How to overcome Timidity. low to conquer Bashfulness. How to have “‘nerve. How to demand ‘your own. How to face people you have always felt inferior to. How to develop Self- Confidence. How to deal with people on their own level. How to successfully face embarrassing situations. How to “rise to the occasion.” How to be Forceful and Dominant. Howto eliminate Ner- vousness in dealing with bi, men. 1 compleie List of Co Fear is Man’s Greatest Enemy The poisonous dragon of fear does more to hinder the world’s , progress each year than all the Euro- pean war's ravages since the struggle began. Fear ot things, fear of people, lack ot self-confidence and worry are the dragon's claws which pin millions of good men down when they could and should be successful in all that they undertake. Courage Wins Courage is the indispe nsable weapon in man’s fight for suc Ss. The courageous man wins because he doesn't know the failure slo- gans “I dare not,” “I haven't the ability.” Instead, he is sure of himself—he succeeds because he never contemplates failure and thus he often accomplishes the “impossible Ty Culture of Courage” is by Frank Channing Haddock, the famous author of “ Powe: of Will” scientist bgios anne ranks with peter Bergson and Royce. It is net an inspirationa we book which mere ly admonishes you to *“de- ati -teatmer troy your fears and “be courageous Top Instead, it is a practical course in how to leaves overcome each particular mad of human Partial Contents * How to banish Fear, this page Ph.D.— fear, physical as well as mental, to which we are all sub- jected. It contains actual principles, rules, methods and exercises which anyone can easily follow and become ten times bigger—ten times more successful—ten times happier than you have even dared hope. Will Help You Never, we believe, has a Le of more practical help been written One man tells us how he had been out of a position for months and had ab- solutely lost confidence in him- self until after reading ‘‘ Culture of Courage" he went out and se- cured an excellent position the very same day. Thatisonly oneexample. Some at it has made them selt- nt and able to demand what they want, instead of whin- ing forit hatin hand. Others say that for the first time are they able to talk to men they had always held in awe—others, that it has perstition. given them courage to take risks How to tace old age] they dared not and they have won calmly J c out—others, that they have ban- How to maintain] ished superstition and fear of poise in public. things formerly beyond their con- How to assert your-| trol—some say that they now self in Business nf have courage to say “no,”” the How to act calmly and naturally on occasions that usu- ally excited you. physical as well as mental. How to stop Worry. How to become a Man among men How to get rid ot Su- well as in the hardest word in the English lan- Home guage—and hundreds say it has How to develop cour- | given them a new grip on life age to swing big What “Culture of Courage” deals . has done for thousands of users, How to dominate} among them many prominent in Circumstances all fields of endeavor, it will do for you by forever eliminating fear in all its diabolical disguises and putting in its placea brand of courage that will make you well nigh invincible. No Money in Advance So confident are we that once you examine this great book in your own home, you would never give it up, that we offer to send it on five days’ free trial without a cent in ntents would almost fill amie advance. Keep it five days—look it L. PELTON over carefully—then if you feel you PELTON PUB. CO, can affoid to be without it, mail it 71-W Wilcox Block back and you owe us nothing, Meriden, € otherwise remit $3.00, the smal! riden, Lona, price of this big 460 page leather bound book. Remem ber, no money in advance Merely mail the coupon, enclosing business card or giving a reference, today: A. L. PELTON PELTON PUB. (0. 71-W Wilcox Block Meriden, Conn. Gentlemen: Please send me a copy of “Culture of Courage” onapproval. lI agree to remit $30 or remail the book in 5 days.

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Play While You Pay! Have you any idea how little it will ay to have your own Billiard and Pool Table —to learn the games or become an expert at home? Under our easy payment plan you will be surprised to find how easily you can own a a me Billiard and Pool Table The prices are from $15. up, on easy terms of $1. or more down (depending on size and _ style selected), and a small amount each month. Sizes range up to 4'5x 9 feet (standard). Complete equipment of balls, cues, etc., free. No Special Room Needed The Burrowes Table can be set on your dining-room or library table, or mounted on its own legs or fold- ing stand, and quickly set aside when not in use. Burrowes Tables are magnificently constructed and are scientifically correct in every way. They are used by many Experts for home practice. The most delicate shots, calling for the greatest skill, can i be executed with the utmost accuracy. Great ex- | perts say that the Burrowes Regis High-Speed | | Rubber Cushions are the best made. i THE E. T. BURROWES co. en 51 aint Street, Portland, Me. New a Senile Needs Specialists From every s¢ stent call for men hae cat sew foreign trade. Why n make this pportunity for advancement? Men who can ¢ 1 de- are always ir th teen other get into the n regular work. iplet for a few short months. amazed at t activities an ‘Business Training orporation, 1112 Cameron Bo ding, New York, N. Y. Eas STORY-WRITING TAUGHT ji, i, revised, and typed; al ion Our students sell st ries to azines. Free booklet, ““WRITING " tells how, gives proof B National Press Association, Dept. 62, Indianapolis, ind. GEORGE ADE’S next Fable in slang “ALL THAT TRIANGLE STUFF AS SIZED UP BY THE MEAL TICKET” Will appear in JANUARY COSMOPOLITAN PARCHEESI Our Grandparents played Par- cheesi. Our Parents played Par- cheesi. Our Children want Par- me! Cheesi. Sold by Department Stores, Toy & Stationery Stores. Manufactured by SELCHOW & RIGHTER CO. N.Y. TRADE MARK PARCHEES! | Mountebank! At the far end of the garden, looking over the wall, down into that narrow ee which lay between it and the back of another garden, he squeezed her arm sud- denly and said, ‘Well, Gyp, what sort of a time?” | | } | | 1h | The question had come at last. “Oh, rather lovely—in some ways.” || But she did not look at him, nor he at her. | ‘See, dad; the cats have made quite a | path there!” Winton bit his lips and turned from the wall. The thought of that fellow was bitter within him. She meant to tell him nothing, meant to keep up that light- hearted look—which didn’t deceive him a bit! “Look at my spring to-day!” behind her head. spring!” And Winton thought, “She’s changed!” She had softened, quickened—more depth of color in her, more gravity, more sway in her body, more sweetness in her smile. But—was she happy? A voice said, ‘Ah, what a pleasure!” The fellow had slunk up like the great cat he was. And it seemed to Winton that Gyp had winced. “Dad thinks we ought to have dark curtains in the music-room, Gustav.” Fiorsen made a bow. “Yes, yes—like a London club.” Winton, watching, was sure of supplica- tion in her face. And, forcing a smile, he said: “You seem very snug here. Glad to see you again. Gyp looks splendid.” Another of those bows he so detested! Never, never would he be able to stand the fellow! But he must not, would not, show it. And, as soon as he decently could, he went, taking his lonely way back through this region, of which his knowledge was limited to Lord’s Cricket crocuses! It’s really Gyp clasped her hands “Lovely—to feel the | Ground, with a sense of doubt and desola- | tion, an irritation more than ever mixed with the resolve to be always at hand if | as before. the child wanted him. He had not been gone ten minutes before aunt Rosamund appeared, with a crutch- handled stick and a gentlemanly limp, for she, too, indulged her ancestors in gout. \ desire for exclusive possession of their friends is natural to some people, and the good lady had not known how fond she was of her niece till the girl had slipped off into this marriage. She wanted her back, to govabout with and make much of, And her well-bred drawl did | not quite disguise this feeling. | minutes. Gyp could detect Fiorsen subtly mimick- ing that drawl, and her ears began to burn. The puppies afforded a diversion— their points, noses, boldness, and food held the danger in abeyance for some Then the mimicry began again. When aunt Rosamund had taken a some- what sudden leave, Gyp stood at- the window of her drawing-room with the mask off her face. Fiorsen came up, put his arm round her from behind, and said, with a fierce sigh, ‘* Are they coming often—these excellent people?” Gyp drew back from him. “Tf you love me, why do you try to hurt the people who love me, too?” “Because I am jealous. even of those puppies.” I am jealous Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 “ And shall you try to hurt them?” “If I see them too much near you, perhaps I shall.” “Do you think I can be happy if you hurt things because they love me?” He sat down and drew her on to his knee. She did not resist, but made not the faintest return to his caresses. The first time—the very first friend to come into her own new home! It was too much! Fiorsen said hoarsely: “You do not love me. If you loved me, I should feel it through your lips. I should see it in your eyes. Oh, love me, Gyp! You shall!” But to say to Love, “ was not the way to touch Gyp. It seemed to her mere ill-bred stupidity. She froze against him in soul, all the more that she yielded her body. When a woman re- fuses nothing to one whom she does not really love, shadows are already falling on the bride-house. And Fiorsen knew it; but his self-control about equaled that of the two puppies. Yet, on the whole, these first weeks in her new home were happy, too busy to allow much room for doubting or regret. Several important concerts were fixed for May. She looked forward to these with intense eagerness, and pushed everything that interfered with preparation into the background. As though to make up for that instinctive recoil from giving her heart, of which she was always subcon- scious, she gave him all her activities with- out calculation or reserve. She was ready to play for him all day and every day. To fail him in this way would have tarnished her opinion of herself. But she had some free hours in the morning, for he had the habit of lying in bed tilt eleven, and was never ready for practise before twelve. In those early hours, she got through her orders and her shopping—that pursuit, which, to so many women, is the only real ‘“‘sport” —a chase of the ideal, a pitting of one’s taste and knowledge against that of the world at large. Gyp never went shop- ping without that faint thrill running up and down her nerves. She hated to be touched by strange fingers, but not even that stopped her pleasure in turning and turning before long mirrors, while the saleswoman or man, with admiration, at first crocodilic and then genuine, ran the tips of fingers over those curves, smoothing and pinning, and uttering the word, ‘““moddam.”’ On other mornings, she would ride with Winton, who would come for her, leaving her again at her door after their outings. One day, after a ride in Richmond Park, where the horse-chestnuts were just coming into flower, they had late breakfast on the veranda of a hotel before starting for home. Some fruit-trees were still in blos- som just below them, and the sunlight, showering down from a blue sky, brightened to silver the windings of the river, and to gold the budding leaves of the oak trees. Winton, smoking his after-breakfast cigar, stared down across the tops of those trees toward the river. Stealing a glance at him, Gyp said very softly, “Did you ever ride with my mother, dad?” “Only once to-day. She was on a black mare; a chestnut is Gyp stretched her hand across the table and laid it on his. ” Stand and deliver! the very ride we’ve been I had —_— -——————__—__.

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 ‘Ever-Ready’ 8% ¢ with ]'2, Radio Blades 149 the Greatest Luxury and the Greatest Economy a Dollar ever Bought HE ‘Ever-Ready’ is a handsome razor—handsomely finished and handsomely cased. But ‘handsome is as handsome does’ and it’s the shave that ‘Ever-Ready’ gives you and the save that ‘Ever-Ready’ nets you that make it the largest selling safety razor in the world. The ‘Ever-Ready’ is keen to shave you. The angle of the frame is right. The weight is right. The grip is right. You just naturally hold it right for shaving. And the blades are “Radio” Blades— the marvel of the razor industry. “Radio” is a new steel, made into blades by an improved ‘process that results in keener edge and longer life. Your beard is child’s play for a “Radio” blade, no matter how stiff or stubbly it may be. Try a “Radio” Blade‘in your present razor. It will be a big improvement. Then buy a complete ‘Ever-Ready’ outfit. It will be a revolutionary improvement. One Dollar brings you the luxury of the ‘Ever- Ready,’ complete with 12 “‘Radio”’ Blades. Extra “‘Radio’’ Blades, 6 for 30c. At all hardware, drug and general stores. American Safety Razor Co., Inc., Brooklyn, N. Y

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150 s eoe Sebecese se se SSS S5S5¢6E5R 4 Fhe Medici Prints ‘| f The Old Masters in Color a | QHeCoplevPrints | i Masterpieces of American Art fi uy : ; : : | The above quaint and charming picture is [ fn THE FORTUNE TELLER a E by Sir Joshua Reynolds. The Medici Print al of it, in the colors of the original, 23x18 inches in f is $12.06; suitably framed, $20.00. General nl | range of prices, $1.50 to $20.00. Also Medici o Miniatures. Careful attention to appro- Z| priate framing. S| bi FOR GIFTS and for decoration in one’s o1 mn home both u f THE COPLEY PRINTS d MEDIC! ul PRINTS are of the highest distinction. i 3 The Medici Prints Ee U “are the finest of all reproductions in color; {fl > short of amazing, «Ti fn tk perfect iF says The Lov a] The iinteas Prints 4 art, reproduced f f are masterpieces of Ame n | in rich sepia tone, som olor. For 21 years | f a hall-mark of good taste in pictures. Of our f al Copley Prints of the Holy Grail, Abbey him | f self said, ‘‘I could not wish better.” Winslow f a] ers le ate work, The Gale, is one of our ul atest subjects. ul Your Old Family Portraits in fn reproduced privatelyinthe COPL E YPRINTS iE ~ 1 i heirloom dagu ied photo- 5 graphs, tintypes,etc.— mz eaiftet your F el relatives for Christmas, birthdays, weddings. E Z| How Obtained E I- At art stores or sent direct. Illustrated = Catalogues— Copley Prints and Medici [i E Prints— practically handbooks of art, are 25 d a cents each,|50 cents for both; s stamps. J 1 prin » be ser to you al From them sele fh prepaid on approval. ; 4| fi For both or eT niin E PY series address either Curtis & Cameron 7! a} ican Branciot ~=© Dhe Medici Society =" -- hag a a iran i : : a sass a5a5 saeaaet Baasgasssesss asst SHORT HAND—THE NEW WAY Learned in 30 days at your home in spare time Boyd Syllabic Systen thod—based on new principles—amazing results to learn, write and read. Learned in from 1 to 2 we eeks, then speed practic« and in 30 days you are ready for a position We guar antee speed of 100 to 150 words a minute Writers hold world’s record Results so certain that we give money bac k guarantee. Costs nothing unless you are satis fied. Send today for special offer, free catalog and sample lesson Chicazo Home Study Schools, 502 Reaper Block, Chicago, Ills. AGENT LARGE PROFIT Gold and Silver Sign Letters For store fronts, office windows and glass signs of allkinds. No experience necessary. Anyone can put them on and mak« money right from the start. $30.00 to $100.00 a Week! You can sell tonearby trade or travel all over the country There is a big de mand for win- dow lettering in every town. Send for Free Samples and full particulars. Metallic Letter Co., 420 No. Clark St., Chicago | ‘Tell me about her, dear. Was she | beautiful?” “Wess “Dark? Tall?” “Very like you, Gyp. A little—a little” -he did not know how to describe that difference—‘‘a little more foreign-looking perhaps. One of her grandmothers was Italian, you know.” ‘*How did you come to love her? Sud- | denly?” ‘“As suddenly as’’—he drew his hand away and laid it on the veranda rail—‘‘as that sun came on my hand.” Gyp said quietly, as if to herself, “Ves; I don’t think I understand that —yet.” Winton drew breath through his teeth with a subdued hiss. ‘Ah? “Did she—did she love you at first sight, too?” He blew out a long puff of smoke. —but I think she did. She used to say so.” ‘* And how long?” “Only a year.” Gyp said very softly, “Poor, darling dad!’ And, suddenly, she added, ‘“‘I can’t bear to think I killed her— | I can’t bear it!” Winton got up in the discomfort of these sudden confidences. Gyp said, in a hard voice, “No; I don’t want to have any dren.” “Without that, chil- I shouldn’t have had | you, Gyp.” “No; but I don’t want to have them. And I don’t—I don’t want to love like that. I should be afraid.” Winton looked at her for a long time without speaking, his brows drawn down, | frowning, puzzled. | the fumes of his ill mood, “Love,” he said, “it catches you, and you're gone. it, whether it’s to kill you or not. we start back, my child?”’ When she got home, it was not quite noon. She dressing, and ran out to the music-room. Shall Its walls had been hung with Willesden | scrim, gilded over; the curtains were silver-gray; there was a divan covered with silver-and-gold stuff, and a beaten brass fireplace. It was a study in silver and gold, s -a screen round the piano-head, covered with brilliantly painted peacocks’ tails, and a blue Persian vase, in which were flowers of various hues of red. Fiorsen was standing at the window ina | He did not turn | fume of cigarette smoke. round. Gyp put her hand within his arm, and said: **So sorry, dear. past twelve.” His face was as if the whole world had injured him. ‘Pity you came back! I’m sure!” Could she not go riding with her own father? What insensate jealousy and egomania! She turned away, without a word, and sat down at the piano. She was not good at standing injustice—not good at all! The scent of brandy, too, was mixed with the fumes of his cigarette. Drink in the morning was so ugly—really horrid! She sat at the piano, waiting. He would be like this till he had played away and then he But it’s only just half- ‘One easily believes what one wants to | When it comes, you welcome | hurried over her bath and } ave for two touches of fantasy | Very nice, riding, | Cosmo politan for December, 1916 “ALL MINE!” The unsurpassed Harrison Fisher cover of this issue can be obtained without lettering or printing. © Cosmopolitan Postpaid on receipt of 15c (10c extra for registration outside of United States.) ex ih Month’s Fisher Cover, ‘‘Her Future’’ caused a sensation, and its beautiful colors were greatly admired—a few copies left. Delivered postpaid 15c a copy. |Did You Get Your Copy of Sept. Cover? © Cosmopolitan “The King of Hearts’ In Full Colors. | § This popular Harrison Fisher picture is sell- ing rapidly and you still have an opportunity to secure a copy if 15c ts mailed at once. Size 11x14 inches Our New Size (12 x 16) Fisher pic tur res in full colors, **Sps arring for Time,”’ ‘‘Compens re ‘A Spring Blossom” can be secured (10 cents tor Large entitled Confidences,’ on re Celt rt of 2 25c a Copy postpz aid. registration outside of the U. S. Delivery guaranteed. Send for FREE PORT- FOLIO OFFER. Catalog in miniature FREE ON REQUEST. Cosmopolitan Print Dept., Room 125 119 West 40th Street New York

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 She wants a PREMO for Christmas Of all the gift suggestions that fill the Christmas magazines, that of a Premo camera will attract her as one gift she really wants. She likes pictures—everybody does, and with a Premo she can have the pleasure of making her own pictures of all the people and things that make her life interesting. Premos are equally suitable gifts for men or women or boys or girls. They are the simplest of all cameras to load and operate, no skill or previous experience being necessary for anyone to use a Premo successfully. They are made for film packs, for cartridge films and for plates. Premos range in price from 75 cents to $140.00, and each one receives the same tests for dependability as do all goods which come from the Kodak factories. The Premo catalogue is free at your dealer’s, or will be mailed direct on request. ROCHESTER OPTICAL DIVISION, *Scoseasy’“< RocHESTER, N.Y.

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Free from income tax. Pay 4tos5'4° We handle only_ solid securities. Write for sv “Bonds of Our Country,” FREE. New First National Bank Dest 16 Columbus, Ohio Executives Needed in Medern Business Many of the largest Business Organizations in the United States have adopted the Pace Standardized Courses in Accoun tancy and Business Administration to meet their grow- ing need for competent Execu ane EXTENSION COURSES (BY MAIL) Pace Courses are taught this year in 54 Schools and Colleges. The same courses are available to you by mail. No interference with present em- ployment Free Bulletin (32 pp.) gives details. Ask for Bulletin C-3 Pace & Pace 30 Church St., New York would come and paw her shoulders and put his lips to her neck. Yes; but it was not the way to behave, not the way to make her love him. And she said suddenly, ‘Gustav, what exactly have I done that you dislike?” “You have had a father.” Gyp sat quite still for a few seconds, and then began to laugh. He looked so like a sulky child, standing there. He turned swiftly on her and put his hand over her mouth. She looked up over that hand which smelled of tobacco. Her heart was doing the grand écart within her, this way in compunction, that way in resentment. His eyes fell before hers; he dropped his hand. “Well, shall we begin?” He answered roughly, * out into the gar‘len. Gyp was left dismayed, disgusted. Was it possible that she could have taken part in such a horrid little scene? She remained sitting at the piano, playing over and over a passage, without heeding what it was. she said. ‘No,” and went [IV So far, they had seen nothing of Rosek at the little house; she wondered if Fiorsen had passed on to him her remark, though, if he had, he would surely say he hadn't; she had learned that her husband spoke the truth when convenient, not when it caused him pain. About music or any art, however, he could be implicitly relied on; and his frankness was appalling when his nerves were ruffled. But, at the first concert, she saw Rosek’s unwelcome figure on the other side of the gangway, two rows back. He was talking to a young girl whose face, short and beautifully formed, had the opaque trans- parency of alabaster. With her round blue eyes fixed on him, and her lips just parted, she had a slightly vacant look. And yet her features were so beautiful, her hair so smooth and fair, her coloring so pale and fine, her neck so white and round. the poise of her body so perfect that Gyp found it difficult to take her glance away. She had refused her aunt’s companionship. [t might irtitate Fiorsen and affect his playing to see her with ‘that stiff Eng- lish creature.” She wanted, too, to feel again the sensations of Wiesbaden. There would be a kind of sacred pleasure in knowing that she had helped to perfect sounds which touched the hearts and senses of so many listeners. Fiorsen looked his worst, as ever, when first coming before an audience—cold, furtive, defensive, defiant, half turned away, with those long fingers tightening the screws, touching the strings. Wies- baden! No; this was not like Wiesbaden! And, when he played, she had not the same emotions. The romance and ecstasy that at Wiesbaden had soaked her spirit came no more. She was watching for the weak spots, the passages with which he had struggled and she had struggled; she was distracted by memories of petulance and black moods. And then she caught his eye. The look was like, yet how unlike, those looks at Wiesbaden. It had the old love- hunger, but had lost the adoration, its spiritual essence. And she thought, “Is it my fault, or is it only because he has me now to do what he likes with?” It was all another disillusionment, perhaps the greatest yet. But she kindled and Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 flushed at the applause, and lost herself in pleasure at his success. At the interval, she slipped out at once, for her first visit to the artists’ room, the mysterious en- chantment of a peep behind the scenes. He was coming down from his last recall; and, at sight of her, his look of bored contempt vanished; lifting her hand, he kissed it. Gyp felt happier than she had since her marriage. Her eyes shone, and she whispered, Beautiful!” He whispered back: “So! Do you love me, Gyp?’ She nodded. And, at that moment, she did, or thought so. Then people began to come; among them her old music-master, Monsieur Harmost, gray and mahogany as ever, who, after a “ Merveilleux,” ‘Tres fort” or two to Fiorsen, turned his back on him to talk to his old pupil. So she had married Fiorsen—dear, dear! That was extraordinary, but extraordinary! And what was it like, to be always with him—a little funny—not so? And how was her music? It would be spoiled now. Ah, what a pity! No? She must come to him, then; yes, come again. All the time he patted her arm, as if playing the piano, and his fingers, that had the touch of an an- gel, felt the firmness of her flesh, as though debating whether she were letting it de- teriorate. He seemed really to have missed ‘this little friend,” to be glad at seeing her again; and Gyp, who never could with- stand appreciation, smiled at him. More people came. She saw Rosek talking to her husband, and the young alabaster girl standing silent, her lips still a little parted, gazing up at Fiorsen. A perfect figure, though rather short; a dovelike face, whose exquisitely shaped, just opened lips seemed to be demanding sugar-plums. She could rot be more than nineteen. Who was she? A voice said almost in her ear: ‘How do you do, Mrs. Fiorsen? fortunate to see you again at last.”’ She was obliged to turn. If Gustav had given her away, one would never know it from this velvet-masked creature, with his suave watchfulness and ready com- posure, who talked away so smoothly. What was it that she so disliked in him? Gyp had acute instincts, the natural in- telligence deep in certain natures not over intellectual, but whose ‘feelers’ are too delicate to be deceived. And, for some- thing to say, she asked: “‘Who is the girl you were talking to, Count Rosek? Her face is so lovely.” He smiled, exactly the smile she had so disliked at Wiesbaden. “A young dancer, Daphne Wing—she will make a name. A dove flying! So you admire her, Madame Gyp?” Gyp said, smiling: ‘“‘She’s very pretty. dancing beautifully.” ‘Will you come one day and see her? She has still to make her début.”’ Gyp answered: I am I can imagine her ‘Thank you. I don’t know. I love dancing, of course.” “Good! I will arrange it.” And Gyp thought: ‘No, no! I don’t want to have anything to do with you! Why do I speak the truth? Why didn’t I say I hate dancing?” Just then a bell sounded; people began hurrying away. The girl came up to Rosek.

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 “Miss Daphne Wing—Mrs. Fiorsen.” Gyp put out her hand with a smile— this girl was certainly a picture. Miss Daphne Wing smiled, too, and _ said, with the intonation of those who have been carefully corrected of an accent, “Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen, how beautifully your husband plays—doesn’t he?” It was not merely the careful speech but something lacking when the perfect mouth moved—-spirit, sensibility, who could say? And Gyp felt sorry, as at blight on a perfect flower. With a friendly nod, she turned away to Fiorsen, who was waiting to go up onfo the platform. Was it at her or at the girl he had been looking? She smiled at him and slid away. In the corridor, Rosek, in attendance, said: “Why not this evening? Come with Gustav to my rooms. She shall dance to us, and we will all have supper. She ad- mires you, Madame Gyp. She will love to dance for you.” Gyp longed for the simple brutality to say: ‘“‘I don’t want to come. I don’t like you!’’ But all she could manage was: “Thank you. I—I will ask Gustav.”’ Once in her seat again, she rubbed the cheek that his breath had touched. A girl was singing now—one of those faces that Gypalways admired, reddish-gold hair, blue eyes—the very antithesis of herself and the song was “The Bens of Jura,” that strange outpouring from a _ heart broken by love: And my heart reft of its own sun—— Tears rose in her eyes, and the shiver of some very deep response passed through her. What was it dad had said? “Love —it catches you, and you’re gone.” She, who was the result of love like that, did not want to love! The girl finished singing. There was little applause. Yet she had sung beauti- fully; and what more wonderful song in the world! Was it too tragic, too painful, too strange—not ‘‘pretty’’ enough? Gyp felt sorry for her. Her head ached now. She would so have liked to slip away when it was all over. But she had not the needful rudeness. She would have to go through with this evening at Rosek’s and be gay. And why not? Why this shadow over everything? But it was no new sen- sation, that—of having entered by her own free will on a life which, for all effort, would not give her a feeling of anchorage or home. She had, of her own accord, stepped into the cage. On the way to Rosek’s rooms, she dis- guised from Fiorsen her headache and depression. He was in one of his boy-out- of-school moods, elated by applause, mimicking her old master, the idolatries of his worshipers, Rosek, the girl dancer’s upturned, expectant lips. And he slipped his arm round her in the cab, crushing her against him and sniffing at her cheek as if she had been a flower. Rosek had the first floor of an old-time mansion in Russell Square. The smell of incense or some kindred perfume was at once about one; and, on the walls of the dark hall, electric light burned, in jars of alabaster picked up in the East. The whole place was, in fact, a sanctum of the collector’s spirit. Its owner had a passion for black—the walls, divans, picture- frames, even some of the tilings were black, with glimmerings of gold, ivory, and moon- light. On a round black table there stood | a golden bow! filled with moonlight-colored | velvety “palm” or “honesty;” from a black | wall gleamed out the ivory mask of a faun’s face; from a dark niche the little | silver figure of a dancing girl. It was beautiful, but deathly. And Gyp, though excited always by anything new, keenly alive to every sort of beauty, felt a longing for air and sunlight. It was a relief to get close to one of the black-curtained win- dows and see the westering sun shower warmth and light on the trees of the Square gardens. She was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Gallant, a dark-faced, cynical- looking man with clever, malicious eyes, and one of those large cornucopias of women with avid blue stares. The little dancer was not there. She had “gone to put on nothing,” Rosek informed them. He took Gyp the round of his treasures, scarabs, Rops drawings, death-masks, Chinese pictures, and queer old flutes, with an air of displaying them for the first time to one who could truly appreciate. And she kept thinking of that saying, “Une technique merveilleuse.”’ Her instinct apprehended the refined bone-viciousness of this place, where nothing, save perhaps taste, would be sacred. It was her first | glimpse into that gilt-edged bohemia, whence the generosities, the élaus, the | | struggles of the true bohemia are as rigidly excluded as from the spheres where bishops move. But she talked and smiled; and no one could have told that her nerves were crisping as if at contact with a corpse. While showing her those alabaster jars, her host had laid his hand softly on her wrist, and in taking it away, he let his fingers, with a touch softer than a kitten’s paw, ripple over the skin, then put them to his lips. Ah, there it was—the—the technique! A desperate desire to laugh | seized her. And he saw it—oh, yes, he saw it! He gave her one look, passed that same hand over his smooth face, and —behold!—it showed as before, unmorti- fied, unconscious. A deadly little man! When they returned to the salon, as it was called, Miss Daphne Wing, in a black kimono, whence her face and arms emerged more like alabaster than ever, was sitting on a divan beside Fiorsen. She rose at | once and came across to Gyp. “Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen’—why did every- | thing she said begin with ‘“‘Oh!’’—‘‘isn’t | this room lovely? It’s perfect for dancing. I only brought cream and flame-color; they go so beautifully with black.” She threw back her kimono for Gyp to inspect her dress—a girdled cream-colored shift, which made her ivory arms and neck seem more than ever dazzling; and her mouth opened, as if for a sugar-plum of praise. Then, lowering her voice, she murmured, “Do you know, Count Rosek.” “Why?” “Oh, I don’t know; he’s so critical and smooth, and he comes up so quietly. I do think your husband plays wonderfuliy. Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen, you are beautiful, aren’t you?” Gyp laughed. “What would you like me to dance first. A waltz of Chopin’s?” “Yes; I love Chopin.” “Then I shall. I shall dance exactly what you like, hs I do admire you, and | I’m sure you're awfully sweet. You know, I’ve been studying five years, and I haven’t | I’m rather afraid of ¥- The All Melody Shunsamate E The Manophone is the new phonograph that plays with a rich, mellow tone. And in a phonograph, the tone’s the thing. Send for Illustrated Booklet This booklet describes the unique features of the Manophone and pictures the gracetul models, priced “4 from $15 up. 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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 come out yet. But now Count Rosek’s going to back me, I expect it’ll be very soon. Will you come to my first night? Mother says I’ve got to be awfully careful. She only let me come this evening because you were going to be here. Would you like me to begin?” She slid across to Rosek, and Gyp heard her say: “Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen wants me to begin; a Chopin waltz, please. The one that goes like this.” Rosek went to the piano, the little dancer to the center of the room. Gyp sat | down beside Fiorsen. Rosek began playing. Miss Daphne Wing was standing with her finger-tips joined at her breast—a perfect statue of ebony and palest wax. flung away the black kimono. swept Gyp from head to foot. She could dance—that common little girl! Every movement of her round, sinuous body, of her bare limbs, had the ecstasy of natural genius, controlled by the quivering balance of a really fine training. ‘A dove A. thrill Suddenly she | flying!” So she was. Her face had lost its vacancy, or rather its vacancy had become divine, having that look—not | lost but gone before—which dance de- | mands. Yes; she was a gem, even if she had a common soul. Tears came up in Gyp’s eyes. It was so lovely—like a dove, when it flings itself up in the wind, breast- | ing on up, up—wings bent back, poised! When, after the dance, the girl came and sat down beside her, she squeezed her hot little hand, but the caress was for her art, not for this moist little person with the lips avid of sugar-plums. “Oh, did you like it? I’m so glad. Shall I go and put on my flame-color now?” The moment she was gone, comment broke out freely. The dark and cynical Gallant thought the girl’s certain Napierkowska, whom he _ had seen in Moscow, without her fire. She wanted love! Love! was back in the concert-hall, listening to that other girl singing the song of a broken heart. Thy kiss, dear love—like watercress gathered fresh from cool streams. Love—in this abode of fauns’ heads, deep cushions, silver dancing girls! Love! She had a sudden sense of deep abasement. What was she herself but just a feast for a man’s senses? Her home—what but a place like this? Miss Daphne Wing was bac k again. Gyp looked at her husband’s face while she was dancing. Hislips! How was it that she could see that disturbance in him, and not care. If she had really loved him, to see his lips like that would have hurt her, but she might have understood per- haps, and forgiven. Now she neither quite understood nor quite forgave. And that night, when he kissed her, she murmured, “Would you rather it were that girl— not me?” “That girl! draft. forever! Was that true? how good to hear! I could swallow her But you, my Gyp #9? at a I want to drink If she had loved him— The next instalme nt of Beyond will appear in the January issue. dancing like a | And suddenly Gyp | LIST OF TITLES Single Volumes, 35c each postpaid Christmas g arol Dickens Essays Ralph W. 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Emerson Barrack Room Ba allads Kipling Without Benefit of Clergy ipling The Finest Story in the World Kipling Short Stories De Maupassant Tales from the Arabian Nighte Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde ‘obert Louis meen A Child’s ‘Garden of Verses ert Louis Stevenson Fifty Be: sat Poems of England Fifty Best Poems of America ¢ Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam Hamlet Shakespeare sing haae Shakespeare Macbeth Shakespeare Merchant of Venice Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet ‘Shakespear e Julius Caesar Shakespeare Sonnets Shakespeare Othello Shakespeare As You Like It Shakespeare Midsummer Night’ 3 Dream Shakespeare Rip Van Winkle rving Sherlock Holmes Conan Doyle A Doll’s House Henrik Ibsen Ghosts Henrik Ibsen The Murders in the Rue Morgue Edgar Allan Poe The Raven and Other Poems a Na gar Allan Poe Ballad of Reading Gaol Oscar Wilde Pelleas and Melisande Maurice Maeterlinck Speeches and Addresses Abraham Lincoln The Bear Hunt,etc. Leo Tolstoy Sonnets from the Portuguese Elizabeth Browning Dreams Olive Schreiner Alice in Wendertgne Lewis Carroll Through the sackien: Glass Lewis Carroll Comtesse de Saint Geran exandre Dumas Fairy Tales Hans Andersen Bab Ballads WwW. 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Glance at the list of titles al ab ove! these—to choose fron More than this, they a Ways—on cars, trains ar et ery where! stories, the works of Burns. famous speeches of these and a score of other member, The books will lesenttoy uforF REE examina- After 5 days return them at If you decide to keep them, pay only $1.0 AFTER the 5 days, andthe balance on easy monthly terms. Leather-bound ooks of such high quality have often sold for as high as $1.4 each, yet our price 4 Because of advancing prices in leather and paper the supply for this ff will be sure of your we will ship you the handsome quar- £ NOW. If you want single copies, send 35 cents for each, in advance. Mon ey dears 4 2 If you live outside of the United States, please send $1.09 extra with cc Send No Money ation, prepaid. our expense. is but a fraction, offer is limited. books at this bargain price, and, in addition, tered-oak Book Rack F ree. Mail the coupon’ without money, If you send in the coupon or letter now, you if you wantit. LITTLE LEATHER LIBRARY, 712 Mercantile Bldg., 23rd St., New York, N.Y. 7 = > Tair never alls from a clean, healthy salp. If your hair is worth the price of a good yo y SANI- Price $2 u Send dealer’s name a Pivee book ‘Care of the Hair.’ SANITAX BRUSH CO. 2344 So. Wabash Ave., Chicago GERM — PROOF. RUSSIAN- BRISTLE END EL 1th) oe a La g falling Hair € ES Instantly |], Sterilized ! Here is a way to earn your College Expenses Every year hundreds of young men pay their way through college by selling sub- scriptions to Cosmopolitan. The work is interesting, dignified, and healthful; splen- did business training for later years. We will pay you liberally to look after our interests in your community. Cosmopolitan Magazine Agency Division 119 West goth Street New York City SIXTY BOOKS World’s Masterpieces, Unabridged, Bound in Leather. Convenient Pocket Size. ARARE BARGAIN. 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“Now, Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 Fido!” (Continued from page 41) Clemency, she held out her hand. There were rings on it—diamonds and emeralds. She liked emeralds. ‘T’ll let you kiss my hand,” she murmured, ‘‘just once.” He sat heavily there, looking at the hand. ‘Not now,” he said. He looked after her as she ran up the steps. The taller of the two Chicago men claimed her at the door. She smiled up at him, and passed on in at his side. He took her hand, put his arm about her; they waltzed slowly out of view. “T suppose I’m awfully stupid,” said Henry to himself. It was a quarter past ten o’clock of the Sabbath day. All Sunbury was moving slowly, with dignity, along the new cement and the older plank sidewalks to- ward the cluster of churches whose spires rose above the maples and elms within a radius of a few blocks from the corner of Simpson Street and Chestnut Avenue. Ban Widdicombe and Henry Calverly walked westward on Simpson Street, out across the tracks toward the Second Presbyterian Church. This was an arch- itecturally pretentious and_ financially disastrous structure of red sandstone, cav- ernously empty within, mortgaged to the weather-vane. Ban wore the _ proper Prince Albert and hat, and carried a silver- headed stick. Henry wore his blue-serge suit, tan shoes, and straw hat. A profound discomfort led Henry to cast frequent, questioning glances at Ban’s grimly set face. These brought no response, however. At a corner near the church, Ban stopped and consulted his gold watch. “We'll wait here until after,” he announced. “The service begins sharp at ten- thirty,” said Henry, all nerves. “That’s what I’m figuring on.” “IT have to be ready to go in with the quartet. Doctor Magee’s fussy about being prompt.” Ban clamped his thin lips, held his watch aloft, and eyed it steadily. Henry stood on his left foot, then on his right foot, clasped and un- clasped his hands. ‘‘See here,’ he cried finally: “If you don’t tell me what I’m to do, how’d you suppose I’m ever——” Ban snapped his watch shut. ‘No,” he said; ‘listen! No time for talk! And don’t aniee ie just as [ tell you. Go in at the side door, tell one of the ushers you must see old Hammerton twenty-five at once, before church, and wait for him in the infant-class room. Be sure you tell the usher just where you'll be. And stay there!” ‘But suppose he don’t come?” “Give him fifteen minutes. If he isn’t there at a quarter to eleven, go home.’ An even worse contingency presented itself to Henry now. “Suppose,” said he, “he does come!”’ ‘Tell him—straight out now—no mum- bling—that you won’t put a foot in that church until he’s handed over every cent of your back salary. Give him till a quarter of eleven. Hen, let’s see your watch!” Henry produced his Waier- bury. Ban took it from him and set it with his own. ‘Now go,” he said; “cand hold your head up. You’re scared pink, and you look it. Haven’t you got any nerve? I'll meet you after church, and you can give me the three dollars. Get a hump on now!” And he pushed him resolutely toward the church. Henry moved slowly at first, carried along more by the momentum of Ban’s shove than by any power of locomotion. Gradually, however, he gathered head- way. He walked stiffly, head erect, eyes staring ahead, arms hanging limply at his sides, lips moving almost as if in prayer. Less than two minutes later, the slightly bent form of sixty-year-old Mr. Ham- merton moved slowly down the basement stairs to the infant-class room. Henry heard the steps and stood up straight. His gaze, which had been fixed on the door-opening, now wavered over the blackboard and over the big easels with their charts picturing certain early residents of Syria standing about in long colored robes with rings around their heads. Then he saw the familiar lean face and the iron-gray side-whiskers of the treasurer. “Well, Henry,” observed that gentle- man, rather sharply, ‘well, well! What’s this? What’s all this?” Henry confronted him, ‘Mr. Hammerton,’’ he “T want my back pay.” “Doubtless! There are things we all of us want——”’ “T want it now!” The watch suddenly appeared. “Oh, well, Henry, if you need a little money, I have no doubt we can do some- thing for you. I'll speak to Mr. Car- ruthers after the service—— “T want it now,” Henry repeated. “Yes, yes—of course——” ‘I’m not going into that choir-loft with- out it—not one step!’”’ And Henry ele- vated the Waterbury, trying to glower at it, like Ban. Mr. Hammerton, looking depressed, fluttered his eyelids. This was an awk- ward situation. He pressed one hand to his eyes, drew a long, tired breath, said, “Wait a moment, Henry,” and went back up the stairs. He returned, in a short space, with the chairman of the music committee. Mr. Carruthers was a stout man with a red- dish beard trimmed down to a point— a man of some self-importance. Week- days, he manufactured a patent filter for kitchen faucets. Mr. Carruthers assumed a sentimentally paternal manner, and laid a soft hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Come now, Henry”—Mr. Carruthers’ voice took on a soothing quality—*‘don’t you think you’d better tell us what this is all about? We’re completely in the dark.” “You’re not in the dark—not at all,” said Henry. ‘‘You know exactly what I want. My back pay. Not going to wait any longer.” Mr. Carruthers glanced at Mr. Hammer- ton. The old man smiled—rather sar- castically, Henry thought. white of face. said hoarsely, Waterbury

“Why, that’s all right, Henry! I don’t doubt we can advance you a little “Don’t call it ‘advancing!’” snorted An entirely new idea entered his Henry. He seized on it. “I want it mind then.

eS

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1910 all—every cent. And if you want me to sing in this church, we can’t go on like this, anyway. You aren’t paying me enough—-when you do pay me. I can do better.”’ The boldness of this took his own breath away. He stopped short. The eyes of the two men met again. They moved over to a recessed window and whispered together. They returned. “I’m willing to tell you, Henry,” said Mr. Carruthers ingratiatingly, “that we have already talked of raising your salary. Of course, you know the church is having a pretty hard struggle. But we don’t want you to feel that we are not treating you fairly.”’ “You aren’t,”’ muttered Henry. Mr. Carruthers waved this softly aside. “In the circumstances, we are willing to pay you three dollars a Sunday, as from June first.” “Has to be five,” “We can’t pay that. “Five!” “Three, Henry, “Five!” It was twenty-eight minutes of eleven. Mr. Carruthers looked unhappy. “Tf we are as far apart as that—well, I am willing to assume the responsibility of compromising on four.” Henry nodded, a thought too suddenly. The two men turned toward the door. “Even if it comes a little hard on us, Henry,” observed Mr. Carruthers, cheer- fully now, ‘‘we shall be glad to feel that you are satisfied.” “T’m not satisfied!”’ “But what—” This from Mr. Ham- merton. He spread out his hands. “My back pay.” Mr. Carruthers sighed. “How much is it, Henry?” money from his pocket. Henry knit his brows. In his new, strikingly successful character of business man, he ought to know how much it was. Imagine Ban having to guess at how much people owed him! Then Mr. Hammerton saved the situa- tion by observing, “Would ten dollars help you out?” It was twenty-five minutes of eleven. “All right,” said Henry; ‘I'll accept ten.” They gave it to him—two five-doHar bills—and hurried away. Henry considered the bills. Thought- fully he put one in a trousers pocket, the other in the change-pocket in his coat. It seemed to him just as well that Ban should not see both. Then he ran up the stairs, and marched solemnly into the church auditorium behind a_ frowning minister. It was thought by several in the congregation that Henry Calverly sang with unusual feeling that day. Ban was waiting, grinning a little, on the corner, as the sméll congregation filed out. Henry joined him; and when they had wounded a second corner, produced a five-dollar bill. He was splendidly off- hand about it. “Here you are, Ban,” he remarked. “Got the change?” Bam had the change. “But you didn’t let them put you off with a V, Hen?” “They wouldn’t pay it all.” Ban gave a contemptuous little snort. “It’s no use, Hen—you’ll never be a business man.”’ said Henry. Three is

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“Don’t suppose I will,”’ | cheerful reply. When they parted, Ban stood for a time | looking him over. “I’m afraid you're in for a lot of bumps, he said. just where you're going to get off. I could give you atip—”’ There was a long silence. hen Ban spoke again. ‘Look here, You've started going with Clem Snow.” “Oh yes—a little,” said Henry. ‘And right there’s where you want to Do you think Clem cares a hang See 100k Out. about you? Not one hang! She won’t treat you any better than she’s treated Al Knight. Not one bit! Darn fool, | Al Knight! You see, Clem’s a queer sort. to run everything she touches. there’s a string to everything she "He = sniffed. “Clem told me e she was going to marry either for a a lot of money.”’ It es hat Clem the same She’s got And "e or started. had, only a week back, ma laration to him. *Do you think any ll ev off with Clem? Not for ute! When it happens, it’ll be one - rich Chicago or New York dudes here every once in a while. tame dog of you boys here warren ii Walk er n up out

to have a little

But Clem’s got round handy—somebody ’at ’ll sit up and beg when she snaps her fi ingers somebody ‘at ‘Il hold a piece of candy on his nose and not try to eat it unless she says, ‘Now, Fide Only she'll never say it, my boy never . 7 The cheerful expression was fading from Henry’s face. Ban went ruthlessly “Don’t you see why she took you on when she just naturally got sick of Al? It’s because you're that sort, and she knows it. You're one of 1] artistic fellows He ( o me is caaaead J kno Phere ain’t much place for the sen imental] stuff anywhere on this earth, but one place where it won’t go at all, i've got to keep your head and mart all the time, it’s with a girl. , Hen, the one time when you’ve a business man every minute, ‘re with a girl.” er bolting his Sunday-noon ouse dinner, Henry walked r to Simpson Street. He had g ttle charge-account at for candy and soda; was Henry’s | “You artistic fellows have | to live, I suppose; but it’s hard to see | Hen: |

Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 | Important | | Announcement After negotiations we have prevailed upon Ella Wheeler Wilcox extended to allow us to collect for publica- tion in book form her best poems of recent years, under the title of WORLD VOICES The charm and versatility of the poetic pen of Ella Wheeler Wilcox have never had wider appeal than in this new book of verse. With rhyme and reason has she de- picted herein vital problems of society, morality and sex. None of the poems in the volume have ever before been published in book form. A large number of the 100 poems in the volume are already known to Cosmopolitan readers, and in- clude such popular poems as: The Superwoman America The Price He Paid Beauty A Bachelor to a Married Flirt Unfaithful Wife to Her Husband The Younger Born An Ideal Gift 7 ILLUSTRATIONS a large staff of distin- ¥ lished artists, make this volume unique among the leading gift books of the season. 45 ibe r. I \ Partial list of Illustrators W. T. Benda Will Foster John A. Williams Paul Branson Vincent Aderente Dalton Stevens William de Leftwich Dodge Lejaren A. Hiller William Hottinger T. D. Skidmore Paul Julien Meylan Charles A. Winter ‘ sip June statement hae borne the George Gibbs J. Scott Williams nscriptio! “Please remit and Mary Green Blumenschein yassing Dono vyhenever ‘ ; Frontispiece in color he oppo de ot t c : ; p " by Lejaren A. Hiller ‘ os! ear the railway ‘ Kept Oc} ¢ ol the Devoe candies from Chicago 128 Page; Size 7x 10" Boxed cre cighty cents a pound. Henr; Price $2.00 Net 0 ove hese ~« e ¢ ne } ie pointing /t all dealers’ —or sent po tpaid by xXCC OCO ‘ ihe publi hers on recetpt of price What siz ed the cler] Vor lovers of Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s poetry 9 m Hive pound o may desire to purchase “ World he ge i pee Hens Voices,”” we have prepared a_ beautiful ( e-dollar bill booklet containing a complete list of poem ook change d hurried away n the bor ample illustrations and a full He Ke x} dy pid] 1é the escription of the volume The booklet i] g 4 lly to big one ‘ ¢ of William B. Snow on be sent iree on request C} ni enuc His lips were com ’ - Dace Ig Tiagheccge tnt ay Sea Hearst’s International }7?* » J y ) 7 i sit ° (he uniformed maid said that Miss | Library Co., New York Clemence yuld be down directly

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Cosmopolitan for December, 191€ Henry put the box on a chair in the hall and Jaid his hat on it. Then he went into the great living-room and seated him- self stiffly on the edge of the window-seat in the alcove. Soon Clemency came, in a cool white shirt-waist and a skirt of white piqué. She was smiling. “Cross at me still?’’ she asked, dropping down beside him on the window-seat. Clem could be charming in a_perter manner than any other girl in Sunbury. He shook his head. “You mustn't be, Henry,” she said more gently. ‘I meant what I said.”’ “Yes,” he observed reflectively, very quiet; “‘I suppose you did.” She glanced at him again. He looked at her now. She smiled a little. Their eyes met. Eye to eye they gazed. That smile of hers, a distinct touch of mockery in it, lingered. He did not smile. They were fighting again, silently, in a test of wills. She would not look away. Neither would he. The silence grew and grew. It seemed to him that her eyes wavered for an instant. He leaned swiftly forward. She gasped in honest surprise. There was a little struggle. When it was over, there could be not the slightest question that his lips had touched hers. He thought she was angry. She was smoothing out her rumpled shirt-waist and hair. It was the first time he had ever kissed a girl’s lips (he didn’t count Bessie Alston). “You can’t make a little tame dog out of me,” he said, in a surprisingly matter- of-fact voice. ‘‘Ordering me not to give you things! Telling me you'll let me kiss your hand!” These last two sentences were, however, mere mutterings. “Tm wondering,” she said, ‘why I don’t send you straight out of this house.”’ He sprang up. I’ll go!” “No; sit down,” said she. The bell rang. The maid moved through the hall. She ushered in the two young men from Chicago. Clemency greeted them with all her old case, and made them known to Henry. That youth then said, “Well, I'll run along, Clem.” ‘Nonsense!” said she. ‘Sit down.” He shook his head and walked, feeling uncomfortably conspicuous, down the great room and out into the hall. There, under his hat, was the five-pound box of Devoe’s. He stood a moment, looking at it. His spine stiffened. He lifted it, and deliber- ately tore off the wrapping-paper, so there could be no doubt as to the contents. Then he marched back into the living-room with it in his two hands. “Oh, Clem,” he said—and no over dressed, over-sophisticated young man from Chicago (even from New York) could have said it with more perfect ease “IT meant to leave this. Nearly forgot. So long!” Then he went away It might. be thought that Henry had set something of a pace for himself. But 1 don’t think it occurred to him then. 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Dr. Hall’s New Book n in plain, untechnical Sicseucne e, by a recognized man of science and achievement; a dis- tinguished physician and medical man of the highest standing; | pre-cminently qual- if ‘ jucator, physician and scientist to set for , reliable information for guida ance in Sex Problems, Marriage and Sex Hygiene. Guaranteed satisfactory, or money refunded. Under plain wrapper, for only $1.00, postage 10 cents extra AMERICAN PUB. CO., 1203 Winston Bidg., Phila. Dr. HALL h san | The Soul of “Emily,” she replied impatiently; “I’m Emily Haff.” Her face became a mask of fear and distress, and she groaned. “Hilda, that’s enough!” he cried. “Come back!” With a violent contortion of the body, | she cried hoarsely, like an animal: “The barn’s on fire! Somebody has pad- | locked the door!’ | Standish caught up her hands. “Hilda Brunel!’ he cried, in a shaking voice. ‘Hilda Brunel, come back to me!” | Hekissed heron theeyes. Immediately | they opened and stared at him. | “Oh, what a headache I have!” Hilda | complained, with a smile. For a few minutes, while he ministered to her, nothing was said about the exper- iment. Suddenly, she announced gaily: ‘Things are coming back to me. Didn’t is sing Mimi’s song? “Ves; you sang it beautifully,” he said. “Tt was very mysterious.” She smiled and fell into meditation. After a while, she said: “T was a baby, a little bit of a baby, eating a cake with seeds on it. Poor mamma! How young she looked, and so sad!” For a long time after that, she was | silent, and when she turned to Standish | again, her face had changed. ‘“‘T remember the fire,” she said quietly. | “Yes; we did live on that shore, you and 'I. We couldn’t be together, but we couldn’t keep our eyes and thoughts off each other. I was Johnny Haff’s wife, and you were another woman’s husband. When I saw you go into the barn that time, I had just been making some dough- nuts. That was in my house, not far from your barn. I took a dish of the doughnuts over to the barn to give them to you. I didn’t care who saw me. It | was the same to me whether I lived or | died if I couldn’t be near you. You asked me to call you ‘Jim.’ You kissed me, and asked me to run away with you. You | told me you couldn’t live without me.” Standish picked up his brushes and be- gan to wipe them on a painty rag. His eyes were dim. “T thought I heard something at the barn door,” she continued, “but I didn’t care. We were in the _ harness-room. A little bit later, we smelled the smoke. Tell me the whole story, dear,” she said; “I know you know it.” “In my grandfather’s time,” he said slowly, “there was a barn burned, with two people in it. One of them was Johnny Hafi’s wife. The other was my uncle James. He was my mother’s favorite brother. My mother wasn’t there at the time, fortunately for her. She hadn’t long been married. She has shown me pictures of uncle James. He—he looked | like me.” “He was you!” Hilda whispered. “TIT wonder. He was a bit wild— | couldn’t settle down at anything. He | had recently returned home after an absence and brought a wife with him. They say that she was a quiet little thing, | with nothing particular about her except that she always seemed to be watching |} him. But if she had noticed anything | between him and Johnny Haft’s wife, it | doesn’t seem that anybody else had.” Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 Hilda Brunel (Continued from page 58) “T take it,” said Hilda, “that what is left of Johnny Haff is your old John?” Standish nodded. “Johnny Haff was a neighbor. He had a little place on the cove where he rented out boats and fishing-tackle, and he sailed his own oyster-sloop. I’ve heard this story from him. Nobody but uncle James’s wife saw Johnny Hafi’s wife go to the barn, and not a soul saw uncle James’s wife go there after her. There was a lantern with a box of matches beside it on a shelf near the door, and the sup- position is that she took these matches before closing and padlocking the door. Nobody knows just how she set fire to the barn, but it burned like tinder in the strong southerly breeze that was blowing. She had taken the key out of the padlock. Old John believes that she returned all the way to the house with that key in her hand before she changed her mind.” “She changed her mind?” Hilda was almost voiceless. “That’s old John’s idea—and that she started running back to the barn, meaning to let them out.” “She must have heard you,” Hilda whispered. ‘You were shouting: ‘Annie! Annie! Annie!’”’ “That may have been it. But, in her hurry, she dropped the key. When Johnny Haff came running over from the cove, he saw her crawling about on her knees in the middle of the meadow lot, pulling up handfuls of grass. He went at the door with the first heavy object he could find—he doesn’t remember what it was— and, after a while, he got it open. The flames rushed out, and at first he didn’t see the bodies, but a moment later he did. He got pretty badly burned getting them out. He thinks they were asphyx- iated before the flames reached them, be- cause the faces were quite peaceful.” Standish and Hilda sat in silence for some time. Old John came in to ask if he might go to his lunch. Hilda observed him with frank and searching pity. He kept his winking eye away from the light. “That’s one,” she said, when he had wandered off; ‘‘and the other?” ‘Uncle James’s wife? A child was born, but it didn’t live. She did, however. She is quite harmless now, but has to be loaked after, poor old soul! She’s always stooping and searching—for that key.” Again Hilda’s eyes seemed to take firm hold of a picture. “Walter,” she said suddenly, believe in God ?”’ “T do now, since I have found you,” he answered simply. “And I—I feel that he understands and forgives us for that hour of passion, though it broke Johnny Haff and started the other on her lifelong search for the key of the barn. For we knew no better then, you and I—we had no light.” Standish raised his head and looked at her with troubled eyes. Her face, at that moment, seemed to mirror all the sorrows of the world. “What are you thinking of?” pered. She read his face for a moment before replying, and her eyes were full of pity. “Of your wife,” she said. do you he whis- ge

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ADDRESS | morning, | unfurled. | pairs of black eyes. “Hilda, you cant be mad enough to believe” —his voice shook—‘‘that we can do without each other now?” Her eyes held him where he stood, but seemed to gather him up in an embrace of the spirit. “‘ By the pain we are suffering,” she said, “T possess you, and you possess me, for all time. That is just why we can never go back to the darkness of damaging other lives for our passing delight, even although —” Her lips trembled piteously. ‘Help mé, dear,” she faltered, “for this is our Gethsemane!” He caught the two hands that she stretched out to him, but she withdrew them. He went white to the lips. “You mean that we must deny our- selves—all?”’ “Tn this life, as far as our blindness lets us see—yes; to give our light and warmth to others who may need it, and so to purify ourselves for the perfect union, in whatever life it may come—sooner or , Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 later, according as we are faithful to love in the highest. That is our way as I see it, dear, with this soul that you have given me.” Gazing at her dumbly, he knew that the tears streaming from those wonderful eyes were not of sorrow. And, suddenly, the bitterness in his heart was swept away by a flood of peace, while new and incredible sources of power were thrown open within him. Again the veil was lifted and he saw, more clearly now, those unknown reaches of his art, trailing eternally in tranquil, sovereign certitude toward the ever unfolding bosom of the Infinite. Could he ever reach them? Came the answer—he would try! And he saw his path fixed forever in the wake of the workers, great and humble, who had seen that vision and held it always in their hearts, having learned, in the anguish of renunciation, the inner meaning of the saying: ‘‘Whoso loseth his !ife shall find it.” The San Blas People (Continued from page 35) They were the sails of countless cavucas, heading homeward. Our course to Cardi, on the following led close to several islands, massed to the water’s edge with grass houses. We made no attempt to land, for these were Colombian Indians and unfriendly. This was Panama, to be sure; nevertheless the Colombian colors floated over these villages, and, as we drew near, additional emblems of the same sort were Men ran out with flags, the size of handkerchiefs, on short staves, which they thrust into the sand—the San Blas manner of emphasizing the fact that they were not at home to callers. Cardi, the ‘‘Place of Dead Bones,” is the largest and best village at the western end of the archipelago. It occupies a key per- haps a quarter of a mile long and four feet high, but it is a beehive. Great palm- thatched houses, many of them sixty feet or more in length, crowd each other so closely to the water’s edge that only here and there is room left to draw up the cayucas. To walk around it without wading is impossible. It flew the flag of Panama, in honor of Governor Huertado’s visit, as did a twin village close by. But between these two stood a third island, and over it | the Colombian emblem fluttered brazenly. Our. arrival caused a_ sensation, for Salisbury, with rare inspiration, had opened the flag-lockers and decked the Wisdom from stem to stern with the | yachtsman’s panoply. We came to anchor in an impressive silence, observed by many As we were getting out the small boats, several dugouts, manned by naked boys, put off and circled us at a respectful distance. These canoes were amazing. Some were so huge as to dwarf their tiny occupants; others seemed no laiger than gravy-boats or pickle-dishes, and in these latter sat babies. Our camera-man rushed to the rail, but, at sight of the camera and its terrifying glass eye, the youngsters squalled loudly and spattered shoreward like a brood of wild ducklings. Victor, now a man of importance, landed us in the dinghy, for Governor Huertado was waiting. Cardi reminded me of pictures of Papuan _ villages. Huge _steep-roofed houses were crushed side by side; in an open landing-place the inhabitants had gathered, and they eyed us curiously, coldly, as we approached. The men were short, broad-shouldered, capable; the women were of pigmy size, and every other oné bore a baby on her hip. They wore gold nose-rings and brilliantly colored dresses —these women—and they were strangely shy, inordinately bashful. When one looked squarely at them, they disappeared, melted away, only to reappear when one’s glance had traveled on. But that which challenged attention was the boys. There were scores of them—splendid, straight-limbed, manly little fellows. They were half demented with excitement; nevertheless, they were decorous. Every mother’s son of them was stark naked. We bent double to enter a door in the nearest wall and followed Victor toward the chief's house. Through a vast, gloomy interior with low log beams, from which depended parallel rows of hammocks, we made our way, then out into a street so narrow that we large-framed visitors had to walk in single file, stooping to avoid the sharp ends of bamboo rafters. The men and the boys went with us. There was a great scuffling of naked feet but no other sound. From every crevice between the upright poles which formed the house walls, the bright black eyes of women peered. From behind closed doors, usually a single plank hewn from a mahogany or cocobolo log, came whispers, a smothered agitation, the occasional wail of a fright- ened baby. Hyatt cautioned us. “Mind, now—don’t laugh at the chief. He’s very dignified, and you mustn’t josh him.” For my part, I had no desire to laugh. I was too intensely interested, nor was the chief the sort of man I would select to banter. He was a rugged, strong-faced man, with a brown derby hat, which he wore like a crown. He was seated on a long bench in the center of his great house. On his left was a straw-haired, pink-eyed, blue-gummed albino; on his right, a vil-

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6 Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 169 ve ce fay NE ve a Sy) = - \\= he ) E | es a he i =] by ‘ l=] dle =} in | = he = = vn =| : A GreatL G : te d terG A - ©@ reatloss and d oreater vain || he i | = | his 2 | =| he This business has rounded out twenty- volume every day, Dodge Brothers are =| en : two months of existence by distribut- ‘‘losing business’? by their policy of =| er ing to owners more than one hundred_ keeping production within the bounds |= = thousand cars. of continuous betterment. - |=] nd Price-concessions on this car arerarely In that sense they have doubtless =| = asked, and never given with Dodge suffered a great loss in the past and = ; = Brothers’ consent ortotheir knowledge. will endure a great loss in the future. |=] . = , , |=] = You can therefore figure accurately But over against this great loss is an = | | = the amount invested by the public in infinitely greater gain. | = = Dodge Brothers cars, by multiplyin : =] = the pte by the semi ieee one The people of the United States have |= of = implicit faith in the integrity of Dodge \=] fed = One hundred thousand cars at $785 Brothers manufacturing methods. =} an = per car means a sales-total in less than ee d me | =| iad = two years’ time of $78,500,000—or, a _ h d Se See pe 1=} ly, with freight-cost added, considerably ‘@tHet, one huncred thousand’ families i=) ere more than $80,000,000 —are of one mind concerning the car | =] the ade sith and the men who make it. |= her There have been no bursts of speed in 5 ; , |= | old = the up-building of this great business. This business and its product are 12] ses = ? e 8 ‘ blessed with a friendship probably /2| ely : At no time has there been even an at- without parallel in the his ory of | =i = tempt at stimulation of sales or of American manufacturing. | = | Le roduction. = nce | = e Fresh from the factory, or sold at = zed = Never for a single day has production second-hand, from one end of the = res = been speeded up for the sake of attain- nation to the other, the car has special = | me = ing a total. value and a special reputation, because = | ec = s = FF = , f the name it bears. = || ere = On the contrary, it has been helddown ° saeireans saa =f vas = every day within the limits of close, Because of the name it bears, you may t=] " | = careful, conscientious manufacturing. besurethat the principle behind the car =| he i = : = |= ' = . hanged a hair’s breadth. = ard 2 Both production and sales have been ah never Dechony 1 | my : = stable, steady and spontaneous—scru- Dodge Brothers have only one idea in 1= - | = pulous care in the one, producing huge the upbuilding of their business. |= re = volume in the other. diet , 1 =| so = : That idea is to build so soundly and so =] iad = At this moment, as at every other well that the good will which they | 2 = = period, although producing a large have won will grow and endure forever. =| vas | = = | her | The gasoline consumption is unusually low. = | the 1S} The tire mileage is unusually high = use I | =|} nen | =| | = lly | % =| eo 2 Dooce BROTHERS, Detroit 12) red = | = | sht- | fj , The price of the Winter Touring Car or Roadster, = | 5 | The price of the Touring Car or Roadster, complete, complete, including regular mohair top, is = ief. |= is $785 (f. 0. b. Detroit) $950 (f. o. b. Detroit) S osh | Canadian price $1100 (add freight from Detroit) Canadian price $1335 (add freight from Detroit) = igh. | = the |=] = to I I = ced | =| |= he | E—E ihe == lie $$} ise | STUN AUTOLUST ESTHET cen o , fe ed, ee vil-

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- ie d rd id Ms he his m- ym re int re it Ve le. rid me his ed; ok are ng, ren the ow ike hat en, if s of rior of ury lity ast kor and will ‘au- ita in ond the TT RII Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 173 dollar, this was a handsome offer indeed. When this enticing proposal had been fully translated, the chief smiled. “We'll do more.” Salisbury was grow- ing reckless. “We'll give prizes to the fastest swimmer among the men, among the boys, among the women. We'll have games and dances, and make a present to the handsomest girl. We'll send her a copy of her photograph! Oh, we’ll have the best time the San Blas people ever had, and they’ll be sorry when we leave!”’ They fell for it. Discussion became lively. There was less hostility in their glances; little girls with enormous neck- laces of silver coins began to sidle into view. But it was slow work getting acquainted. Through every crevice in the walls, bright eyes continued to watch us, and we could see that the place was sur- rounded by women. After a time, their curiosity proved too much for them and they likewise edged in through the doors. Some of them—bold, brazen characters, no doubt—had the courage to stand close behind us. Fingers touched us; tiny brown hands explored our garments. By and by, we began to distribute change among the children and to play with the babies. Thenceforth, we got along splendidly. It was after the chief and some of his head men had accepted our invitation to lunch with us that an incident occurred which briefly threatened not only to interrupt our relations and destroy what understanding we had established but to involve us in a decidedly awkward situa- tion. We were on our way out to the yacht when we heard a gunshot. “Who fired that gun?” Hyatt inquired quickly. We could not imagine. As we neared the Wisdom, we saw signs of something untoward, for canoes were scuttling shoreward and our crew was rushing about the deck. Next, we dis- cerned the body of a man laid out upon one of the cots, a bare brown calf and arm hung over the side. Hyatt cursed eloquently. “Somebody has shot an Indian,” he declared. “That means we’re in a mighty bad fix.” But it was not an Indian. One of our sailors, in cleaning an automatic pistol, had sent a steel-jacketed “forty-five” through his knee: It was a bad wound; we were a hundred miles from a hospital, so away went our fine plans, temporarily at least, and we hoisted anchor and pushed the Wisdom at top speed out to the governor’s residence. The doctor, after an examination, declared positively that our man must have the best surgical attention, so Hyatt, the operator, and I took the cameras ashore, and Salisbury, blaspheming sulphurously, turned the Wisdom seaward and bore the sufferer away. Knowing that the Indians were as timid as deer, it was with some apprehensions that I returned to Cardi on the following morning to advise the villagers that our regatta was only postponed and to assure them that we would permit no further carelessness in the use of firearms while we were their guests. They responded more readily than I had dared hope, and when the Wisdom hove in sight, two days later, we were again persone grate The conclusion of The San Blas People wii! appear in the January issue. |

Why Did He Tempt Death? Captain Macklin, high-hearted soldier of fortune, just out of West Point, looked into the eyes of death. The other man’s gun was leveled at his heart, but Captain Macklin fired into the air. The girl was the cause of it all—but she didn’t know—she did not understand.

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A MIAMI-MADE Bicycle will give you the easy, healthful and delightful exercise that every man wants and needs. But be sure that you get a MIAMI-MADE Bicycle. Light, yet sturdy enough for the hardest wear, easy riding, perfectly balanced and with an equipment that is the best that money and experience can produce, MIAMI- MADE Bicycles are the only ones that will give youthemost perfect satisfaction. There Are Four Lines of MIAMI - MADE Bicycles To Choose From The MIAMI-MADE Racycle—A The MIAMI-MADE Miami—A bicycle that you are sure to like. Built for | good all-’round bicycle. Will stand up speed, yet strong enough to withstand the under the severest test that you may hardest wear. give it. The MIAMI-MADE Hudson—The The MIAMI-MADE Flying Merkel machine of racing fame. Used by World —A strictly serviceable bicycle for hard Champions everywhere. All types and prices _ usage in all kinds of weather and under to meet every need and taste. all sorts of conditions. For Sale by the Best Dealers Everywhere The Miami Cycle & Mfg. Co. 1005-1021 Grand Ave., Middletown, Ohio, U. S. A. WRITE for Catalog on the Miami-Made Bicycle You Want Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 The Life of Charles Frohman (Continued from page 75) Frohman went to the Academy, bolted straight for the sculpture-room, and stood for a quarter of an hour gazing intently at the graceful figure of Peter playing his pipe. Then he walked out again, without stopping to look at any of the lovely things about him. It was characteristic of Froh- man to do just the thing he had in mind and nothing else. Frohman and Barrie seldom wrote to each other. When they did, it was a mere scrawl that no other human being in the world could read. The only cablegram that Barrie ever sent Frohman was about “What Every Woman Knows.” Hilda Trevelyan played Maggie Wylie. Barrie liked her work so much that he cabled Frohman about it on the opening night. When the actress went down to breakfast the next morning, to read what the news- papers said about her, she found on her plate a cable from Frohman doubling her | salary. It was Frohman’s answer to | Barrie. One of Frohman’s English delights was to go to Barrie’s flat in London overlook- ing the Victoria Embankment. He liked this place, first of all, because it was Barrie’s. Then, too, he could sit curled | up in the corner on a settee, smoking a fat, black cigar, and look out on the Thames. Here he knew he would not have to talk. It was the place of Silence and Understanding. He was in an atmosphere he loved. In the flat above lived John Galsworthy; down-stairs dwelt Granville Barker, while just across the street was the domicile of Bernard Shaw. When Barrie wanted to notify Shaw that Frohman was with him, he would throw bread crusts against Shaw’s window-panes. In a few moments, the sash would fly up, and the familiar, grinning, bearded, satyrlike face would pop out. On one of the occa- sions, Shaw yelled across: “Are you inviting me to a feast, Barrie? | Are you casting bread upon the troubled waters, or is it just Frohman?” FROHMAN’S ESTIMATE OF BABRIE In view of Frohman’s enormous adora- tion of Barrie—and it amounted to nothing else—it is interesting, as a final glimpse of | the relation between these men, to see what the American thought of his friend’s work. In analyzing Barrie’s work once, Frohman said: “Barrie’s distinctive note is humanity. There is rich human blood in everything he writes. He is a satirist whose arrows are never barbed with vitriol but with the milk of human kindness, a humanist who never surfeits our senses but leaves much for our willing imagination, an optimist whose message is as compelling for its reasonableness as it is welcome for its gentleness.” Through Barrie and “Peter Pan” came another close and devoted friendship in | Charles Frohman’s life—the one with | Pauline Chase. This American girl had | been engaged by one of Frohman’s stage- managers for a small part with Edna May | in “The Girl from Up There.” Frohman | did not even know her in those days. After she made her great success as the

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i |) | ed — = Pe — = = mm 8 meee ON Oe ee wy d en nm Oo rrr settee se Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 177 Pink-Pajama Girl in “The Liberty Belles,”’ { 66 99 at the Madison Square Theatre, Frohman | engaged her and sent her to England, | e O uc e where, with the exception of one visit to 3 the United States, in ‘““Our Miss Gibbs,” : she has remained ever since. It was not until she played Peter Pan that the Frohman-Chase friendship really | began. The way that Charles Frohman’s favorite English Peter got her part is inter- esting. Cissie Loftus, who had been play- ing the réle, became ill, and Miss Chase, who had been playing one of the twins, and who was her understudy, went on to do the part at one matinée in Liverpool. Frohman said to her: . “Barrie and I are coming down to see you act. If we like you well enough to play Peter, I will send you back a sheet of paper with a cross-mark on it after the play.” At the end of the first act, an usher rapped on Miss Chase’s dressing-room door | and handed her the much desired slip with | | the cross. Frohman sent word that he could not wait until the end of the play, because he and Barrie were taking a train | back to London. In this unusual way, | Pauline Chase secured the part which helped to endear her to the man who was her friend and sponsor. Frohman, Barrie, and Miss Chase formed a trio who went about together a great deal and had much in common, aside from the kinship of the theater. It was for Miss Chase that Barrie wrote “ Panta- loon,” in which she appeared in combina- tion with ‘Peter Pan,” and which gave her a considerable reputation in England. | When Pauline Chase was confirmed in | All Saints Church, Marlow, Barrie was her godfather and Miss Ellen Terry was her godmother. Frohman attended this ceremony, and it made a tremendous im- pression on him. He saw the spectacular | side of the ceremony, and the spiritual | meaning was not lost on him. RECALL THAT GOLDEN DAY WHEN YOU FIRST READ “HUCKLEBERRY FINN.” How your mother said, “For goodness sake, stop laughing aloud over that book. You sound so silly.””. But you couldn’t stop laughing. Today when you read “Huckleberry Finn” you will not laugh so much. You will chuckle often, but you will also want to weep. The deep humanity of it—the pathos, that you never saw, as a boy, will appeal to you now. You were too busy laughing to notice the limpid purity of the master’s style. MARK TWAIN When Mark Twain first wrote true, so lofty, that those who did not “Huckleberry Finn” this land was know him well were amazed. “Joan swept with a gale of laughter. When of Arc” was the work of a poet—a he wrote “Innocents Abroad” even historian—a seer. Mark Twain was Europe laughed at itself. Mm of these. His was not the light aughter of a moment’s fun, but the But one day there appeared a new whimsical humor that made _ book from his pen, so spiritual, tragedy of human life more bearab 2 5 V O L U M E Novels, Stories, Humor, Essays, Travels, History This is Mark Twain’s own set. This is the set he wanted in the home of each of those who love him. Because he oe : . : asked it, Harper’s have worked to make a Aen Anema «8rd, Harper's hove worked perfect set at a reduced price. Before the Mark Twain was a steamboat Wace: fails ¢ acai ceece Lee pilot. He was a searcher for Var we hada contract price or paper, so gold in the far west. He wasa we could sell this set of Mark Twain at a printer. He worked bitterly reduced price. hard. All this without a glim- The i Fk Bisa ed The mer of the great destiny that le dast of the edition 1s in sight. he lay before him. Then, with the price of paper has gone up. There can be opening of the great wide west, no more Mark Twain at the present price. Mark Twain's genius bloomed. He had found his great place. SEND THE COUPON His fame spread through the WITHOUT MONEY nation. It flew to the ends of ‘ 7 - the earth, till his work was There never again will be any more Mark A NOTABLE FRIENDSHIP | The personal comradeship with Pauline Chase was one of the really beautiful episodes in Frohman’s life. He was genu- inely interested in this girl’s career and, in tribute to her confidence in him, she made him, in conjunction with Barrie, her father confessor. Frohman and Barrie were both afraid that Miss Chase would marry without telling them about it, so a compact was made by the three that the two men should be her mentors. There were many appli- cants for the hand of this lovely American girl. The successful suitor eventually was Alec Drummond, member of a distin- guished English family, who went to the front when the war began. > reac ¢ er nae translated into strange tongues. Twain at the present price. Get the 25 One reason for Miss Chase’s devotion From then on, the path of fame volumes now, while you can. faci to Mr. Frohman lay in the fact that the lay straight to the high places. 5. smerican has got to have a 12-16 A meri ‘ — . a: aie Mees ut his troubles were not over. ery American has got to have - American manager had the body of her At the height of his fame he lost set of Mark Twain in his home. = mother removed from its resting-place in all his money. He washeavily Get this now and save money New York in debt, but though 60 years old ae he started afresh and paid every This is the first announce- cent. It was the last heroic ment of the final clos- touch that drew him close to the ing of the sale. Your hearts of his countrymen. children want Mark The world has asked is there an oe aon American .literature? Mark ee - Twain is the answer. He is the Send me, all charges pre- paid, a set of Mark Twain's works in 25 volumes, illustrated, * bound in handsome green cloth, stamped in gold, gold tops and deckled edges. If not satisfactory, I will return Washington to the dreamy little church- yard at Marlow. It is near Marlow that Miss Chase lived through all the years of the Frohman-Barrie comradeship. Her little cottage, Tree-Tops, Farnham Com- mon, five miles from Marlow, was one coupon today . —now—-while them at your expense. Other- of the places he loved to go. On the vine- et Kaleo dy ae you are / wiseI will send you $1.00 within ° ° ' ; - a 2 or 12 embowered porch, he liked to sit and smoke. boyhood to his glorious, splen- _ looking mouthe, thus getting the benefit of did old age, he remained as sim- at it. your hall price sale. On the lawn, he indulged in his only exer- cise, croquet, frequently with Barrie or Captain Scott, who died in the Antarc- tic, and Haddon (Concluded on page 180) | ple, as democratic as the plain- est of our forefathers. HARPER & BROTHERS NEW YORK

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New York Largest Mail Order Shirt House in the World Copyright, 1916, by Goodell & Company | when she was in Paris, | telegram: | loved Marlow best. it framed the loveliest memories of his life. "me | cinating old shops. 345, pao, N. Y. | and talk to the tradesmen, | know and love him and look forward to his advent with the keenest interest. | he was not the great American theatrical Chambers, who lived near by. Often he went with his hostess to feed the chickens. Frohman went to Marlow nearly every Saturday in summer. His custom was to alight from the train at Slough, where Miss Chase would meet him in her car and drive him over to Marlow, where they lunched at the Compleat Angler, a charming inn on the bank of the Thames. Miss Chase sometimes fixed Frohman’s finger-nails, as a labor of devotion. Once, he sent her this Nails. Whereupon she wired back, I am afraid you will have to bite them. Frohman then sent her the telegram by mail, and under it wrote, I have. THE PLACE OF LOVELIEST MEMORIES Of all the spots in England, and, for that matter, in all the world, Charles Frohman He always said that It was Haddon Chambers who first took Frohman to Marlow. It came about in a natural way, because Maidenhead, which is a very popular resort in England, and much frequented by theatrical people, is only a short distance away. One day, Chambers, who was with Frohman at Maidenhead, said: “There is a lovely, Marlow not far away. there.”” So they went. Chambers rented a cottage at Marlow each summer, and one of the things to which Frohman looked forward most eagerly was a visit there with him. With his frequent visits to Marlow, he became known to the whole town. The simplicity of his manner and his keen interest, humor, and sympathy won him many friends. His arrival was always more or less of an event in the little township. It is a one-street place, with many fas- Frohman loved to prowl around, look in the shop windows who came to quiet village called Let’s go over To them, magnate but a simple, kindly, interested human being, who inquired about their babies and who had a big and generous nature. Frohman once made this remark about one of the Marlow antique shops: “Tt’s a great place. When I buy things there the proprietor always tells me whether they are real or only fake stuff. That’s because I’m one of his friends.” It was typ.cal of the man that he was as proud of this friendship as that of a prince. On the tramps through Marlow, he was often accompanied by Miss Chase and Haddon Chambers. He had three particu- lar friends in the town. One was Muriel Kilby, daughter of the keeper of the Com- pleat Angler, the famous inn of the place. When Frohman first went to Marlow, she was a slip of a child. He watched her grow up with increasing interest. This great and busy man found time in New York to Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 write her notes full of friendly affection. A few days before the Lusitania went down, she received a note from him saying that he was soon to sail, and looked forward with eagerness to his stay at Marlow. Through Miss Kilby, Frohman became more intimately a part of the local life of Marlow. She was head the Marlow Dramatic Society, which gave an amateur performance every year. Frohman solemnly became a member, paid the five shillings annual dues, and, whenever it was possible, he went to their performances. As a mat- ter of fact, the Marlow Dramatic Society has probably the most distinguished non- resident membership in the world, for be- sides Frohman, and through him, it in- cludes Barrie, Haddon Chambers, Pauline Chase, Marie Lohr, William Gillette, and Mare Klaw. Frohman always took his close American friends to Marlow. One of the prices they paid was membership in the amateur dramatic society. Like every really great man, Charles Frohman wis tremendously simple, as his friendship with Clark, the Marlow butcher, shows. Clark is a big, ruddy, John Bull sort of man, whose shop is one of the main sights of High Street in the village. Froh- man regarded his day at Marlow incom- plete without a visit to Clark. One day, he met Clark, all dressed up. He asked him where he was going. “T am going to visit my pigs,” replied the butcher. Frohman thought this a great joke and never tired of telling it. FOR MAYOR, CHARLES FROHMAN Once, when Frohman gave out an inter- view about his friends in Marlow, he sent the clipping to.his friend Clark, who wrote him a letter, saying, among other things: I can assure you I quite appreciate your kindness in sending the cutting to me. When the township of Marlow has obtained from His Majesty, King George, the necessary charter to become a county borough, and you offer yourself for the position of mayor, I will give you my whole-hearted support and influence to secure your election. Indeed, the people of Marlow looked upon Frohman as their very own. He al- ways said that he wanted to be buried in the churchyard by the river. This church- yard, by the way, had a curious interest for him. He used to wander around in it, and struck up quite an acquaintance with the wife of the sexton. She was always depressed because times were so bad and no one was dying. Then an artist died and was buried there, and the old woman cheered up considerably. Frohman used to tell her that the only funeral that he expected to attend was his own. ‘And mark you,” he said, for he could never resist a jest, “‘you must take pre- cious good care of my grave.” His wish to lie in Marlow was not at- tained, but, in tribute to the love he had for this sleepy town, the memorial that his friends in England have raised to his memory—a drinking-fountain—stands to-day at the head of High Street, where he loved to roam and where he felt perhaps more at home than in any other place. Had he made the choice himself, he would have preferred this simple, sincere tribute in the midst of simple people who knew him and loved him to any other memorial. The next instalment of The Life of Charles Frohman will continue the account of his English associations.

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Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 L e Tse pained Men Rule In, Business and Public Life Who are the best paid among all professional men? LAWYERS. Who occupy the highest positions in business life? Law-Trained men. Who are our leading executives—Governors of State, Congressmen, Senators, Cabinet Ofticials? Men with LEGAL training. And why? Because it is now generally recognized that the LAW-Trained man has a keener grasp of affairs and is better able to cope with modern business and civic problems which demand intelligent solution than the man without legal training. Then what profession offers the possibilities for YOU? roadest LAW, of course. Law has opened the way to positions of honor and profit for more men than any other profession or business. It will do the same for YOU. Earn $3,000 to $10,000 a Year ACT! Enter this success-winning, big income-producing educators as James Parker Hall, Dean of University of profession NOW! Today, more than ever before, LAW Chicago Law School; James DeWitt Andrews, former offers the shortest route, to the greatest success—and member of faculty Northwestern University, and over with the least expenditure of time and money. Don’t 20 Law School Deans; Professors in famous resident remain in the small-job, small-pay class any longer. Colleges, and famous legal authorities of Bar and Bench. Begin NOW to build a career of prosperity power and _ Third, because we guarantee to coach free until success- independence. ful any graduate failing to pass bar examinations. Formerly the opportunities to turn a legal education into money were limited to court practice, but today thousands of the choicest places in the field of pro- Money-B ack Guarantee Bond fessional, political and commercial activity are being So thorough is the LaSalle Home Study Course—so filled by law-trained men. They are chosen for leader- exceptional has been the success of LaSalle Students ship, because of their grasp of the fundamentals of —that we issue a legal, binding guarantee to refund law; because they know what can be done legally; the entire tuition fee, if after you complete the because their legal training equips them to analyzea Course, you are not perfectly satisfied. This guaran- proposition and direct and control affairs that can- tee is backed by our entire capital and resources of not be successfully handled by others. _ —_ two oe Ke ory pe et ae your absolute success. on’t let the lack of ready money W e Train You B MAIL! interfere—the total cost of this University Grade y 4¢ Course is surprisingly small, and we make easy pay- at home, in your spare time to acquire a legal train- ment terms to suit you. ing and become a practising lawyer, successful business man. prominent statesman, or to qualify Jaw. ,Amane our graduates are men enoving postions of honor as a Legal Counselor, retained by big institutions, your vocation is now, we can help you to the same end. Send corporations, etc.— or as Attorney-at-Law, deriv- coupon for facts that tell how. ing a big income from defending and prosecuting re) law suits. a” More Modern Law Library Included FREE Our method of Home Training insures your 14 massive law volumes— “AMERICAN LAW success — first because the LaSalle text is edited _ ee en ee size 946265 inches— bound in ; 7 ai — ss g 4 sheep. ranches 0 aw are fully covered. 1s wor! and written in plain, easy-to-understand lauguage. cogt'us over $50.00, but is FURNISHED YOU AT ONCE on Second, because it is prepared by such noted legal your enrollment WITHOUT ADDITIONAL COST. FREE Complete Course in Public Speaking — ee Our training by mail, will positively teach you SSS EXTENSION UNIVERSI TY the fine art of persuasive speech. Every lawyer—every Dept. 1 25S ee needa nL successful man should be a forceful speaker. Our Course . is prepared by Frederick B. Robinson, A. B., A. M., Ph. D., Professor Without obligation on my part, send me by return mail, infor- Public Speaking at College of City of New York. Write and learn how mation concerning your Course in Law with the free books, youcan NOW secure this valuable Course, absolutely free, if you be- “Evidence”’ and, Valuable Law Guide—also your offer of FREE come oneof our lawstudents. You owe it to yourself—to your future 4 We have successfully trained thousands of men and women in Course in Public peaking to students enrolling now. —to learn all the facts regarding the LaSalle Law Course and how easily you can master it. Mail the coupon and let us send you our two big, illustrated books —valuable “Law Guide’ and cessful law students. Mail coupon NOW. LaSalle Extension University “The World’s Greatest Extension University’’ Dept. 1255-F Address our \ Name . sate J ‘ A Evidence” together with letters from hundreds of our suc- Chicago, Ill. ls ote, .-. State.........

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signified coon-hunting, fried chicken, banjos, and “Merrily We Roll Along.” The imaginary moon meant the “ Mappa Selenographica,” by Beer and Madler. “The moon!”’ she murmured again. “Ves,’’ remarked Bennie curtly; ‘‘the moon—that moon right up there”—he glanced up and wrinkled his forehead— “that ought to be there, I mean! Say, there’s something queer about all this! Hard alee, Burke! Steer for the moon!” The aviator pressed his control-lever, and once more the moon floated overhead into their field of vision. But what a moon! Twenty-four times her usual diam- eter—her circular craters plainly visible to the naked eye, her physical configuration seemingly becoming more and more dis- tinct each moment. “But can we land?” protested the girl, reawakening to the perils of their position. “Suppose we can find no suitable spot— particularly with our machinery out of con- trol? There will be no landing-stage——” “We must land!” he _ interrupted fiercely. ‘‘What’s more, we’ve got to turn the Ring upside down so as to land right side up. It’s going to be ticklish business, because we must bring our machine to rest within a hundred miles or so of the lunar surface, and we’re traveling more than ten miles a second at the present moment.” “But how can you turn the Ring upside down away out here in space?” she ex- postulated. “By slanting the tractor at its maximum angle,” he answered. ‘‘Since there is little gravitational force acting on us now, the Ring will then rotate arourid its center of inertia and bring the moon below us. We can then straighten out the tractor and use its full force to slow down our velocity. As soon as we get within striking-distance of the moon, we will reduce our power and come down by gravitational force.” “Have you ever—tried this—turning- maneuver?”’ she asked hesitatingly. ““No; we never have. But we ought to be able to do it—we must do it! Atter- bury, thiow on your full power; and get ready, Burke, to put her over! Hang on to the ropes, Rhoda, or you may get dizzy! As soon as the tractor starts, we'll get back our weight and have a firm footing again.” Rhoda took one last look at the moon blazing out of the darkness of the sky overhead, grasped two of the clothes-lines, and closed her eyes. Again the Ring vi- brated to the whir of its propelling engines. Burke threw over the control-lever as far as it would go; the helium ray slanted off until it almost grazed the inner surface of the Ring, and slowly the great machine turned over in space. Bennie, with his face glued to the deadlight in the floor, watched the moon glide gradually into his field of view, and when it was directly beneath them, he shouted to Burke to straighten the tractor. Again the ray swung into the center of the Ring, and the¥ felt the pressure of the floor against their feet. Crowded about the deadlight, the pas- sengers watched intently the enormous yellow globe beneath them steadily in- The Moon-Maker (Concluded from page 66) . creasing in diameter. In twenty minutes, it filled half their field of vision; ten more, and its rim was lost to them. They were settling down upon the moon! Directly below lay the huge circular crater of Copernicus, frosty in the sun’s light, brilliant streaks radiating from its cone. Inside the circumference of the ex- tinct volcano, and parallel to it, was a smaller crater, at the bottom of which glowed several dazzling points, which Rhoda knew must be other cones. To the south stretched away vast grayish-yellow, lava-strewn plains. Elsewhere, over the visible surface of the moon, were distributed continents of highly irregular formation, with strangely indented coast-lines, rival- ing in their conformation those of Nor- way and Sweden. Concentric circles of great mountains marked both the north- ern and southern hemispheres, most of them craters of extinct volcanoes, and each glowing with its own individual color or radiation. Here rose a sparkling white point of light, Mount Eratosthenes; there, Mount Gay-Lussac; beyond, Mount Philolaus, and, to the south, Doerfel, Leibnitz, and that most splendid of lunar glories, Tycho, plainly visible in its daz- zling beauty to the naked eyes of the in- habitants of the earth. The predominating color both of these craters and of the dead seas, or plains, surrounding them seemed to be gray mixed with green or brown, but, here and there, certain of them shone with a bluish tint, while others glowed with a well- defined red or green. The great crater of Copernicus steadily increased in size until Bennie estimated that they were less than two thousand miles above it. The lunar surface was still coming up toward them at an appalling velocity, and Bennie began to have misgivings about their ability to stop in time. “If we can’t stop her, we’re done for,” he said. ‘‘We ought to have reversed sooner. I thought we were going to run by the moon, but we were evidently pointed directly toward it.” ‘You forgot the moon’s orbital motion, I think,” put in Rhoda. “It got in our way, that’s all.” ‘“Tt’s too late to do anything now,” said Bennie. ‘‘We’re too near to swerve off and run by.” He looked at his watch. “Tf the tractor is delivering its full power and runs for five minutes mere, we ought to be all right, but it’s going to be a narrow squeak.” He hurried to the engine-room. “Atterbury, give her more power!”’ he shouted. The engineer threw a frightened glance at him. “T’m at the last notch now. Look at the tractor! The inductor-tubes are white-hot!” With a feeling of utter helplessness, Bennie returned to Rhoda, who was lying on the floor with her face pressed against the glass, and threw himself at her side; and she clung to him, like a terrified child, as together they looked down fearfully through the deadlight. The yellow surface of the moon, gleaming like a mass of I Cosmopolitan for December, 1916 jewels, was rushing up at them with sickening velocity. A few seconds more, and— He turned away from the window. “Tt’s all up,” he choked. ‘‘Good-by, Burke!” Burke, standing rigid at the control, made no reply. “We're slowing up; we’re slowing up,” whispered Rhoda suddenly. “Look, Bennie! That crater below us! It’s not getting any larger!” Bennie arose and framed the great circle of the crater in the rim of the dead-light. “You’re right!” he yelled exultantly. ““We’re hovering! We can land! Burke, shut down the power quick, and stand by to pick up your moorings!” “T’m all ready,’ answered Burke, throwing over the rheostat that controlled the current. The Ring was hanging over a vast rocky plain, pockmarked with small craters, furrowed with crevasses, and bristling with jagged ridges and grotesque turrets and pinnacles. In the glare of the sun, it shone dazzingly white—like snow— so that it hurt their eyes, and Rhoda was forced to turn hers away. ‘How high up are we?” inquired Bennie. “The manometer doesn’t register,” answered Burke. ‘There can’t be any atmosphere. We won’t be able to use it for landing—more’s the pity! Just have to judge by appearances. I think we’re hovering now—no— by George, we’re rising a little!’ He advanced the lever of the rheostat another point. ‘‘ Now we’re descending. This is about right, I reckon.” Slowly the Ring dropped toward the surface of the plain. Immediately below them was a small forest of pinnacles. “For heaven’s sake, keep away from that!” shouted Bennie. “If you land there, you’ll spike the Ring on one of those things, just as if you were playing ringtoss. There’s a good place—that round, level spot about three hundred yards to the left.” “Trust me for a bull’s-eye!” laughed Burke, slanting the tractor, and the ground slid slowly off to one side until they were clear of danger and over the smooth patch, which looked as if it had been made to order for their purposes. Up—up—nearer and nearer—came the lunar plain. The helium ray was now playing directly upon its surface, and throwing up great clouds of white dust, which, as the Ring sank closer to the ground, rose and completely enveloped it. Sight was no longer possible. They could not be more than two hundred feet above the surface. Beneath and above them, they could see only whirling clouds of white powder. ‘Here goes for luck!” announced Burke, pulling back the lever. They grasped the ropes tightly, standing on tiptoe for what seemed ages. Suddenly, the Ring struck with a noise like that of a giant sledge-hammer upon a boiler. The accompanying jar, however, was com- paratively slight. Burke touched his forelock. “We have arrove!” he remarked, with a grin. ‘All out for the moon!” The next instalment of The Moon- Maker will appear in the January issue.

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