Cosmopolitan 1925-10: Vol 79 Iss 4

Page 1

Page 2

-PHARMACAL COMPANY ST.LOUISMO.U.S:A, — 1 rapt enemenetinnet

Page 3

Hearst’s INTERNATIONAL OCTOBER .-O 2:5 Combined with SOaMOPrOLIT TAN LP bis, at least, = Have Learned UST about the time these words are published I will have reached the age of forty. Forty isn’t a par- ticularly honorable or exceptional age, but it is a difficult one be- cause at forty a man is supposed to begin to know something. For more than fifteen years I have been going about the world meeting almost everybody and seeing almost everything of im- portance, and I imagine that | am supposed to know a good deal. Just how much real information I have gathered is open to argument, but I am certain that I at least do know the one really important thing that the world and life has to teach me: Some day I, too, am going to die. Some day I, too, am going to die—I, Frazier Hunt, am going to stop getting up in the morning and shaving and eating and arguing, and forever pass out of the picture. ve always known everybody else was going to die— but somehow it never seriously occurred to me that I must face that same sentence: that I, who am full of luck and energy and the very stuff of life, must at the end face the one and final Judge of All Things and All Men. i It was just about a year ago when I first really thought ofthis. I was lying on my back in an old English garden and all afternoon the larks were singing in the sky. Sky- larks are to me the most wonderful birds in the world, be- cause there is no sense but just rare beauty to their way ofsinging. A nightingale, drugged with the fragrance of apple blossoms, will sit on a branch in the moonlight and sing love songs the whole night through. There’s sense to that. : But there’s no sense to the skylark. Like some mad spirit, some blithe bird soul, he flies in ever widening circles towards the heavens, singing as he climbs higher and higher, until you. swear his very throat would burst. Then when he is only a flashing speck away up almost out of sight, he dives like a_ graceful monoplane, trilling his pure joy, wild with life, mad with abandon in the exotic nonsense of his feat. Suddenly he checks his fantastic drop and then, as softly as a leaf floating downward in a gentle breeze, he glides to earth—and his. song is ended. Why this tiny bird should have reminded me of life and death and why he should have caused me to have looked deeply into the veiled mirror of eternity, I do not know, unless it be that his singing flight upward and then his quick, joyous descent to earth—and silence—should have spelled for me the story of man and his finest destiny. Anyway, that afternoon in the lovely English country- side I discovered that I, too, must die. And at the same moment that I stumbled on this terrific truth I prayed that I might return to the great mother still singing, just as this skylark returned after his flight into the heavens. His song had gone on all the way down, until the very moment when earth’s open arms received him. After all, what can man at his best do but sing his way through the unknown of life—and then try to sing his way to the unknown of death! Earth, after the singing is over and the flight is ended, calls skylarks and men alike. 15

Page 4

HEN “Maui, the great legendary hero of Polynesia; cast inte thé sea a fish-hook made of his grand- mother’s.jawbone land hauled up the islands of New Zealand, he niade a catch which later fisher- men, no matter how unveracious, have never even approached. After Maui caught this great fish, nature then went to work to adorn it. “We’ll make this a tourists’ paradise,” was probably the slogan adopted during the constructive period. As a result, the newly arrived traveler who has come “for to see’”’ is handed a menu from which he can choose almost any kind of scenery he hankers to behold. In the North Island are geyser regions approaching those of the Yellowstone, a mountain rivaling Fujiyama, volcanoes perpetu- ally smoking, caves of wonderful beauty, gorges in which rivers rush through towering canyons, waterfalls of all sizes, lakes in which you may catch eighteen or twenty pound rainbow trout, rapids, forests, snow-capped peaks—in fact nearly everything in the line of scenery. On the human side, there are the Maoris, a great race which, until only fifty years ago, was noted as the most warlike and savage of the Polynesians. Their villages and fields are scattered widely throughout the North Island. On the South Island the scenery is more impressive. The great Franz Josef Glacier, the Buller and Otira gorges, the range of snow-clad Alps, the wonderful fiords on the southwest coast— here you have the scenic wonders of Switzerland, Norway, Eng- land and California united in one small area. It was Sunday evening, and we walked out to the Maori town of Ohinemutu, where services were in progress in the two native churches. In one, a white curate was speaking in the Maori language to a crowded house; in the other, a Maori was speaking in excellent English to an equally large crowd. The Maoris have a fondness for building their towns where the geysers and steam vents and hot water pools are thickest. The reason is largely economic. They do most of their cooking and washing in the hot water springs. IR THE town of Ohinemutu, steam arises from holes in the streets. Groups of Maoris were spending the pleasant evening sitting in hot pools en famille; upon all sides wisps of smoke and steam were curling lazily up in the bright moonlight. It was a strange setting. As we walked up a steep street a Maori came swinging down from above, singing gayly. The song—and this is the solemn truth—was “It ain’t gonna rain no mo’.” This song has captured New Zealand. We heard it in many places. Near Rotorua is a large Maori town built right in the heart of New Zealand’s most busy geyser activities. Geysers, steam spouts, smoke columns and boiling springs are everywhere throughout the streets. The village must rest on a thin crust below which lie mysterious caverns of fire and incredibly hot water. At places the path upon which you walk yields beneath your feet. The guide, a Maori woman with tattooed chin who l¢ Come! Travel With J cAround thé speaks highly cultured English, points out new vents that have _ just appeared. : The economic advantages of such a location were illustrated on all sides. They don’t have to make fires to cook or wash with, They merely go out in the back yard and put their pots in a steam crack, and soon the food is cooked. Whenever. the household wants a hot, tepid or cold bath, there is a pool somewhere near-by of exactly the required temperature. ce es : And as if living in such an inferno were not enough, they pro- ceeded to name the town Whakarewarewa, thus makitg 4ife as difficult as possible. Along the coast, and occasionally in the’ interior, there are English names of cities and places, but the majority of smaller places retain the original Maori names. Some of these are quite wonderful. Most of them are musical and harmonious after you learn to pronounce them. It occurred to us that a man with a flute could play some of them if a selec- tion were placed before him. A: THE railway station at Te Kuiti, we first saw the native form of salutation in operation. Instead of kissing, the. Maoris rub noses. Perhaps one might grow used to it in time, but there are many points about nose rubbing that seem to lack the attractions of kissing. : Americans who have been laboring under the delusion that five dollars in American money is worth more than a pound need only go to New Zealand or Australia to dis- cover their mistake. The banks fix a rate which makes a pound cost just about five dollars. Of course the pound isn’t worth more than, say, $4.85, but they add seven cents to cover possible fluctuations, and then add a percentage to cover exchange. When you intimate that the bank combine is an aggregation of robbers, the bankers smile. You are entirely at their mercy. The same is true of the local business men. But the worm is turning. An aroused citizenry is bombarding the newspapers with indigna’ t outcries; the chorus of protest is swelling, and perhaps in time the arbitrary methods of the banks will be curbed. The American traveler in New Zealand, in two respects at least, will think he is on his own beloved Main Street. American movies and motor-cars dominate the country. He will do all Fis motoring in various makes of American cars; in every town the local picture houses will be featuring American movie pro- ductions and stars. The “pictures’”’ constitute the chief evening diversion of the people, and I discovered the New Zealander is as fa- miliar with our mov- ie celebrities as are the folks at home. Ot ee ] hat tre for un iza an ha yo th 7 Sth kn.. . ae

Page 5

“th John T. McCutcheon |\Well-Known Wor illustrated wash with, in a steam household re near-by they pro- ing life as lly in the’ , but the ri names. usical and yronounce man with if a selec- Kuiti, we tation in ie. Maoris row used Ly points lack the ng under rth more ia to dis- bout five y, $4.85, and then zation of cy. The turning. idignart time the pects at merican lo all Fis own the ii , iy, ss Ra ae ee FA \ } 4 , that have : In time the American film productions, penetrating every hamlet’in the English-speaking world, are bound to exert a tremendous influence in molding the speech and humor of these foreign peoples. It may even be said that the New Zealander is undergoing, to this extent at least, a distinct process of American- W: FOUND the New Zealanders a polite and courteous people, and the country agreeable to travel about in. The chauffeurs we had for the long tours were invariably intelligent and educated young men who knew the history and traditions of the Maoris through whose districts we passed. They have a curious institution in New Zealand called the ‘Bottle Store.”’ In those stores the cus- tomer fyay, buy any kind of liquor by the single bottle at wholesale rates. We en- joyed looking into one -of these big show windows one evening for half an hour. While on the subject of drink, it is timely to refer to the tea drinking habit of the New Zealander. I don’t know where he acquired it, but he has it bad. The trains stop at unexpected times in order that the passengers may rush out and get a cup of tea, and thus prevent a horrid death by tea starvation. One day we had paused for a consider- able time at a station and the conductor had sounded the bell and everybody piled on board. The signal to start was given, when an excited guard came galumphing down the platform. “The engineer hasn’t had his tea!” he shouted. So we waited some minutes more while the engineer had his tea, after which, everybody happy, we proceeded on our way. At Wairakei, a delightful little place in the “thermal” region, you may bathe in a large hot water pool or in a “fairy” pool where you stand under a hot waterfall and enjoy a pleasant massage. Bathing suits are not required. The ladies go at one hour and the gentlemen at the next. Married couples may go to the fairy pool together. You shut a gate and turn the sign to “engaged” and no one intrudes. When you come out you change the sign. Those who have bathed in the fairy pool will remember the experience as the pleasantest of all their travels. A bower of lofty ferns and hugh towering trees make of this little pool a delightfully secluded spot, visible only to an airplane. Not far from E/ ie’ (2% Wairakei is a blow- GE NC rane) 7 Bates ~Y, hole which you go to ane ane an ats GB see at night. It is xs # anawesome sight. A blast of steam five or six feet in diameter shoots out of a hole in the rock with a _ roar like the exhaust ' of a hundred loco- motives. A _peculi- arity of the steam is ae i RRP RN eb pt atng At HAA th yet e thatitisdry. One may stand the clouds sufficiently far from the full force—184 pounds ;to the square inch—and feel no moisture. a The guide, a Maori, began«all his announcements with the words, “And now, ladies and gents, I will tell you about——” One of his announcements was‘@bout a Maori girl and her baby who came to this blow-hole tottommit suicide. They were shot out like a couple of champagne corks. I didn’t ask if they were killed, but presumed they were: This steam hole, called the-Karapiti or Fumarole—also the Devil’s Trumpet—is considered the safety valve of the thermal district. There is never an instant’s cessation of its thunderous roar. If some one corked it up for a half an hour, New Zealand would probably explode. The Wanganui River, known as the Rhine of New Zealand, is- one of the fine sights ofthe North Island. In places the little river boat shoots through «swift rapids and at others is whirled around bends at a dizzy speed. You feel certain the boat will turn over while making these steep “banks,” but at the end of the day, after having spent several hours shooting the rapids and dashing through canyon-like gorges, you arrive safely at Pipiriki and inquire how soon dinner will be .ready. Ever since I was a boy I have heard of the Australian “bush.”” There were the bushmen and the “‘bush- rangers.”’ I supposed the bush to mean thick scrub, but I now discover the “bush” to mean any kind of forest growth. We motored through bush in which the trees, half as large as the Californian redwoods, rose from a tangle of fern trees and other beautiful semi-tropical growth. \ \ E HAD “done” the North Island and now we were motoring through the South Island. We were somewhat fed up on beautiful scenery, and not fed up on things of a more substantial nature. Along the wayside were miles of blackberry bushes, dripping with large ripe berries. During the day:we had passed scores of miles of them, growing wild. In a few minutes we picked a quart or two and took them with us to the hotel in Greymouth, where we had a banquet of blackberries. The hotels did not serve them, and when we inquired we found that the blackberry, be- cause he has spread so much, is greatly in disfavor. He is re- garded as a weed, and there is an offer of £10,000 to anyone who can discover a way to eradicate him. Instead of trying to crush him, those benighted New Zea- landers should realize that a great fortune lies at their hand. They could supply the world with blackberry jelly and jam, with which no other compares. New Zealand could become the blackberry center of the world, just as Hawaiian pineapple has become the aristocrat of his family. I have liked blackberry jam for so many years that I hate to hear his father called a weed. 17

Page 6

Pig- Iron Illustrations by Walt Louderback HE news of Lee’s surrender at Appo- mattox reached the little Massachu- setts town of Mendon almost at the very hour of Sam Smith’s birth. The baby’s father, gray-featured and gray-bearded Theophilus Smith, who had given two sons to the Union cause, took his wife’s hand in his as he knelt beside the bed ind gently patting it, told her the glad tidings in a voice that tre. led slightly. “James lies at Shiloh and Lawrence at Andersonville, but right has triumphed, my dear. The Union is to be preserved and our boys have not given their young lives in vain. God in His infinite goodness has seen fit in this hour of victory to send us another son to take the place of those we’ve lost.” “Ts it a boy, Thee?” his wife asked weakly. “Yes, Mary my dear—a splendid boy. Mrs. Bell has hin— is giving him his first bath; she’ll have him here directly. A fine boy, isn’t he, Adam?” he finished, addressing the doctor who had quitted the mother for a moment to inspect the child and was now reentering the room. “A baby any woman might well be proud of, Mrs. Smith. I have to congratulate you on a beautiful son.” eA Novel by CHARLES 2, , ; : TAA —s x ~ “Then he’s to be Samuel,” said the woman in the bed with a tender smile. “My Samuel and yours, too, Thee—for he was ‘Asked of God.’ ” ; “Just as you like, Mary. Samuel is an honest name. It’snot so much what a man is called at birth as what he makes of his name in after life; isn’t that so, Adam?” “And I thought,” continued Mary Smith, her eyes now on her husband and now upon the physician’s face, “1’d use Osg again as a middle name. It was Jim’s, you know, Doctor—after my mother. I couldn’t have another Jim; never a child of mine with his name or Lawrence’s. But I like Osgood. I thought I d call him Samuel Osgood Smith; don’t you think that sounds pretty?” ° The man on one knee beside the bed rose ponderously and his gray eyes twinkled a little as he pressed his wife’s thin hand—4 hand knuckled and veined from years of housework. 18 Copyright J925, by Charles G. Norris

Page 7

with a ne was t’s not of his on her )sgood —after f rnine ht I’d sounds nd his nd— “She all right?” Theophilus demanded of the doctor. “Splendid—splendid; there’s no woman among my patients who better knows how to bring children into the world than Mrs. Smith. She never gives her doctor or her baby the slightest trouble . . . There now,” he said, bending over the bed. . Theophilus Smith turned toward the door but at that moment It was opened by Mrs. Bell; in her arms she carried a bundle Wrapped in a bianket. ‘Look here,” she said proudly. Loosening a corner of the roll and poking a fold to one side, she displayed the wizened red Putty face of the baby. . +he father peered, wrinkling up his own facé in amused mMitation of his offspring’s. tecACan of this story arriving in NEW YORK where he meets LOVE, ADVENTURE, FORTUNE, and becomes Author of BRASS & BREAD ee alias This is * the Young cent-cal figure in this fine novel “Samuel Osgood Smith,” he pronounced. “Well, sir, it’s something of a name for so small a thing.” He studied his son’s physiognomy a moment, considering. ‘I wonder what he’ll make of it,” he said reflectively. “T want my baby,” came somewhat fretfully from the bed. ‘I want my little Sam.” Theophilus Smith patted the blanket and went on into the narrow passage. Heavily he descended the creaking wooden stairs and groped his way through the dark hall toward the kitchen door. There was a great roaring fire in the kitchen, and Cora, the old negress the Smiths had brought with them from South Carolina, was there heating water on the stove in several mammoth con- tainers. Julia and Narcissa, the two little girls, were playing with their rag dolls on the cheese chest. Thev turned expec- tantly toward their father as his large frame filied the Goorway. “It’s a boy,” he announced. 19

Page 8

Oz: “Praise de good Lawd!”’ shouted old Cora. along it was goin’ to be a boy.” Julia stared in her usual stolid fashion, but Narcissa shrieked in delight, rushed upon her father and flung her arms about his legs. He picked her up and kissed her smooth baby cheek. “A boy ’at I c’n play wif?’’ she demanded. é. “Where’s Jonathan?” her~father asked: ‘“Whére’s your brother?” Narcissa dug her fingers into her father’ 's curling beard and tugged vigorously. “T think” he’s out: after the .cows,” Julia answered: camé after hfm.* They broke out of.the stony pasture.” 2 “Ci m*I’ave my ‘baby, - broviver?”, ‘Narcissa ques, insistently, jerkit Agaher father’s beard. “Ah jest said all e Widow Cook-Taft an’ Mis’ Biviion' re “settin’ in de- parlof, veCora announced. hour-waitin’ for news.’ Theophilus Smith left the room with the intention of quickly ridding the*house of the two waiting ladies, but as he passed the door of the,dining-room he hesitated a moment, then entered, and unlocking a lower compartment of the old walnut cupboard, drew out a round earthenware jug. Screwing the cork out care- fully,.he sniffed its contents and poured himself a tumblerful. It was hard cider, fragrant of his own apples, last year’s fermenta- tion. » Raising the glass to the light, he observed its cloudy amber coloring with satisfaction. “Tt’s been'a great day,” he said aloud. Union and forme . . . God bless us all!” He inhaled the fragrance of his drink again, and slowly drained it. Then wiping his lips and beard with the back of his hand, he replaced the demijohn in the cupboard, locked the door, and went toward the parlor. “Dey been setfin’ dere for most an “A great day for the (es was a large, baronial air about Theophilus Smith. A vigorous man, a lawyer by early training, he was something of a scholar with avery real love of English poetry and the classics. The Latin of Cato, Cicero and: Marcus; Aurelius rolled from his lips and there was ever ready on his tongue an apt quotation from Shakespeare, Milton,-or his great favorite; Pope. In the early years -of ‘his married life: he had conducted a Young Ladies’ Seminary at Charleston, South Carolina. ‘The venture had never been wholly..successful and when the Massachusetts farm at Mendon had unexpectedly become his through the death of a dis- tantgrelative,.he-had been persuaded by his bréther, Cyrus, who hadsnever left his native state and who had made a profitable living off .a-farm at Taunton, to give up schooling, come north and try his fortune at agriculture. Ménidon* hadseemed to hold the promise of improved cir- cumstances for Theophilus Smith and his family. A brief in- spection. of -his heritage convinced him the move would be advantageous. The farm was not large—it consisted of less than forty acres—but it possessed a full-bearing apple orchard and several fields of what looked like fertile land. There were a soundly built house and barn, several smaller outhouses, and a cottage at the farther end of the orchard for a hired man and his family. So the migration had been decided upon and within a year accomplished, but almost from the very first a fear began to pur- sue Theophilus that it was fo prove a mistake. First of all, his wife, Mary—a woman of capacity, of sweet and uncomplaining nature, adaptable and gentle, an excellent housekeeper and mother—could not bring herself to look upon the rugged aspect of her new home with its northern chill and bitter winds, with any- thing but alien eyes. She was used to the South, used to its graciousness and languor, accustomed in the management of her household to slaves who were ever cheerfully ready to carry out her wishes. The hired girls of the North were “white trash” to her, and had it not been for faithful old Cora, who, although she had been given her freedom years before, refused to leave her beloved mistress, Theophilus Smith doubted whether his wife would have survived the first bitter New England winter. Mary Smith never referred to her new surroundings except as “this country,” said con- temptuously and accompanied with a disdainful fillip of her fingers. Another reason for these forebodings was the suspicion which at times deeply distressed him, that he himself lacked the qualifi- cations necessary to become a successful farmer. His brother Cyrus, on whose advice and guidance he had confidently relied, in less than six months after the arrival north of the family from Charleston, sold his own farm and moved with his wife to New “David eee ee | Pig-Iron Ny York, where he presently wrote he had established himself inthe» “hay and feed’’ business. Theophilus resented with a great deal of feeling what he og sidered to be Cyrus’s desertion, but pride was one of the strongest elements of his nature, and nothing could persuade hini to admit even to his family, much-less to his brother, that he had moreé less counted on Cyrus’s counsel in chancing so radical a ch his fortunes. As a result, there arose a coldness between: brothers which increased rather than lessened with the ; eats. Theophilus knew himself at heart to be no farmer. Gr _in the soil alone produced results, and he was fundamentally fit-for such work. He watched his neighbors, tried to-ape the methods and to adapt himself to their ways. But hé had spent the best part of his life teaching young girls poetry and om and the change came hard. : The forty acres at-Mendon were the scene of one pit take after another, some-of them unavoidable, a ‘Brea due to ignorance and blundering. There -were: left—Jonathan, aged twelve, who had a twisted hip fr disease since babyhood, and who teetered awkwehith walked; Julia, a self-contained, silent little girl of bese. Narcissa, who was three; and the new baby. and good, hard-working and devoted. . Hating the’ ung climate though she did, holding in frank disdain her neighbors, and ridiculing, whenever an opportunity p Mendon aspects and Mendon ways, she nevertheless bro bear what appeared to be enthusiasm and certainly ant tionable energy to the management of her household. Her band had no fault to find with Mary. ‘A good wife and. ay mother,” he often said of her. zs Somehow a living for them all must be wrung from tl It was too late to think of a new undertaking. Theoph far from despairing, believing stili the farm could be mg pay. He had learned many bitter lessons in the past six lessons he determined each time to turn to the future’s: account. David, the hired man, who had come along the road one summer day a year or two before, asking for work, } who seemed to have been guided to the Smith farm by. an al seeing and merciful Providence, had proven a tower of $ gt David was gnarled and taciturn, but he had the capacity working twelve, sometimes’ fourteen hours a day. Almost all of the pleasantest recollections during the years of Sam’s-life were associated with the younger of sisters, “‘Narcis’” as she was called by the family—a misch eager, high-spirited child, always in trouble and always 4 light to her brother.: Sue ’s childhood was on the whole a happy one. There deep snow in winter with sledding, snowballing and sleigh+ It was biting cold at times, and fingers, toes and ears had 4 rubbed vigorously with snow on coming indoors to save from frost-bite. ‘Once or twice each winter the Smith ho was snowed in, and these were always occasions for fun a citement. Then there were the hot summers, deliciously and beguiling, when one could go all day long without shoes: scuffle one’s feet in the soft road dust. When the apple trees in full leaf, there was a special diversion in exploring branches and discovering perches among them where one could-be. completely hidden from view. And there was always the ex ite ment each year during the plowing, of following his father vio team and collecting the baby field-mice the plowshare unearthed Every night until he was past his tenth year, his mother came up-stairs after he was in bed and sang him to sleep. She always sang her children to sleep. She had begun with Jim, more twenty years before, and Lawrence, Jonathan, Julia and Narcissa” had all drifted off to slumber to the sound of her sweet voice. It was a ritual with her. She never varied the songs; she wanted her children to have the same tradition in regard to them. The outs: standing one among them was the hymn “Beautiful Zion” oF “Booful Zion” as it was spoken of by the Smith children. Beautiful Zion, built above, Beautiful Zion that I love—— His mother was a kindly, patient woman, but even as a very 4 small boy he realized she was not a happy one. There was always: an air of gentle sorrow about her. She still felt the call of the South; New England chilled and frightened her; she longed and grieved for her dead sons. Once a month—twice a week during harvest time—Theophilus Smith harnessed Jock or —* to the wobbly old surrey, ort

Page 9

Q_Every night Sam drifted off to slumber to the sound of his mother’s sweet voice, singing ‘‘Booful Zion’’ as it was called by the Smith children.

Page 10

the farm wagon if there was sufficient load, and drove over to Framingham to sell his produce and bring home supplies. His dealings there with Ezra Hornpipe, who conducted the general store, were always a matter of credit or debit. No money changed hands. Sam could not recall ever having seen a coin of any 22 Boxe - tie Q, Julia arrived om Boston and Sam’s uncle Cyrus came Wp description on the farm until he was fourteen or fifteen years old. Hornpipe took what Smith brought him, put a fair valuation om it and set the amount down as a credit in his books. Against @ Theophilus drew flour, salt, sugar, groceries of every dese as they were needed, bolts of muslin, shoes, cloth, gloves, ts,

Page 11

5 » SN Ss. eo ROerec fee from New York. It was a harrowing experience for Sam, and his mother was now like a withering flower. bran for the cows, harness for the horses, implements for the farm. was nothing that Ezra Hornpipe could not furnish, or hot procure within a day or two. Was an honest tradesman, and he dealt fairly with his cus- TS, giving value for value received. But there was always a debit balance under the name of Theophilus Smith in Ezra’s book to which the amount in the opposite column never quite caught up. In fact the figure on the debit side steadily grew larger and larger, and during the last year of the war it had been necessary to arrange a mortgage on the Mendon (Continued on page 214) 23

Page 12

@. This is C. N. William- son who wrote, with Mrs. Williamson, *'The Lightning Conductor,”’ and who was _ the pawn in this game between two women. Voman WAS very young, and had the impertinence to believe that I was a perfect wife. When I had been married about two years, however, I was soundly punished for my conceit. On second thought, perhaps I wasn’t exactly conceited. I was merely idiotic. I had that young idea which girls do have, that when a man married you because he was in love, he would simply go on staying in love, world without end, amen, just because you're his wife, and he’s your husband. But I will tell you what happened to me. There had been a big loss for my husband from something that called itself an-investment and was a speculation. On the strength of a very successful book, we had two houses on our hands, one in England and one on the French Riviera. We wanted ever so badly to keep both charmers, and the way to do this was to work hard. As it happened, I had an almost terrific capacity for work. I loved to work as well as other young persors liked to play. Of course, there can be far too much of a good thing; but I had to find that out for myself. 24 An Absolutely Frank © Publishers Photo Service Who Faced—and ACine out of Tried ro Steal Probably I wouldn’t have believed it if anyone had warned me. Always I had invented stories. When I was small, I told fibs and got smacked for them. When I grew up I wrote fibs and got paid for them. For aren’t fibs and fiction first cousins? Now I determined to put my whole force of body and mind into the making of many plots and the weaving of them into serials. It wasn’t so very difficult. I began writing seven serials at one time. I accepted all the offers I got and grabbed for more. Each day I wrote an instalment of a different story. Each instalment must be finished in a day, because I was “on the printers’ heels.’ You can imagine what kind of companion I was for a man who liked life and gaiety. But I was being utterly conceited and proud of myself and of the money that rolled in. I thought myself a wonderful wife because I was mak- ing the “wherewithal” in a hurry; I fancied that I deserved praise and sympathy whenever I was tired out from overwork. I didn’t deserve one bit. What I deserved was to be thoroughly shaken, so that my nose would fly up from the grindstone aa should look round to see what was happening in the world. ¥ P V ! nm oe lhlUrmlhUmw*.hCUrh]O! UC

Page 13

Account sy Alice M. Williamson ee PED she Problem That Every Ten WIVES Fear @The Casino at Monte Carlo, which was the gorgeous setting of this silent battle be- tween two women. (] ned me, There we were, in a heavenly house on the Riviera, told fibs with amusing things going on around us every minute of ibs and every day and night and hundreds of gay people todothem ? Now with—people with nothing but pleasure to think about. nto the ' And there was I, refusing to do anything except work. ils. My rigid program was a walk in the lovely olive woods s at one after breakfast, to freshen me forthe day. Write till lunch- . Each ton; friends in sometimes. Read the papers, work till four or five. Tea—maybe a few callers. Another walk. Dress, vas “on dine, plot out tomorrow’s instalment. Go to bed before panion eleven, having skimmed through some book of essays or verse to s being soothe my mind for sleep. y that What a life to lead at the gayest spot in Europe, everybody else’s s mak- Playground, especially when that playground swarmed with served exquisite beings whose most important scheme of amusement was work, to bag as many other women’s husbands as they could. oughly As for my husband, you can see what I hadn’t the sense to see. - and I ‘Isimply left him lying about—or, you might say, blooming L. alone beside the primrose path, for (Continued on page 142) Q.This is Mrs. Williamson.

Page 14

Of Course Sarah G. ae tllin wrote that who startling novel God’s Stepchildren * will now publish her best work first in this Magazine. tris 21 OO wore Short Story is the sort of DRAMA of LIFE that makes her one of the Literary Sensations of Our Day. Ix HEN the Great War was over Finlay married the young V. A. D. who had nursed him in London, and brought her out with him to South Africa. He acquired, for two thousand pounds, an interest in a farm in the Northern Transvaal, and learned how to grow oranges, paw-paws and tomatoes. Six years later Badenhorst, his partner, died, and he wrote to his friend, Ross Matheson, to join him; or at least to come and see the farm and consider joining him. Matheson had been here now for three months, and had de- cided not to remain. He wished, indeed, he had gone away some weeks ago. The trouble, of course, was Mrs. Finlay. He had not realized how simple she was. Girls of eighteen would not, in the world he knew, have taken him seriously. And here was this woman of thirty, her fair English prettiness already faded by the South African sun, and within a month she was look- ing at him with shining, frightened, happy eyes, and her voice, when she spoke to him, was breathless. Partly, Matheson realized, it was this farm life. The monotony was eating away her thin soul. She had no intellectual interests. She was exhausted for lack of romance. He should not have be- haved to her as he behaved to other personable women. He knew it. But he could not help himself. It was a kind of artistic urge. He was like that—ardent. Women evoked in him a genuine 26 Copyright 1925, by Sarah Gertrude Millin feeling that forced him to expression. From far away his not unintelligent mind watched anxiously his emotional antics. He disapproved of himself, but he meant it when he looked at them— not deliberately, and yet not unconsciously—in that abashed, overwhelmed, adoring way. He meant it when, in their quaint or charming moments, he said to them, with a little smile and a hes - tating, shaken voice: “I like you—terribly, I do.” The word he used was this little word “like,” but it seemed to express some- thing better, something more unique and precious and irresistible than “love’’- -as if “love” were rather cheap and obvious. The trouble was that he meant these things so frequently and so temporarily that they had very little particular significance. But how was Eve Finlay to know that? And yet she should have been safe against his tricks. Mathe- son himself felt it. She had a husband, he was prepared to ac- knowledge, worth a dozen of him—for that matter, a dozen of her. How Finlay, whom he had loved from boyhood, could have selected, of all women in the world, precisely this trivial affair, he could not imagine. It was all very well for him, Matheson, to find in her refreshment, for an occasional mood. But to build the house of one’s life beside this fitful and meager spring, and depend on it for perennial assuagement—for the very reason that he ad- mired Finlay, he also despised him for his paltry demand and easy satisfaction.

Page 15

Illustrations by James Nor was this the only safeguard she had, the possession of Fin- lay. She did more than possess Finlay—she cared for him. She was forever attending to his comfort, and working, in small, un- Inspired ways, for his happiness. She hovered over him, anxious for his approbation. She honored him openly. She was proud to be his wife. And yet there was just this; and Matheson realized it without understanding it. She loved her husband in every way except in one way. She did not love him or, grown indifferent through custom, she had ceased to love him—as a woman loves a man. In that way, as soon as she saw him, she loved Matheson. She Was not altogether blinded. She knew her husband was the better man; even, actually, the more manly man. She knew she was Making a mistake. But the air quivered around her when Mathe- son. was there, her.organs melted in her body, her very skin Sprang to a new sensation of life. She was prepared—she was anxlous—to give up everything for Matheson. She did give up What she considered everything. Now, she hoped, Matheson Would be hers forever, and yet she dreaded that he might not be. It was the dread, and not the hope, that was justified. Mathe- son hated her. He hated himself too, and he hated Finlay. Finlay should have had it in him to satisfy the emotional Flagg Montgomery demands of this easy woman. Finlay should not have been so unquestioningly complacent. Matheson told him, as soon as he could, that he had decided to reject his offer about the farm. “T thought you liked the life,” said Finlay. “T thought so too. But I find—not as a permanent thing His friend looked at him wistfully. “It would have been rather jolly,” he said. “Still, I won’t try to persuade you. In the mean time, there is no need to hurry home, is there?” “T’m afraid I must.” “Must? But why?” “Well, of course,” said Matheson with difficuity, “I ought te see a bit of Africa before I go back, don’t you think?” Finlay smiled his comradely smile. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Yes, certainly, you ought to do that. However, we’re not going to let you run away from us too soon. Africa will have to wait awhile.” Matheson struggled for finite words. “To begin with,” continued Finlay, ‘“‘there’s that little shooting trip of ours.” Yes, there was the shooting trip, and there was the necessity of not surprising Finlay. Matheson made an effort to smile. “T’m not forgetting it,’’ he said. “But when we come back I think I must set about packing my bags.” 2 27

Page 16

He told Eve so. “And is that all?” she said. “What then?” he asked. “You are to go away and forget me, forget everything, and I am to remain with George as ‘f nothing were different?” Involuntarily Matheson found himself making the appropri- ate gesture. “Forget?” he whispered. “‘Won’t you?” she whispered back. He looked at her—shook his head wordlessly. “Ross,” she said quickly, “take me with you.” “My dear—I don’t want to ruin your life.” “T am prepared to sacrifice everything for you.” That was the trouble. She was so eagerly, traditionally ready to sacrifice everything. Matheson wondered how she interpreted the word “sacrifice,” and again, how she interpreted the word “everything”; and sighed with impatience. But he said: “Our greatest sacrifice would be to give up our happiness for George’s sake.” His watching brain loathed the false and mawkish words. But they fed her romantic spirit. “Does anything matter besides love?” He thought of several things that might. “Must I expose you to the world’s cruelty?” “T could bear it—for you.” Matheson stood up suddenly. She might bear the world’s cruelty, but he could not bear her clinging platitudes. “Let me think,” he said. Away from her, on the yeld, he would, he imagined, be able to think. d Expiation But as he sat beside Finlay in his car that was laden with shooting and eating and sleeping material, he found it extraordinarily difficult to appreciate that he had wronged his friend. They had not left the farm twenty miles behind them when Eve, it seemed to him, had am all substance, and there was nothing to hinder the old comrade. ship. The car hurried along the yellow road on the yellow winter veld, All around them were mountains, bedded in dark green, crested with rocks, but themselves naked except for their color and for the stiff trees that went marching up their sides. The mountains looked as if they had once been great malleable masses, and enormous hands had kneaded them into shape. Every now and then they came upon a colony of cactuses, thrusting upwards flaming spikes. Little streams of water trickled across their path. Sometimes they saw a group of Kaffirs, clad only in garish blankets, with bundles on their heads or, if they were women, with babies slung across their backs. They matched their savage and primitive mountains. a 73) — The sky was fiercely blue, with translucent clouds. — At intervals they sighted game: wildebeest, duiker and steen- bok; hare and partridge; once a zebra. The day passed, and the color and the loneliness of Africa sank into Matheson’s heart. Now it was evening, and he felt poetry awakening in him—a yearning towards sacrifice and holy ex- perience. He began to remember the sins of his life. There was an urge of confession on him. : He sat beside Finlay, struggling for words, barely speaking. “You’re very quiet,” said Finlay to him. “This is too big for me,” answered Matheson. Finlay smiled at him. Matheson had always been an odd little fellow. He felt about him as if he were a woman and needed protection. “Ts that whv you won’t stay?” he asked. The tears positively came to Matheson’s eyes. them with his mind, but they did come. “No,” he said. “For heaven’s sake don’t ask me, Finlay, oF T’'ll tell you.” “Don’t you want to tell me?” He scorned w b il ey oo OW Oe ae ae

Page 17

shooti y difficult ot left the him, had comrade. iter veld, » Crested d for the 1S looked normous hen they flaming Ir path, N garish ‘Women, ed their teen- sank etry y €X- - was king. and med , oF Cou fool!” Finlay’s voice came up to’ Matheson the chasm. What is love —tome—now?”’ “T want to—yes; but Imustn’t.” “Well,forget it then. You'll be safely out ofit quite soon.” On their third morning Mathe- son woke to see the sun as it rose from behind the tallest mountain. Eve was far away, out of his thoughts. Presently Finlay woke top. “We'll have good shooting today,” he said. “How aboutcoffee? Have you made it yet? Or is it enough for you to drink in the scenery?” “Tl seé:about it,” said Matheson, but did not move. “I suppose I’d better go and collect ‘some firewood,” said Finlay; and, throwing off his karosses of jackal skin, stood up. “You get on with the breakfast.” . I, may have been half an hour later that Matheson suddenly wondered what had become of Finlay. He looked about him for afew minutes longer, and then decided to follow him. He had little sense of direction and was afraid to go too far from the camp, but soon he was recklessly extending his area, shouting his friend’s name as he went along. Another half-hour passed, and then it seemed to him he heard a human sound. He stood very still and heard the sound again. He thought it might be Finlay’s voice, but he could not locate it. It seemed close at hand; and yet it had, too, a distant quality. He cried: “Where are you, Finlay, where are you?” The word “Here” seemed to rise faintly towards him. He sprang at the word, and then, instinctively, back again. Before his fee-—he had almost fallen into it—lay a deep, narrow chasm; and, at the bottom of the chasm, he saw dimly something white. As he looked he knew the something white to be his friend’s face. “Matheson!” He hardly recognized the straining tones. “Finlay—Finlay—are you hurt?” “Done for.” “Can’t you move?” “No.” “Tl get down to you.” “You can’t.” And, as Finlay spoke, Matheson knew it was true. The cleft Was quite perpendicular, smooth, without foothold. He remem- bered that there was a rope on the car and hurried away to fetch It. But it was far too short. When he returned he heard no sound, could see no movement. He knelt down and shouted in a anguished fear that he might never hear Finlay’s voice again. But it answered his call. ‘A sy Saar wiul . . ” it moaned. Matheson tried to think coherently. How was he to help Finlay? Was he to leave him and go in search of assistance? It Was More than two days since they had seen Finlay’s own farm. knew of no other farm nearer. He would probably lose his Way and go wandering fruitlessly around, and his friend would lie there, locked between the rocks, moaning. No, not lie there. That was wrong. For he was horribly upright. Finlay was calling him. “Matheson. You haven’t gone away?” “No, I’m here, Finlay. My God, Finlay, what can I do?” “Nothing. Nothing. I’m finished.” The minutes passed away in an utter silence. Then Matheson heard his name called again. “T’m still here, Finlay,” he responded. I won’t.” “T can’t stand it any more. Can’t stand it. I’m smashed to bits . . . Matheson . .~.. Ross, old fellow . . .” There was a curiously pleading note -inhis voice, a ghastly wheedling. “Help me.” “ “T’ve not left you. A FAMILIAR sentence came:to Matheson’s mind. He was about to say, like a shop-walker, “What can I do for you?” But prescience kept.him dumb. “Help me.” It was Finlay’s voice again. ‘Your gun.” Matheson uttered the word ‘“‘no” many times, in terrible haste. “Yes . . . Shoot me.” He had known that was coming as soon as Finlay had asked him for help. He could not answer him. ““Matheson, are you-there? What did you say?” “Yes. I’m here.” “Matheson . . . old friend.” That terrible wheedling . . . A silence followed. He hoped with all his heart that Finlay was dead. But no. The shattered voice was still there, supplicating. Matheson went for his gun, and came back with it tothe cleft. It was not clear in his mind that he could do this thing Finlay demanded, but even to fetch the gun had been some kind of action. Better than merely to sit and wait, with that voice coming from below. He passed his trembling hands up and down the weapon. And then, for the first time that morning, he thought of Eve—not with pain, but with a desperate relief. His sin was to be his saviour. “Can you hear me, Finlay?” he said. “I’ve brought the gun. But I can’t use it. Finlay, listen. Your wife and I—your wife and I di Could he make him understand? Hate suddenly pushed through his agony. Why had this thing to happen between him and Finlay’s wife; why had this unbearable misfortune to happen to Finlay himself; why had this haunting burden to be laid on him, Matheson? He had been so gay and care-free a few months ago. Now the Finlays had involved him in tragedy. That was the way it always was with Matheson. A light pity he could al- most enjoy. It made him feel good; it warmed his sense of ro- mance. Buta pity that affected him deeply, that caused him real sorrow, was complicated in his mind with resentment against the suffering one who had caused him this pain, who was spiritually spattering him with the blood of his own wounds. He felt that he must tell Finlay the truth as nakedly as he could. He began to explain, shouting bitterly. A cry interrupted him. “You fool! My wife. Love. You say—lovers. Talk to me about—love. What is love—to me— now?” With a shock, Matheson stood erect. He was right. Finlay was right. He was a fool. He was not only a fool. He wasa villain. A man was praying for death at his hands, and, in very cowardice, to escape this duty whose phantom was forever to walk with him, he was urging his own crime. No, here, he could see now, was his chance of expiation; here was a punishment which would be sweeter than empty remorse. He must give Finlay the death for which he begged. The radiant morning sun had escaped the mountains now. From a clear sky it sent its shafts of light down the cleft. He could see at last the face of his friend, the skin in strips, the bleeding flesh. Except for one broken arm, Finlay was wedged immovably between two boulders. He felt a ghostly calm. Who was he to consider consequences? Let there be consequences—accusations—heaven knew what. It gave him a martyr-like satisfaction that his own suffering was only now beginning. He lay flat on the ground and sighted carefully. “George. Are you ready?” “God bless you! Yes.” “Now!” Matheson lifted a steady finger. 97 George! “George . An hour later, as he still sat beside the chasm, the thought of Eve returned dully to his mind. -

Page 18

bajar PN. th heven¢ -_-- _ HEN Mr. Skinner, president and general manager of the Ricks Logging and Lumbering Company, came noiselessly into the office of Cappy Ricks, president emeritus and principal owner of the company which bore his name, the old gentleman, who had composed himself for his post-luncheon forty winks, opened one eye and glared at his visitor. “More grief!” he murmured, and withdrew his aged legs from the desk top. ‘Skinner, what is it in your peculiar nature which induces you, whenever you have something dirty to put over, to pussyfoot into my office? Why pussyfoot? You knew you were going to have to wake me up anyhow, so why didn’t you come in whistling? Tut, tut, tut! Not a peep out of you, sir. Now, then, Skinner, my boy, what’s run up your back?” “Special meeting of the executive committee of the Redwood Lumber Manufacturers’ Association, sir,”” Mr. Skinner replied. “The president has just telephoned me. The meeting is called for three o’clock.” “TI suppose I ought to cheer,” Cappy replied, “but for the life of me I cannot. What’s your worry, Skinner?” “T want you to attend it.” “The motion is denied. Permit me to remind you that I am a retired businessman and have no interest in the stodgy 30 Bells the “gCat G.I have a special job materializ- ing or you, young man,’’ Cappy told Percy, ‘and at the . time I'll put you to work.” proceedings of the Redwood Lumber Manufacturers’ Association. That’s your job, my boy. Work at it.” “TI am unable to do so today, Mr. Ricks. That’s why I want you to attend it for me—as my proxy. Everybody knows I represent you so there can be no objection to-the power behind the throne representing himself for a change.” f “Hum-m-m! Harumph-h-h! What’s the idea behind this suddenly called special meeting?” “To discuss price-cutting.” “Who’s cutting prices?” : “The same old offender—Millbank, of the Humboldt Mill Company.” ss “By the twelve ragged Apostles, that fellow lives a long time, Cappy complained bitterly. ‘‘What’s he been doing?” “Offering clear lumber for foreign shipment at a dollar undef a firm market.” “He must need the business, Skinner. Still, I had thought that in the past fifty years he’s made so much money he could affo to buck legitimate competition in his old age.” “Millbank would rather be wrong than president. : thorn in the side of the entire trade. How I do loathe a price cutter!” Mr. Skinner added passionately. 4p P Ya He’s @ t/ B

Page 19

ciation. I want nows I behind id this t Mill time,” under t that afford le’s @ price- the shrewdest— and ahs mete Lovable— Business Man 1n the Land Cappy’s head sank low on his breast. He was silent for a minute while Mr. Skinner watched him expectantly. Presently he resumed the discussion. ‘Away back in the days when I could do a hundred yards in nothing flat, Skinner, that man Millbank was a disturbing factor in the market. Finally the fest of us got together and were in a fair way of making him behave, but the Sherman Anti-Trust Law made us step softly. “ = we formed an association, with an innocuous reason for our corporation charter, and developed into an organ- Wation noted principally for its ability to wag its tongue and get nowhere. Most of us were members of the Steam Schooner Owners’ Association and the Shipowners’ Association and con- trolled both associations, so first we’d whoop freights a dollar and then raise the price of lumber to meet the freight raise. “Millbank, who belonged to the lumber association until we threw him out, would sit there with the rest of us and vote aye Ma voice like a camp-meeting convert. He’d give his word of onor—we couldn’t reduce anything to writing because of the Sherman Anti-Trust Law—to uphold the new price—and he'd 80 from the meeting on the run to take orders at the old price and load his mill up with business for six months. He got away with that by dating his orders before the raise, until finally we Tequired all the members to file a record of their orders with the Secretary, so we could check up on the wretches that were be- laying us. It wasn’t long before we found old Millbank cheating and threw him out.” Illustrations by Dalton Stevens “T wonder why he does it,’’ Mr. Skinner marveled. ‘Business is very good. He doesn’t have to. He might just as well get a dollar more as a dollar less. Really, I wonder why he does it.” “Why do you pussyfoot into my office?” Cappy shrilled. “Find the answer to that and you'll find out why Millbank cuts prices. He can’t help it. He was born that way. Skinner, did you ever hear the story of the six men who were cast away on a life raft? Two of them were Irishmen, two were Englishmen and two were Scotsmen. Well, when, after floating around at sea for quite a while, they finally drifted in on the beach, the two Irishmen were in a dying condition because they had got into a fight with each other. The two Englishmen weren’t speaking to anybody—not even each other—because they had never been properly introduced; but the two Scotsmen had got together and formed a Caledonian society and were perfectly happy. Ahem! Harumph-h-h! Must I forever be telling tales with a moral to adorn them to make you see the obvious? Tut, tut! Not a peep out of you, Skinner. You harass me with foolish questions. Now, then, what does the executive committee plan to do to twist the Millbank tail?” “We don’t know.” ‘Hasn’t anybody got any idea on the subject?” “Not that I am aware of.” Cappy leveled his index finger at his general manager. “And that,” he declared, “‘is exactly why I quit attending meetings of that dog-gasted Redwood Lumber Manufacturers’ Association and turned the job over to you. It’s all blah, I tell you, and I’ll not attend the meeting. I prefer to put up with that old shark.” 31

Page 20

G,"'Good-by, Percy darling,’’ called the gay young flappers. “T fear I'll be placed in a most embarrassing position, Mr. Ricks. A tien vene full meeting of the ex- eo” vd ecutive committee is vitally necessary. Please, Mr. Ricks. They need your advice and cooperation.” “Then let ’em come down to my office for the meeting. If I’m to be an oracle, let ’em come to my cave and talk to me.” “T think that might be arranged,” said Mr. Skinner, and fled to his own office telephone to arrange it. The result was that promptly at three o’clock the other four members of the executive committee were ushered into Cappy’s 32 office and the conference was imme- diately on. Cappy was not the chairman of the executive committee, but he was a born executive, so immediately he assumed command and was, by common consent, accorded it. “Meeting will come to order,” he piped and kicked his brass cuspidor three times to emphasize his order. “The only business before the meeting, as I understand it, is to devise ways and means of bringing that price-cut- ting Millbank into the one true faith. Gentlemen, it can’t be done. I’ve been trying fifty years and I know when I’m licked. Millbank is a born marplot, a rebel at heart, a mis- chiefmaker, a double-crossing, furtive son of a mangy coyote, and worse than that I will say of no man. Has anybody here got an idea to present?” Nobody, it appeared, had one. : ze “Very well, then,” Cappy resumed, “I’ll be your phonograph. “We had an idea you would,” the chairman of the committee replied. “Out with it, Mr. Ricks.” “It is regularly moved and seconded,” yelled Cappy, “that all us dodo redwood lumber manufacturers get together, dig down into our jeans and buy this horsethief out, lock, stock and barrel. That is the only way I know of to get his disturbing presence out of the market.”

Page 21

imme- airman he was ely he ymmon he ispidor order, eeting, ways >e-cut- faith. > been n I’m | mis- oyote, y here aph.” nittee “that , dig k and rbing Qa fool and his money are soon parted,’’ remarked old man Millbank to Peck. ‘‘Let me at him!’’ pane es . “It’s.been tried,” the chairman reminded him. “He won’t _gell.- He won’t even name a price. Says his timber-lands and _mills aye not on the market. Says he’s not going to sell his two boys out of a job and out of their natural heritage.” - “I never knew a wolf that didn’t breed wolf cubs,” Cappy Criticized. ‘‘And what a pair of vipers those two boys are!”’ he - added,'mixed metaphorically. “They remind me of two weasels talking-a‘grizzly bear with murder in their hearts—the dirty - pups! When the old man dies our troubles will be increased a hundred-fold; so we’d better get rid of the entire outfit now.” “How? . Set fire to his timber-lands?”’ somebody queried. “Unfortunately,” said Cappy sarcastically but none the less truthfully, ‘redwood, being a non-resinous wood, will not burn freely in its manufactured state; consequently the cool green forests of old man Millbank are quite safe, I imagine. I repeat there is but one course. We must buy him out.” “But I tell you he will not sell.” “Who ever said that travesty on God’s handiwork could sell anything? That’s why he cuts prices!” Cappy retorted. “But Ican‘sell. I can sell anything with a hockable value, and if this committee will name me a sub-committee of one to sell old man Millbank the idea that he ought to sell his business and then die—because that’s what will happen the minute he sells—I will accept the nomination and try my luck. Otherwise we’re all Wasting our time. Do I hear a second to my motion?” Quite emphatically he heard four of them. “The motion is carried,” the old gentleman announced. ‘The Meeting is over, and Millbank belongs to me. Good afternoon, gentlemen. If you will leave me alone now I purpose going into executive session with myself. Something tells me it’s going to be a long hard session, but if genius is a capacity for taking € pains my name is Gene.”’ Although Cappy Ricks ostensibly had been retired from active business for fifteen years, he was not 2 man to grow soft age and disuse. For six.days Cappy wrestled with the problem of how to sell old man Millbank the idea that he ought to sell his vast acreage of redwood timber;-his mills and retail yards, and thus remove himself forever from the temptation to cut prices. On Sunday Cappy rested,’ but on» Monday he again resumed his executive session with himself.-. Tuesday afternoon he was still in the throes of his mighty-enterprise, when Miss Martin, his secretary, brought in to him an.unsealed envelop bearing in the lower left- hand corner the notation: “Introducing Mr. Percival Annersley Kent.” “That sounds bad!” Cappy soliloquized, and cocked one eye- brow at Miss Martin. ‘The secretary nodded, smilingly. “‘A collegiate person, pink-skinned, clean, freshly shaved, hair roached back and the look of the conqueror in his eyes, eh?” the old man went on. “Oh; Lord, why dost Thou afflict me with friends who send these ambitious boys to me with letters of introduction—to me, Cappy Ricks, who wouldn’t arm his own grandson with a letter of introduction! Why dost Thou do it, Lord? I’ve been ornery in my day, but not what you ‘might call absodamlutely ornery! Hum-m-m! Ahem-m-m! Harumph-h-h-h!” - He read aloud: Mr. Alden P. Ricks, Lumbermen’s Building, San Francisco, Calif: Thomaston, Maine, April 15th, 1925 My dear Alden: This letter will be presented to you by my grandson, Percival Annersley Kent. -You will, perhaps, remember me. Sixty years ago you promised t6é marry me and you never kept your promise. I waited five years and then married Noah Kent, the eldest son of Captain Ezekiel Kent, whom you may recall as master of the brig Mollie Lou. She was wrecked on the Cuban coast and we all thought Captain Kent was drowned until he turned up two months later. Percival’s father, who is my son, married Nathan Anners- ley’s eldest girl, Her grandfather, Martin Annersley, was for many years rector of the Methodist church in Jonesport. Percival is a splendid boy, if I do say so. He has recently finished his course at Dartmouth College and I fear he has in him some of the roving blood of his sea-faring ancestors, although his father and mother have'done their best to kill it by sending him to college. Nothing would do but he must go West, so I have sent him to you, in the hope that for old sake’s sake you will find a nice job for him in your employ and see that he doesn’t run around with loose characters and get into trouble. I trust your health is good, and with many thanks, I am, Your friend, Tabita Kent (formerly Tabita Talbot) “It’s a lucky thing for this young man he’s from my home town, whatever his other frailties may be,” Cappy announced. “Tabita Talbot! I don’t seem to (Continued on page 122) 33

Page 22

eA Short No ovel Complete 7H This Issue a ourage ILLIONS of people are going to see “The School of Courage,” which is advertised as one of the greatest film dramas ever produced. I don’t know about that, although it is certainly a work of art—with a_ Liz idea in it. It holds the emotion of the spectators so that they it tense for something like two hours, and shed a tear or two— hurried business men and frivolous flappers—before the lights yo up. It makes them “feel good” for five minutes or so until they get into the crush of Broadway again or the tangled traffic of Piccadilly. It’s a plea for human brotherhood, pity, tolerance, peace—so quickly forgotten in the hurlyburly of life! It’s my privilege to see more than the ordinary spectators. I see behind the scenes, as it were, the private life of the film actors, the strange adventure of this production. That too, ina way, was “The School of Courage.” It needed pluck. Men and women made a real sacrifice for the sake of this film. One of the prettiest girls in the world—as she seems to me risked her health for it, poor child, and the producer went throvgh hell in the course of it. All that sounds rather hair-raising, but I don’t want to be sensa- tional—merely to tell for the first time the story lying behind that “movie” which is now famous on both sides of the world. It happened in Berlin—strange as it may seem to people who imagine that the scenes were actually produced in the cities through which the story passes. All those wonderful pictures of the Kremlin in Moscow, the burning port of Smyrna, the refugee haunts in Constantinople, the night life in Budapest, Vienna, ris, were done in the great Zeppelin shed outside Berlin, under 3k The ROMANCE, of an the direction of Gilbert Harshe, ex-soldier, idealist, temporary slave-driver—for art’s sake—and my good friend. It was in the Adlon Hotel at the corner of Unter den Linden that I saw Harshe for the first time since the war. I was surprised to see him there, remembering a conversation I had had with him one day in war time when he was commanding an air squadron behind Havrincourt Chateau—its ruins—overlooking Cambrai in 1917. “Tf ever the war ends,” he said, “or if I get through, which isn’t likely, I’ll kill any German who has the face to show himself in England. I’ll cut his throat over a tea-table, or bash him ina public restaurant. There’s no forgiveness in me for all this bloody mess of things.” : So he had spoken, and I could see the passion in his eyes and the twitch of his nerves. Men of artistic temperament—and he was a landscape painter before joining up—were too sensitive for this modern way of war, with its infernal shell fire and enormous nerve strain. Well, there was Gilbert Harshe, of all men, sitting in the Adlon Hotel, Berlin, and not looking as if he wanted to murder any Germans. It was at tea time, and the Adlon Hotel was filled as usual, at that hour, with the new rich. The tables in the great lounges, between the marble pillars, were crowded with men feeding their little painted ladies. I was a little disgusted by this scene of luxury, and remarked as much to the man by my side, though I could not expect him to take my view. It was young Hermann Winter, the son of the Steel King of Germany whose enormous

Page 23

mporary den that prised to vith him quadron mbrai in ‘ich isn’t mself in lim in a s bloody and the | he was for this ormous e Adlon ler any sual, at ouages, ig their cene Of ough I srmann prmous gua TCAST PRINCESS @,"'I have some precious drops,’’ Robin said to Rosaline. ‘I'll restore the luster of the child’s little peepsy-weepsies in two ticks.”’ fortune is based on slave-paid labor. But the young man rather areed with me, not having the same philosophy as his father, upon whose money he lived expensively with amiable cynicism, and sometimes, I thought, a prick of conscience. He looked round the room with an ironical smile before he answered me. ‘‘No, these people don’t seem stricken with poverty. Bandits in a small way, like my honored father in a hig way. But you mustn’t take vour idea of Germany from this kind of crowd. I’d like to take you to a place called the Nacht Asyi. A night shelter for the homeless. Something of a contrast tothis kind of thing! The other side of the picture.” Tagreed to go with him one night, and then, glancing round the tfoom, saw Gilbert Harshe. He was sitting by the window which looks out to the garden, with two ladies and a young man. For the moment he was paying NO attention to his company but sat with a frown making a tuck eerchead, staring into his tea-cup as though reading his ere. By SIR 7 uLLIP GIBBS — Illustrations by Charles D. Mitchell Herman Winter seemed excited by one of the ladies at Gilbert Harshe’s tea-table. He half rose from his chair, with an eager look in his eyes, and then whispered to me in that excellent English which he had learned at Oxford before the war: “To you see that lovely lady like a Madonna? wonderful?” I told him that I saw two lovely ladies, one fair with a golden plait twisted round her head, the other dark, with big eyes and an Irish smile. “The fair one,” said young Winter. “I know her. I’ve been looking for her everywhere. We used to be good friends.” She saw him looking at her and nodded to him, with a sudden flush rising to her fair skin. He half rose again and answered her nod with a bow. “You wouldn’t guess where I used to meet that charming lady —-so like a fair Madonna! It was in a night cabaret down the Friedrichstrasse. She used to sing German folk-songs, charm- ingly. I rather pitied her.” Isn’t she ? 35

Page 24

“I’ve been drawing a big salary,’’ Rosaline said to Harshe. I told him that I pitied anv woman in a night cabaret down the Friedrichstrasse, and he agreed. “Frightful—except for the hardened ones. Once a young swine got drunk and tried to kiss her. I intervened, and she was rather grateful. That’s how I came to know her. Then she disappeared, and I feared the worst. -There’s something about her . . .” He seemed to think that he had given himself away too much and broke off shyly with a heightened color. 36 ‘'Well—I'm handing I told him that I knew the man that was with her and asked him to excuse me while I had a word with this friend of mine. “Don’t say anything about the cabaret,” said young Winter nervously. “It wasn’t a nice place.” E I went across to Gilbert Harshe and touched him on the shoulder. ‘Have vou forgotten old friends?” “By all that’s wonderful! My dear old man!”

Page 25

“Op eRas FAIR RT ne iis decal ae tall back—and blaying—for love—until the last shot!” “Bravo! We grasped hands and laughed, as men do who remember old adventures. What are you doing in Berlin?” I asked. he smiled at his two pretty ladies as though my question a a joke, and they smiled back at him. Not idling.” Then he introduced me to the girl with the ck eyes and the irish mouth. ‘Miss Rosaline Brook, famous on both sides of the world.” "* cried Rebin. ‘‘I’m doing the same.”’ Famous? Yes. I had heard the name and seen pictures of that pretty face. Oh Lord, yes, the little American film star, “boosted”’ in all the papers! “Delighted to meet you,” said Miss Rosaline. Harshe turned to the other lady, young Winter’s “fair Madonna,” whom he had known in the night life of Berlin. I ret the gaze of two blue eyes and was startled by the real beauty of her face, and more by the sweetness and purity of its expression. 37

Page 26

38 Hardly Madonna-like, yet delicate as a portrait by Greuze, and with a touch of sadness lurking in the line of the lips in spite of her smile, I thought. Harshe spoke her name with a kind of chivalrous homage. “Miss Hilda Freudenberg—one of my heroines.” The lady gave me her hand and blushed at this compliment, and laughed a little. “One of your pupils,” she said to Harshe, in a slightly foreign accent. There was another introduction to a good-looking English boy between the two ladies. Harshe put a hand on his shoulder affectionately. “Robin Dale. Almost too pretty to live, but once a jolly good scout in my old squadron and now on his way to make an actor, though heaven knows he tries my patience.” The boy answered cheerfully and without respect. “Don’t you worry, old bean. My face is my fortune, and all the ladies love me on the screen.” I explained that I had a friend with me and asked permission to bring him to that table—Hermann Winter, the son of the rich old man. For some reason Harshe seemed startled by that name. Then he smiled in a mysterious way and said: “‘Bring him over. I like historical coinci- dences. They. make life amusing.” ; , I did not. get. his meaning then, but beckoned to Hermann Winter, who came over and bowed stiffly like a German officer before dropping into that easy English style which he had picked up at Oxford. He greeted Hilda Freudenberg, his ‘fair Madonna,” as though they were old friends, but with great respect beyond the usual “‘gi- diges Fréulein,” kissing her hand as though she were a princess. But I noticed’ that when he drew his chair next to hers she seemed to shrink from him a little and did not encourage him in conversation. It was the good-look- ing boy, Robin Dale, who kept the table lively. He made us all roar with laughter by his execrable German, and by the ridiculous tomfoolery which he carried on with the German waiters, who were not quite sure whether they ought to be amused or insulted. They decided to be . amused. But it was the beauti- ful Rosaline Brook who was most amused. It was clear that she regarded Robin Dale as her court jester. She treated him with an air of smiling disdain, as an elder sister might behave to a small and obstreperous boy, but I could see that she liked his company and his sense of humor. Once I was surprised to see that she suddenly drooped in her chair and went fast asleep for a few moments. She woke up with a start and a look of inquiry. “What was that last joke of yours, Robin? I’m afraid I missed its priceless wit. Only four hours’ sleep last night!” Robin Dale answered with sham indignation. ‘Yes, we’re slave-driven! That producer of ours is Harshe by name and harsh by nature. We'll all be dead before the last shot.” Harshe looked at the boy and girl with a kind of amused anxiety. “You two children ought to go to bed early when you do get a chance—instead of plunging into the night life of Berlin. Don’t 4s. Rex Beach has written a Novel “about your morals and your neighbors’ and called it by the apt title Padlocked. This story probably will cause about as many arguments as the Dayton trial. Of course it will appear first in this magazine. Begin it mext month. The School ot Courage forget we start for the studio at eight o’clock tomorrow,’ shooting that big scene in Moscow.” The English boy held up his hands in mock horror. “fig _ o’clock! That means shaving at seven. It can’t be done worse than war.” ba Rosaline Brook patted hishand. ‘Courage, little one! Remem ber your bulldog breed.” ee It was all a mystery to me at that time. I couldn’t guess w Gilbert Harshe was doing in Berlin with an American star, a girl from a night cabaret in the Friedrichstrasse, ] like a princess, and an English boy who had been an airman; was now an actor. I learned more about it that evening Harshe and I were alone together. el ee We sat talking in the Esplanade Hotel—one of the built by Stinnes—where Harshe had joined me for dinner, Fe minded him of the oath of hatred he had sworn to all German after the war, and he flushed a little and laughed awkwardly, “Ves, I felt like that then. Towards the end , wer changed in me. I came to see, or thought I did, that there deeper causes for the war than German aggression. Something ; wrong with civilization in Europe=alj sorts of stupidity. Anyhow I enlar my sympathy when I wandered abo after the show in ex-enemy. countriés- Austria, Hungary, Turkey, Germar Russia.” He repeated the word-Ri and said, “My God!” as though © were the worst he had seen. ee “What difference did it make to point of view?” I asked. He puffed at his cigar before he answered, as though thinking out the reasons for his change of mind. “T saw the misery of the common folk. The real victims, and not responsible. It knocked out hate. It made me want to do some- thing to stop another spasm of the same sort.” He smiled at some link in his chain of thought. ‘Funny you should have introduced me to young Hermann Winter!” He explained his amusement at that encounter. ‘My squadron had orders to bomb a certain chateau thirty miles behind: St. Quentin. We were to take our large-size bombs and drop ’em low—at thirty feet. Our intelligence crowd had information that old man Winter was staying with the army general. It was to be his funeral in the little old chateau.” E “Why did we covet his blood pat- ticularly?” I asked, and Harshe was surprised at my forgetfulness. “We had a grudge against him. He made all the big guns that used to blow us to bits. Anyhow it wasn’t his funeral that night. It might have been mine. I was laid out for three months witha shrapnel bullet in the lung.” I expressed my regret that he had not made Hermann Winter an orphan. The boy was a better type than his father— and not so efficient. “I expect the old man is getting busy with his plans for the next war,” I said, half seriously. Harshe shook his head. ‘“There’s not going to be a next \ar— not for a long time. Not while the common folk of the world remember their losses in the last, and the price they are payig now. I’m helping them to remember. That’s what’s making me keen on my job.” I asked him how his job was going to help in that way, and he colored up and answered with a hint of emotion: “I’m rubbing in the peace idea. It’s the bug in my brain—my purpose 1n life. This film drama of mine is going to tear off the veil which hides the cruelty of war’s victims.” He laughed with sudden self-consciousness, as though he had spoken on too high a level. eo “Not that I haven’t selfish reasons for wanting to get this job done. If I don’t pull it through I shall be pretty hard hit- financially. And others will go down with my failure fellows who put up the capital because they believe in me. Zee 5.

Page 27

orrow. Pp “or. “ops q done. 1e! Remen. t guess wh rican mo sse, | airman and ening when the palaces inner. Te. ull Germans you should x Hermann amusement 1adron had teau thirty Ve were to d drop ‘em intelligence | old man the army eral in the blood par- larshe was him. He ed to blow his funeral been mine. ths with a he had not yhan. The is father— ct the old ; plans for riously. next Wal— the world are paying making me ay, and he m rubbing OSE in life. hich hides gh he had et this job hard hit- ilure—the me.” G.“Uhere was a young Russian at the Embassy. . While the world was falling into ruin, we loved each other,’’ Hilda told me. Over coffee and liqueurs he told me the idea of his film drama, School of Courage.” He had worked it out while wandering Tound Europe and Asia Minor with Quaker soup-kitchens. He seen into the heart of agony and had built his plot round the of terror, famine, social revolution and financial ruin— Russians, Greeks, Hungarians, Austrians, Germans of certain classes. He had followed them-through to~Berlin and Paris where they danced and fiddled for the new rich, or starved in the underworld, or sold themselves—pretty girls, fine ladies—for the means of life. Now he was putting it (Continued on page 104) 39

Page 28

Photograph by Campbell Studios @.Anzia Yezierska, Author of “Hungry Hearts’ and ‘Bread Givers,” who came to America as an immigrant, lived among the very poor on the East Side, won literary fame, moved to Fifth Avenue—and found herself suddenly in as lonely a Situa- tion as that of “The Man without a Country.”

Page 29

This is WHAT $10,000 Did To ME By Anzia WAS very poor. And when I was poor, I hated the rich. Now that I too have some means, I no longer hate them. I have found that the rich are as human as any of us. When [ lived in Hester Street, I could feel life only through the hurts and privations of Hester Street. Why were we cramped into _ the crowded darkness of dingy tenements? Because the heartless rich had such sunny palaces on Fifth Avenue. Why were we starving and wasting with want? Because the rich gorged them- selvés with the fat of the land. And then it happened. I who thought myself doomed to Hester Street had the chance to move myself up to Fifth Avenue. And now where are the horns and hoofs that I always seemed to see at sight of the well-fed, the well-dressed? Where’s the righteous indignation that flared up in my breast when I saw people ride around in limousines? Where’s the hot sureness with which I condemned as criminals those who dared to have the things we longed to have but never could hope of having—furs and jewels and houses? It began five years ago, just'a few days before Christmas. Shivering with cold, I walked up and down the shopping district of Fifth Avenue. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror of a ing shop window. What a pinched, starved thing! Worried, unted eyes under a crumpled hat. Faded, ragged old coat. Overpatched shoes, pulling apart at the patches. All about me fine ladies, sleek and warm in fur coats, stepping in and out of their cars. All about me shop windows glittering with ball gowns and gorgeous wraps. - Riches and luxury every- where, and I so crazed with want! In one window a dazzling Christmas tree blinded me with rage. Why should there be Christmas in the world? Why this holiday . Spirit on Fifth Avenue when there’s no holiday for Hester Street? Why these expectant, smiling faces of the shoppers buying use- less presents for each other, when we didn’t know from where would come our next meal? Thad been writing and starving for years. My stories, which - appeared in the magazines from time to time, had been gathered together and published in a book called “Hungry Hearts.” Although reviewers praised it, my royalties were so small that it brought me little money and almost no recognition. People who tead a book little know what small reward there is for the writer while he is still unknown—of his often solitary, starved existence. A book read in one evening may have taken the author years and years of the most agonizing toil to create. On and on I walked through the gay street, shoved and elbowed by the hurrying crowd. Wild thoughts raced in the corner of my brain. If I could only throw a bomb right there in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shatter into a thousand bits all this heartless- hess of buying and buying! The slush of the sidewalk creeping into the cracks of my shoes made me feel so wretchedly uncomfort- able. Exhausted with the bitterness and hatred of my thoughts, my futile rebellion gradually settled into a dull melancholy. If I could only kill myself as a protest against the wrongs and in- justices I had suffered! I did not really want to die. But I did so much want to shock the world out of its indifference. _ Almost a sense of exaltation stole over me as I went on imagin- ing the details of my death. I could see the beautiful limousine wrenched to a sudden stop. The pale chauffeur lifting my crushed, bleeding body in his arms. The whole world crowding around me, dumb, horrified. Then a voice breaking the hush of the crowd: “This was the author of ‘Hungry Hearts,’ and we left her to languish and die in want!” Yezierska Already I saw the throngs mobbing the-bookstores for my book. My last letter and my picture.in the front page of every news- paper in the country... Everywhere people reading and talking “Hungry Hearts.” The whole world shaken with guilty sorrow for my tragic death—but too late! Yes, on that dark day.there seemed no way to take revenge for the cruel neglect of a heartless world but to blow out my brains or plunge under the wheels of the crowded. traffic. My last letter was already shaping ‘itself in my head as I hastened back te my room to write it. How I dreaded to meet the landlady on the stairs! I could not bear to hear her nagging for the rent in my last tragic hour. Trembling with fear, I sneaked into my room. There on the table lay a little yellow telegram! I stared at it. Who in the world would send me a telegram? I tore it open and read uncomprehendingly. It was from a well-known moving picture agent, saying that he could get for the film rights of my book the unheard of sum of ten thousand dollars. In a flash the whole world changed!’ And I was changed. It changed still more when, after negotiations for the book had been made, they*offered to send me to California to collaborate on the screen version of “Hungry Hearts.” : There followed a wonderful trip across the continent, in a private compartment. I had to pinch myself to make sure that I was not dreaming when I entered the diner and ordered roast duck, asparagus, endive salad and strawberries with cream. I could treat myself with a full hand because a millionaire corpora- tion was paying the bills. “And this is no accident of good fortune, no matter of luck,” I kept telling myself. “‘ ‘Hungry Hearts’ has earned it for me.”’ ; Sane in Los Angeles, I. was greeted with overwhelming friendliness by a representative of the company. In a gorgeous limousine, one of those limousines that I always condemned as a criminal luxury of the hated rich—in one of these limousines I was driven to a hotel. Flowers filled my room. Flowers for me! I looked around, dazzled out of my senses. Luxurious comfort beyond dream all about me. I felt dizzy drunk with this sudden plunge into the world of wealth. : For the first day I stayed in my room struggling to pull to- gether my bewildered wits. I wanted ‘to let go and be happy. But I could not let go, nor be happy. All my Hester Street past rose up in arms against me. “Betrayer! Deserter!” my soul that once was cried accusingly. The following morning a limousine called to take me to the studio in Culver City. A private office and a secretary were assigned to me. And that secretary! I wondered, would I have to get myself new clothes to match up to her style? I suddenly became aware of my frumpy, old-fashioned dress against her youthful grace and up-to-dateness. I had heard of newly rich people who were always scared that their servants would look down on them out of the corners of their eyes. And I wondered, would I too let myself get shamed out of being what I am by the proud condescension of my grand secretary? Before I could finish my thought, Julian Josephson, that great scenario man, came in. One look of his eyes, the smile on his face, and I felt at home, among my own. Then other members of the scenario department joined us to discuss the plot for ‘Hungry Hearts.” The minute we got busy, I was (Continued on page 154)

Page 30

St oA Story of that Justly Famous be. iF the BOUrbons ROM where he sat alongside the door of his office, the ex-circuit judge could look diagonally across Legal Row into the doors of the court-house. Above his head swung a small sign-board bearing the words: William Pitman Priest Attorney at Law It was a new sign; the paint on it stiJl shone with the freshness of fresh paint. It made a bright spot of white and blue—white letters on a blue background—up under a limb of a big sycamore that brushed the face of the squatty little building. The sun- light shuttled through the interlacings of this friendly bough and wove a checkered pattern of light and shadow across the dull red overlay of the wall. The sunlight had the softened and blurry quality of early October; it seemed to sift down billions of pow- dery yellow motes, like fine gold dust. Some leaves that were prematurely bronzed or browned also floated down to lie and rustle on the pavement. There was just enough of a breeze to stir the fallen leaves and make them whisper among them- selves. You might say they were telling one another good-by. Judge Priest sat in a chair tilted back against the brickwork, with his heels hooked over the front crosspiece, and he drew on his corncob pipe, and about once in so often tamped down the smolder in it with a short broad thumb. He had a newspaper spread across his knees, but he was not reading. He was taking an Indian summer air-bath. A battered-looking automobile with the top up turned out of Franklin Street and came through the Row and stopped at the beginning of the concrete walkway leading inward over the yard to the court-house. The Judge watched the halted car, his eyes puckered and squinting behind their spectacle lenses. A young man who wore a blue uniform coat and a uniform cap but whose garb otherwise was of a civilian sort, wriggled from behind the steering-wheel and got out briskly and motioned to the occupants of the rear seat likewise to get out. Emerging from beneath the top they revealed themselves as a pair of elderly negroes—a man and a woman. The woman was bareheaded. They appeared confused or frightened. They were awkward, too, and got in their own way and in each other’s way. A special reason for this was at Once apparent. They were handcuffed to- gether. The watcher saw that was the case as soon as the brace 42 were afoot. The white man waved an order, then followed them, directing his charges from the rear as they shambled reluctantly along the pathway, their shamed heads hanging. They stumbled up the broad steps and went in at the main door between its white imitation-stone columns, and several men who had been idling beneath the portico turned in behind the prisoners and their herder. Judge Priest stayed where he was for possibly five minutes longer, still looking toward the court-house. He forgot to smoke, and the tobacco lost its live ember. He got up, tapped out the dead ash against his door-jamb and crossed the graveled street and disappeared where the rest had gone. Waddling over, he carried his eighty-one years fairly well. Perhaps that was because they were sheathed and cradled in an accumulation of healthy fat. He was away for some ten or fifteen minutes more. Coming back, then, he found his deserted door-step had acquired, during his absence, an occupant. Sergeant Jimmy Bagby perched there now, with his ancient legs spraddled out before him and his black slouch hat jauntily perched on one side of his head. The sergeant had much style about him in his youth, and age had not taken it from him by any manner of means. “Mornin’, Judge,” he hailed the returning one. ‘Whut kind of a way is this to be practisin’ law? S’pose I’d been a client instid of just loafin’ by killin’ time.” “I’ve been practisin’ somethin’ besides law this mornin’,” said Judge Priest, speaking with the ungrammatical whine which always he employed excepting in a courtroom. “Whut?” “Philanthropy—you might call it that. And I’ve got me some clients, too. I got tired of waitin’ fur business to come to me, so I skirmished acros’t over yonder a short spell ago and picked me up a little. Yes, suh, Jimmy, I’ve just took whut’ll be my first case since I resumed the legal purfession.” “Whose case is it?” ‘““A couple of old niggers—man and his wife. ’em too, while I was about it.” “Whut’d they been doin’—killin’ somebody?” : “No, this is real serious. Bob Sweet, the pious and efficient chief of our new county patrol force, he brought ’em in. They're dangerous malefactors, too, jedgin’ by the way that Bob was handlin’ ’em. I went bail fur

Page 31

1 them, ctantly umbled een its d been rs and ninutes smoke, out the eet and carried se they r fats “oming during d there s black rgeant aken it it kind _ client ,” said which e some me, so ced me y first ail fur ficient hey’re Ib was Illustrations by C. D. Williams “Besides, he caught ’em red- handed—in actual possession of mighty nigh a full quart of home- made corn licker containin’ consider- ably more’n one-half of one percent alcohol. Think of that! I don’t know how I’ll make out defendin’ ‘em. It certainly looks like they’ve got the goods on my clients shore— teg’lar desperadoes, they must be. Still, ez a member of our local bar, I reckin Vl have to do my sworn duty by ’em.” His bantering tone slipped from him: “I declare, Jimmy Bagby, I don’t know when I’ve been more outdone! Grabbin’ holt of two poor old country darkies and skeerin’ ’em half to death and draggin’ ’em into town all shackled up like they’d been committin’ murder; and then this here brash little whipper- snapper of an Oliphant that we’ve got now for a county judge gittin’ ready to stick ’em away to await the action of the next grand jury, and in the meantime let their little scrap of a farm go plum’ to rack and ruin on ’em. _“He’d ’a’ done it, too, ef I hadn’t walked in just about that time and offered to go their bond, and on top of that, to represent em ef it comes to a trial. They live out back of Unity school- house somewheres. I didn’t place ’em, but the old man tells me ! used to know him when he worked fur Daz Futrell twenty years ago. Maybe I did—my mind ain’t whut it was.” “Your mind’s all right,” stated his friend, with seeming im- patience. “You’re behind the times, that’s whut ails you— you’re filled up with a false and old-fashioned sentimentalness. And you'll be kept toler’ble busy, too, ef that’s the way you’re aimin’ to celebrate openin’ up this here new law office of yours. The county jail is bustin’ full of those white mule cases already— men and women both. Why, they’ve got one sickly old white woman that’s been locked up in a cell fur goin’ on two months. And she wasn’t peddlin’ the stuff nor makin’ it, neither. They found a pint vial of it hid under her bed-tick—anyhow, that’s whut I hear. It looks like the criminal classes are just naturally Tunnin’ away with this county, don’t it?” Kentuckian, FUMGE PRIEST r ee mms @,"I declare!” said Judge Priest. ‘‘Draggin’ two poor old country darkies into town all shackled up like they’d been committin’ murder!’’ The sergeant grunted vehemently in token of his real feelings. “You take Bob Sweet,’ said Judge Priest. ‘‘He’s doin’ the Lord’s work ez he sees it, that boy is—ridin’ the roads night and day, smellin’ out evil. Well, there’s plenty of it fur him to smell, I'll say that much. In some neighborhoods you can’t scarcely pass a woodlot or a tobacco barn or a corn-crib any more with- out you ketch that sour, rank, moonshiny stink comin’ to you acros’t-country. I noticed it last Sunday, out ridin’ in the river bottoms. And I remember when insti’d of that poisonous stuff you’d be smellin’ clover hay and cows, and apples gittin’ ripe in the orchards, and the weed curin’ in the sheds—good honest smells that made a feller glad he was alive and able to sniff em up his nose.” The old Judge settled himself in his chair, that creaked pro- testingly under his weight. “Lawsy, lawsy!” he mused. ‘What a magnificent witch- finder that young Bob Sweet would ’a’ made back in old Salem! And County Judge Oliphant would ’a’ been the right one to pass sentence and light the fires under ’em after Bobby’d fetched the wretches in. It purty near broke both their hearts this mornin’ when I snatched those two black law-breakers out of the holt of outraged justice.” Judge Priest took off his hat and rubbed his round bald fore- head, like a man perplexed. His companion regarded him whimsically, waiting for the next word. “Well, suh,” said the Judge at length, “maybe it was a good thing I declined to run fur reelection four years ago. Fact is, I 43

Page 32

* aah neem. mee ? know it was a good thing. Remember, don’t you, whut I said in my card to the public?—“retiring from the bench owing to the infirmities of age’-—‘having served six terms it is time to make way for a younger and more active man’—and so on and so forth.” “TI remember,” answered Sergeant Bagby. “I likewise re- member how I laughed right out when I read it. You and your infirmities of age! Why, right now you’re ez good ez you ever was—maybe a little bit too fat,” he added critically. “You ain’t lookin’ so very peaked yourself,” retorted Judge Priest. “Jimmy, I’m goin’ to let you in on a little secret. I’m goin’ to tell you the main reason why I retired. I couldn’t face the kind of docket that was pilin’ up on me without quarrelin’ with my own private convictions. I was raised to have reverence for the law and the statutes. I believed in’em and I flattered myself I knew a good many of ’em. Maybe that was because, in my time, there wasn’t so many laws to keep track of as they’ve got now on the books. : “But, Jimmy, just between you and me, I couldn’t git used to the notion of sendin’ some other poor errin’ thirsty devil over the road fur violatin’ this here Eighteenth Amendment when I had a full jimmyjohn waitin’ fur me at home. I might keep on havin’ licker on my pussonal breath, but I wasn’t goin’ to have it on my official conscience—no, suh! Ef I kept my appetite—and I have —I likewise figgered on keepin’ my self-respect. £o I just up and quit.” 44 "Well, that’s scandal enough for one dose,” said Doctor “Yes, you up and quit,” said the sergeant, and gave a satiric grunt. “You was goin’ to lean back and take things easy, wasn’t you? And whut did you do then? Went traipsin’ off all over the world fur goin’ on three years, leavin’ me and yore other regular standbys here all by ourselves—dern, but it was lonesome with- out you, Billy! And then you come back and start up in the law business like a young kid beginner. I know whut the trouble was —you can’t git along without the smell of these here rusty musty old law books in your snoot.” : “There was one other reason,” confessed the Judge. “I just naturally couldn’t stay away. I thought Denver, Colorado, was goin’ to be all right. And it was fur a spell. My married niece that I was stayin’ with done her best to make me comfortable—her and her husband both. But I got restless; and I tried Southern California, ez you know. But doggone a country where they don’t have anything but climate all the time! Once in a while I like a little weather in mine. And Bermuda wasn’t so bad at first. Those English people are so blamed stupid and so reac tionary and so stubborn and all that that they still hang on to their personal liberty. : “Why, they’re actually so old-fashioned down there in those British islands that it never seems to occur to them that their neighbors’ private business is their business—poor, 1gn@ rant subjects of the Crown! At the start-off it was kind of pleasin to be able to take a drink without havin’ to lock all the doors and

Page 33

id Doctor a satiric v, wasn’t | over the or regular me with- n the law ouble was ty musty “T just rado, was ried niece able—her Southern rere they n a while so bad at so reac- ing on to in those em that or, igno- f pleasin’ Joors and y ~~ 7 Lane. ‘Come on, boys, let’s get advift because gassing here we're wasting the precious bou.3. windows first and turn out the lights fur fear some policeman would come breakin’ in, with a warrant or without one. But livin’ under a tyrannical monarchy palled on me after a while, Jimmy. I got homesicker and homesicker. And now here I am, but I still don’t feel somehow like I’m at home. This town cer- tainly has changed in a whole lot of ways while I’ve been gone— this whole Southern country has, fur that matter.” _ “Whut’s the use of broodin’ over the past? Whut’s done with isdone with.” Mr. Bagby set forth his epigram with a fine mock gravity. But an undertone of regret was there, too. Tain’t broodin’, I’m just thinkin’ back, that’s all,” explained the other. “Besides, Jimmy, when a feller gits along in life to where Wwe are, the past is about all he’s got to look forward to. And things these days are in a powerful sweat and turmoil, you tant deny that. Take this paper now.” He picked it up from where it had been dropped by the door- step, and respread it out on his lap, and a blunt finger moved over € page, shifting from head-line to head-line. Just listen to this, will you? ‘High School Head Claims Boy Pupils Ply Young Girls from Hip Flasks During Class Parties’ - +: ‘Forty Illicit Stills Raided in One County’ ‘More Spirits than Ever Coming in, So Port Authority Declares’ ysiclans’ Prescriptions for Intoxicants Swamping City Druggists.’ ” “J wish you’d hush your mouth,” interjected the sergeant. “T’m spittin’ cotton now.” “Wait,” said the Judge, topping the interruption, “hark to this biggest one: ‘Hijackers Prey on Hooch Runners—Three Shot, One Fatally, When Gunmen Waylay Bootleggers En Route from Rum Fleet.’” He tossed the sheet aside. “A lot of new words creepin’ into the language, and not such purty words, neither, I claim.” “You want to git up to date—we’re now usin’ ’em in our daily social conversation down here,’ expounded Sergeant Bagby. ‘There was a crowd of mighty enterprisin’ local boot- leggers from the beginnin’, and now we’ve got our own troops of hijackers. That Budge Willingham—you recall him—he’s supposed to be headin’ the gang. Oh, no, the modern improve- ments ain’t altogether escaped us. There’s over two thousand barrels under guard over yonder acros’t town in the Shadymead bonded warehouse, but I’m told on the quiet that most of ’em are full of water. The original contents all seeped out somehow. And forged withdrawal certificates ain’t exactly unknown amongst us. “And there’s been some mysterious robberies, too—burglars with a good taste in beverages breakin’ in and totin’ off the stuff. The Old January distillery has been a chronic sufferer. They tell me there’s only just a few dozen cases left out of all the prime sour mash that used to be down (Continued on page 188) 45

Page 34

MONTAGUE GLASS HEN it comes to moral risks, Mr. Noblestone, I got one rule,” said Marcus Fine, President of the Board of the Kosciusko National Bank, “and that is never to recommend the acceptance of a loan to somebody which ain’t got a wife to support which it very often happens that before a businessman makes a statement to his bank he’s got to consider what’s going to happen him in case he fools us on his bills receivable or something, and believe me, Mr. Noblestone, many a time we got saved from making a loan on account some shaky proposition has got a wife depending on him. Sisters they ain’t'so particular about. A sister they figure could maybe look out for herself, but nobody wants to take a chance on Atlanta if his wife is going to be up against it. Am I right or wrong?” Harris Noblestone the business broker agreed to this state- ment of business policy with a sort of palsied nodding of his head. He would have agreed to anything Mr. Fine might have said anyway, for. in addition to being President of the Board, Mr. Fine was also Chairman of the Loan and Discount Committee of the bank, and as such controlled the destinies of at least three- quarters of Harris Noblestone’s clientele. “But how about a mother?” Noblestone asked. “Has Bleistift got a mother?” Mr. Fine asked, and it seemed to Noblestone that a change came over the banker’s face. Now Mr. Noblestone knew only as much of his client’s, Charles Bleistift’s, history as could be derived from one interview in which Bleistift said that if Noblestone succeeded in procuring a commercial loan for him of twenty thousand dollars, he would be glad to pay the business broker a commission of ten percent and disbursements; but as Mr. Fine had evinced what for him was such a keen interest in the matter, Noblestone not only assumed that his client possessed a mother but found no difficulty in eloquently visualizing her for Mr. Fine. ‘Has he got a mother?” the business broker exclaimed. “‘You should have such a mother, Mr. Fine!” To.Noblestone’s astonishment, the banker’s cold gray eyes filled with tears. “I did have,” Fine said, ‘‘and today I’ve got Jahrzeit for her.” 46 66 The Clothing Manufacturer The Actress Ds Llustrations by U CH “T wish you long life,” Noblestone said piously. ‘You must have lost her only a year ago today, the way you feel about it.” “As a matter of fact it was forty years ago today,” Fine said. “‘And I ain’t never forgotten her nor never shall.”” The banker pulled his watch out of his pocket and opened the case. “This is her picture,” he said, unhooking the watch from the chain and handing it to Noblestone. ‘“Ain’t that a quincidence!”’ the business broker exclaimed. “Tt’s an absolute ringer if you’ll excuse me taking the liberty, Mr. Fine, for Bleistift’s mother—the same eyes and everything.” He handed the watch back to Mr. Fine. ‘And the way that boy treats her, Mr. Fine,” he continued. ‘‘You wouldn’t believe at all. Like a queen already!” “You don’t say so!’’ Fine said. “Every night he stays home with her,”’ Noblestone proceeded lyrically, “except when he takes her to theayters or by moving pictures, and at least three times a day he rings her up to see how things is going at home.” “Is that a fact!” Fine murmured. ‘How old did you say she was?” “About the same age as your poor mother, selig,’’ Noblestone replied promptly. “She wasn’t fifty hardly,” Fine said, “and a very beautiful woman, olay hasholom.” “Well, I shouldn’t say that Mrs. Bleistift was a day over fifty,” Noblestone went on, “and smart—like a whip. All her own housework she does and naturally it don’t cost the boy much to live. Practically all the money he makes he puts back into the business, because as I’ve heard Mrs. Bleistift say any number of times, if a woman knows how to manage, y’understand, eighteen dollars a week housekeeping money, even nowadays, is plenty.” “‘And I bet she’s a good cook too,” Fine added. “A good cook!” Noblestone cried rapturously. “Listen, Mr. Fine! I was up there to the house the other day and had dinner with them, and I ate for the first time in twenty-five years tzimmas which was really and truly something you could call without lying tzimmas.” ; “Only twenty-five years,” Fine said. “I ain’t tasted /2immas in forty years—not really and truly ‘zimmas, because the ‘zimmas which my poor mother, olav hasholom, made it, Noblestone, at the best hotel in New York you couldn’t get it.” Not only his eyes but his mouth watered as he thought of the delectable stew compounded of meat, potatoes, carrots, app!

Page 35

ns by ‘ou must bout it.” ‘ine said. e banker “This is hain and claimed. elieve at roceeded moving see how say she blestone eautiful or fifty,” her own much to into the mber of eighteen plenty.” ‘en, Mr. 1 dinner e years uld call izimmas ‘zimmas tone, at t of the _ apples President \ J. Henry me a O and onions which in the vernacular of Delancey Street is called tsimmas. “T don’t doubt it in the least,’ Noblestone assured him, “but just the same this was already wonderful /zimmas, and after- wards we had some apfel kuchen which it melted in your mouth like Grade A certified cream already.” Mr. Fine wiped his eyes and swallowed the moisture accumu- lated during the business broker’s last flight of imagination. “Well, I'll tell you, Noblestone,” he said, “bring this here Bleistift around here and I’ll see what I can do for him.” He tose ponderously by way of concluding the interview. ‘‘And Iwouldn’t object to meeting his mother neither,” he added, “because if she’s all what you say she is, Noblestone, I’ve a good mind to take a chance on this loan.” “When will I tell Bleistift he should f call?” Noblestone asked. t “Any time tomorrow,” Fine replied, “and he shouldn’t forget to bring his mother along.”’ “Sure! Sure!” Noblestone said in vibrant, confident tones. ‘“They’ll be here tomorrow afternoon without fail.” He grasped Mr. Fine’s hand and shook it vigorously. At the same time he looked Fine straight in the cye, for it is an axiom in business circles that a hearty handclasp, a vibrant voice and a clear eye char- acterize a good moral risk as Well, of course, as the broker of 4 good moral risk. However, when Noblestone visited his / clisnt’s place of business a half an hour later, while his voice Was just as vibrant, his gaze X as steady and his handclasp as tatty, the note of confidence was lacking. For the first time it occurred to Noblestone that he had gone The Real Mother Business Broker ther! a bit too far in the matter of Bleistift’s mother. That she might not look like the photograph in Fine’s watch case could be ex- plained on the score of Noblestone’s faulty memory, but that Bleistift looked like a man who stayed home every night, or even every other night, could not be explajned on any score. “Well, Noblestone,” Bleistift said, ‘“‘did you see him?” Noblestone nodded a trifle gloomily. There was something about the cut of Bleistift’s one-button, high-waisted sack suit, his bright-colored necktie, his suéde-topped shoes, and above all his small toothbrush mustache, which made Noblestone wonder if after all Bleistift really and truly was good to his mother. In fact when he noted that the handker- chief in Bleistift’s breast pocket exactly matched Bleistift’s brilliant necktie, he began to doubt that Bleistift’s mother exerted any influence at all over her son. Certainly, an old-fashioned mother such as he had described to Fine would not without protest have permitted her son to wear a fourteen-dollar silk shirt with red and yellow hair stripes. Noblestone’s voice therefore was not only vibrant when he replied to Bleistift’s question, but also a trifle _ hoarse. “Yes, I seen him,” \. he replied. Lo “And what did he say?” re Bleistift queried. A % “He said,’’ Noblestone He aye ¥ answered, “that you should come there tomorrow after- ncon and bring with you your mother.” “My mother!’ Bleistift exclaimed. “Sure!”’ Noblestone said. “She ain’t sick, is she?” “What do you mean— sick?” Bleistift cried. “My mother fell off a Madison Street horse-car thirty years ago already, without a cent of insurance.” “You mean you ain’t got no-mother?”’ Noblestone almost shrieked. 47

Page 36

“Didn’t I just told you?” Bleistift said. “*The company offered to settle with my old man for five hundred dollars, but he was pig-headed and when it came to trial they pretty near proved it on him that he shoved her off. Any- how he didn’t get a cent.” “But what are you going to do about it?’”’ Noblestone said. ‘What can I do about it— after thirty years?” Bleistift retorted. “You don’t understé what I mean,”..Noblest said. “Tomorrow aftérhaon before three o’clock you’ve got to be at the bank with your mother because this here Fine don’t lend no money unless the party has got a wife or a mother, and naturally since you ain’t got no wife, I told him you hada mother.” “But how can I be at his office tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock with a mother if I ain’t got one?”’ Bleistift insisted. ‘“‘That’s up to you,”’ Noblestone said. “Up to me?” Bleistift cried. “Can I go out on the street and grab a mother or ring one up by a telegraph company like getting a mes- senger already? —Further- more, Mr. Noblestone, I ain’t no crook. I’ve got here assets which should get me an accommodation by any bank for at least twehty thousand dollars if I would be raised in an incubator even, so therefore, Mr. Noblestone, if this here crank of a president wants I should have a mother in addition to my stock in trade, fixtures and bills re- ceivable, y’understand, all I can say is that the deal is off.” “Ts that so!’”’ Noblestone retorted. “And I should sacrifice my commissions and everything, when for a hundred dollars a week I could get you all the mothers you want.” “A hundred dollars a week!”’ Bleistift repeated. = : “Sure!” Noblestone said. G."'Young man,”’ tegan the banker —and Yetta had a premonition thata “For a hundred dollars a " week I could get you a first- class, A-number-one mother, and how long would you need such “Why ain’t it?” Noblestone demanded. ‘What one doctot a mother? Two weeks the outside.”’ can’t make a go of, another doctor could coin money at in Bleistift passed his hand distractedly over his forehead. “Ex- _ self-same office. This also applies to dentists and storekeepets, cuse me, Mr. Noblestone,” he murmured. “Are you meshuggeh Mr. Bleistift, which I could show you any number of people or am [?” sold businesses to and all of them making a good living, and “I’m meshuggeh like a fox,’’ Noblestone said. “How do you _ never would of closed the deal if I hadn’t hired those actors from think I make a showing for stores which ain’t got no customers Louis Gittelman’s theayter.” : when the owner wants to sell out? I hire them, and if doctors “Actors from Louis Gittelman’s theayter!” Bleistift cried. and dentists want to dispose of their practises and ain’t got no “And you want me I should get for a mother an actress from patients, for five dollars apiece I can get sick people, people with Louis Gittelman’s theayter?” toothaches and people without no teeth at all, and every one of “Well, where do you want to get her?” N 2 ~— oblestone asked. them acting so natural that it would fool any purchaser.” “The Metropolitan Opera House?” “And is this what you would call being on the level, Mr. “But if we hired such an actress, Noblestone, would that Noblestone?” Bleistift asked. guarantee the loan of twenty thousand from Fine?” 43

Page 37

ition that a one doctor vy at in orekeepels, of people 1 g, and they ictors from stift cried. stress from one asked. vould that 9 fatal situation was about to transpire. “Leave that to me,” Noblestone said. “We will go over to Gittelman’s right now, and if I don’t pick out a good, snappy mother, Bleistift, it’ll be on me.” If an hour later they entered the office of Louis Gittelman on lower Second Avenue. Mr. Gittelman,” Noblestone said, “shake hands with Mr. Bleistift in the garment business.” Sure!” Gittelman said. “But if he expects to get phony stomers from me at less than six dollars a head, Noblestone, Til also kiss him good-by in the garment business for all of me.” say he wanted phony customers?” asked the business r. ‘I didn’t say you did,” Gittelman retorted, “‘but the last time you got them from me, I made you special rates on account it was a restaurant, Noblestone, and the same night six of them actors come down with putnam poisoning. The union pretty near called a strike on me, which while most actors will eat pretty near anything when it don’t cost ’em nothing, Noble- stone, an actor ain’t got exactly an iron stomach neither.” “Listen, Gittelman,” Noblestone interrupted, “‘you’ve got us wrong. What we want is an actress, not an actor—a good, first-class, A-number-one mother.” “Oh, a mother!” Gittelman exclaimed. ‘A mother is a horse of another color, Noblestone. In fact I could use a good, first- class, A-number-one mother myself.” “You could?” Noblestone cried. with Yetta Saranov?” “T’m firing her,”’ Gittelman replied. Noblestone looked quite shocked. “Why, you must be crazy!’ he said. ‘Only last week I seen her in this theayter, Gittelman, and if she don’t act an elegant mother, Gittelman, then I’m no judge.” “T didn’t say you was,” Gittelman assured-him, ‘“‘but how she acts ain’t the question. It’s how she looks. Can you imagine this, Noblestone? Ever since that woman was twenty-one, she has been playing for me mothers at anyhow two hundred and five pounds, and last year all of a sudden she gets the idea she is too fat. The result is she goes to work and reduces forty pounds on me, and if you can show me a woman as good-looking as Saranov, twenty-eight years old, who can put over any kind of a mother at one hundred and sixty-five pounds, she’s got to be a Bernhardt or anyhow Bertha Kalisch.” “Why, what’s the matter 9 “ I. THAT so!” cried a voice as vibrant as any moral com- mercial risk of the highest probity, except that this was a feminine and not a masculine voice. It proceeded from the half closed door of Gittelman’s office, which was immediately and violently flung open to admit Yetta Saranov herself. “Act down-stairs after half past eight tonight, Yetta,” Gittel- man said calmly. “You wouldn’t get no hand here, no matter how good you work.” “T ain’t looking for no hand from you, Gittelman,” Yetta Saranov cried. Her round cheeks were flushed and her large eyes grew not only larger, but of such a liquid brownness that Bleistift, who was quite alone in rising to his feet at her entrance, automatically straightened the lapels of his coat and smoothed down his already burnished hair. “You I don’t never expect to work for again after my two weeks’ notice has run out,” Yetta continiied, “but if you are trying to give these gentlemen the idea that I couldn’t play just so good a mother as I ever played, let me tell you there is lawyers, Gittelman, and I’ve got this here party for a witness. He wouldn’t lie for your benefit, Gittelman. He’s too much of a gentleman, I can see that.” Here she turned on Bleistift such a melting glance that the palpitation of his heart was almost apparent through his tight- fitting coat and vest. “Keep your shirt on, Yetta,’ Gittelman counseled. “I dis- tinctly told these here gentlemen that you played a good mother, but it ain’t how you play, it’s what you weigh.” “You don’t tell me!” Yetta said. ‘‘Well, I’ve been living for eight years now with Mrs. Gubin, and if she ain’t a mother in looks and actS, then I don’t know a mother when I see one. She’s been a mother to me anyhow, and I make up after her, Gittel- man, the same wig, the same clothes and everything, and she’s just the same height and weight that I.am now, and what do you know about that!” “You mean Mrs. Gubin, the husband used to was Sam Gubin kept the pickle stand corner of Suffolk and Delancey?’’ Noble- stone asked, and Yetta nodded through her tears. “Why, I’ve known her for twenty years, Gittelman,’’ Noble- stone said, ‘“‘and if this lady is as good a performer as you say, and makes up the same like Mrs. Gubin and everything, then Y think you’re all wrong, Gittelman. You couldn’t have no better mother type than Mrs. Gubin.”’ “She ain’t only a type,”’ Yetta sobbed. ‘‘She’s a real mother. Can you beat this, gentlemen? For a whole year now I’ve had to fight that woman she shouldn’t cook such good food for me, All my will-power I had to use to keep from eating it, and when I manage to get down to a hundred and sixty-five pounds, he goes to work and fires me yet!”’ She sobbed aloud in her dis- tress. ‘‘Since the old man died, my board money is all Mrs. Gubin’s got to live on,” she added, “‘and if I don’t work, she’ll starve.” “Then you won’t have to use no (Continued on page 160) Cc

Page 38

JAMES OLIVER oe This -Man Has Written Best Sellers in the last Years—a World’s Record The The Story So Far: N THE edge of a great forest in the Province of Quebec, and in the year of grace 1754, lived the Seigneur St. Denis, a widower with a daughter Anne who was as beautiful as a rose of Artois: In a cabin in the forest dwelt David Rock, a lithe and sinewy youth whose eyes were trained to forest ways by his friend the Black Hunter, that mysterious figure who roamed the forests and knew the Indians as well as though he were one of them; and David was ever prepared for a sudden attack of the red men. For in 1754 England was at war with France along the Canadian border, and each had hordes of Indian allies; and al- though David Rock’s dead father had been English, his lovely mother was French, and he was a loyal subject of New France. Anne and David had been childhood sweethearts, and now their love was just blossoming into full maturity. But David was not a little fearful of holding Anne; for she lived much of the year in Quebec, and how could he compete with the gay and gorgeous young men of the city who paid homage to her beauty? But 5¢ 2 ws Anne laughed all that aside; as on this day, when David had given her a-powder-horn he had carved with intricate figures, an among them Anne and his mother depicted as two angels; and Anne had said that powder-horn meant more to her than all the gallants of Quebec. Shortly thereafter came that kiss which was always to mean the dawning of manhood and womanhood to them. But the kiss had been interrupted by a spying trio of those very Quebec gallants, who had been secretly looking on, and laughed—until they saw who Anne was. The trio were no less than Bigot, the King’s Intendant in New France; and Vaudreuil, Governor of Louisiana, who had aspirations Bigot could satisfy; and De Pean, Bigct’s shadow and sycophant. In short, probably the three most powerful men in Canada. They were members a party who had just come to visit the Seigneur St. Denis. Now Bigot’s black and treacherous heart had been inflamed by the sight of Anne’s innocent beauty. He vowed that she would be one in the long list of his conquests. (URWOOD’s

Page 39

(LA wice spoke Marie Rock's name Softly. It was the man of mystery into whose soul only the and David had looked. No. 1s now on sale in book form. L predict me) that this wi// be No. and the best seller of a// “he Iliustrations by Arthur E. Becher ad given res, and And he had no cordial feeling toward her sweetheart, young And later, on the edge of the forest, David’s friend Peter els; and David Rock. Gagnon brought him a message of love and pride in him from n all the The two came into direct conflict that night when, near the Anne’s own lips. And in the darkness the sound of the harpsi- chateau, Bigot started to mock David, and slurringly mentioned chord came to him, and with it Anne’s voice—singing. to mean the girl who had been in his arms. Promptly David knocked both Bigot and Vaudreuil into an icy pool of spring water. of those It was the crime of /ése majesté. David was dragged into the The Story Continues: on, and gteat hall, and there before the whole company sentence was HE voice of the old tower wheel, the sudden coming of - no less Pronounced that he was to be publicly flogged the next morning Peter, and Anne’s unexpected message of love and pride udreuil, on his naked back; and Anne went white. gave a final triumph to David in an adventure which had satisfy; ereupon the cunning Vaudreuil whispered to Bigot that if begun gloomily and with a galling bitterness in his heart. robably Wanted to gain the favor of Anne, here was his opportunity. And now he found himself exultant that Bigot and his com- nbers of let him pretend to be magnanimous to David—they could deal _panions had come upon them with Anne in his arms. E with the boy later; and Anne’s gratitude would be his. Which The forest itself seemed to be whispering in that exultation. med by Bigot did, handsomely, having David released with a pleasant In the tree tops was a little wind that set them talking among » ¥8t, and promising him favor as a brave man if he would come up __ themselves, as if David’s coming had stirred them to life and in to Quebec. David stalked out of the hall. Bigot’s reward was friendly way they were hiding the sound of his footsteps below tose in Anne’s cheek. them. 51

Page 40

David himself was a silent shadow as he passed, for even as he thought of Anne and visioned her in 4 hundred-sweet and wonder- ful ways he was also thinking of that undying caution of the wilderness which the Black Hunter said would in the end mean either life or death for him. = No padded foot of beast could have fallen more lightly in the trail than David’s, and the muzzle of his gun was pointed ahead, with the center of its weight-in the hollow of his arm and his forefinger and thumb resting lightly against hammer and flint: He went on, and: finally paused in. the edge of a strange clearing that for as long as men’ could remember had been known as the Red Open. In this open neither trees nor grass nor flowers ever grew, and birds never sang about it, for the place was grimly accursed. In the center of it were scattered a number of great rocks, one of them half as large as a house; and it was here the Mohawks had brought their prisoners from Sieur Grondin’s place and had burned seven of them against the face of the huge boulder, which still bore the fire-scars of that horrible day. And in this same place, as their victims were tortured, they had hung up on triumphal poles the streaming tresses of the three beautiful mistresses whose bodies lay near Sieur Grondin’s in the woods. The place was haunted. There could be no doubt of that. The Indians held away from it in superstitious fear. During storm it was always over the Red Open that the thunder crashed loudest and the lightning struck hardest; and at night, though it was in the glow of the moon, one could not see a hand before his eyes or a candle lantern ten feet away—at least so it was said and believed by many up and down the river, even though the powerful priests from -Three Rivers had tried to drive the troublesome spirits away with holy water and prayer. Bu: David was not thinking of ghosts or of men screaming ik ‘the torture of flames as he paused. He was judging how long it would be before moonrise. An illumination a little stronger than“that of the stars lay in the east, and he quickened his pace with more eager thought of his mother. “A few minutes later he came out of the edge of thick | woods dnto another clearing larger than the Red Open. In it. were nearly twelve acres as he had measured them, and every: foot sof it. he had.cleared himself and put to crop, with the help “ef Kill-Buck, the old Delaware who had been with his mother ‘since he was a child, and Thurensera, his daughter, whose Indian ‘name meant Day-Dawn. ~ Corn-shocks were thick over a half of the fertile plot and at the far end of it he could see the dim candle-light in- Kill-Buck’s cabin, and nearer, in a group of maples and oaks left for their beauty and shade was a larger and more brilliantly lighted cottage, which was his own and his mother’s. He stopped again, knowing that somewhere in the shadows the old Delaware was waiting as quietly as one of the night-birds for his return. Some- times David wondered if Kill-Buck’s eyes ever closed in sleep, for always, even in times of peace, he seemed to be watching for danger and guarding those he loved against it. As he came out into thé open David uttered a bird-note scarcely louder than the musical ripple of the spring-water creek which ran through the clearing, and a little later Kill-Buck rose as .i produced by magic in his path. Even under the stars one could see that Kill-Buck was not young, though he was, tall and straight and thin and his head still carried its warrior’s poise. In his wampum belt he bore a hatchet and-a knife which had been his companions on bloody trails long before David’s time, and in-his hand a gun. The two conversed for a moment in the Delaware’s native tongue, then David hastened toward the cottage. » It was built of stone, like the one under Sunset Hill where he and. Anne had heard a woman’s voice singing, and through the stone peered the same dark loopholes for guns and at the windows were the same heavy shutters of oak. And a voice was also singing here, a sweeter voice than that in the cottage under Sunset Hill. All his. life David had been in love with his mother. He opened the door softly and looked in. He was proud of his mother’s youthfulness and it gave him a pleasant thrill to see the picture she made as she knelt on a bear-rug before a mass of red coals in the fireplace, turning the crane on which he knew his supper was waiting. She was slim and tall and looked like a girl in the candle-glow, and her coiled dark hair which Anne averred was many times more beautiful than her own was a gleamy jet mass in the soft radiance of the room. She rose quickly at David’s greeting sooken from behind her. Marie Rock was on the shadowing side of forty. In December The Black Hunter Spoil come. her birthday. But years and tragedy g loneliness-of the wilderness had left small imprint in a fage had suddenly filled with pleasure at the sound of David's yea David set up his gun in the corner. “Tt’s Anne again, ” he said laughingly. “Her fault!” “Of course,” agreed Marie Rock, turning quickly to the “But tonight even these pigeOns have grown discourage the flésh Was fallen from their bones no matter how patiently -tended them. If the potatoes have hardened in. the ash ] eh Ped scold you! pl “Yet you were very happy when T came up, mother, r were singing the Black Hunter’s song.” He was preparing to wash himself and did not notice t length of his mother’s silence. s “What makes you think of the Black Hunter tonight, s she ‘asked at last. age “T think-of him always,’ cold spring water. A little later they sat across from each-other at the table, a supper between them of roasted pigeons and potatoes am brown bread and pudding made from flour and maple syrup am fruits. ' As they ate David told of many of the things that h pened, leaving out chiefly the unpleasantness of his own a ture at Grondin Manor. But he did talk of Anne as fra as he always talked to his mother and before the meal wag she had guessed at more than one thing truly, and a as he what had come to pass in his life that day. s A candle had burned half its length and he had descri be detail the unusual doings at the chateau before it 4 came upon him that the flush was still in his mother’s. cheek that it could no longer be caused by the fire; and that alse were velvety pools in her eyes so deep he could not fath and that about her was something which did not. se a part of her as he had expected to find her. “Something has happened to make you glad,” -he7gue “What is it?” “Your coming, David. I am always happy when : y “But tonight—you are like Anne was this afternoon sumac thicket-in the bottom. And I wonder—l haw ’ replied David, and buried his f - wondering more today than in all my life before—a ' know——” “What is it, David?” e “You are always happy when the Black Hie said after another moment’s hesitation, “and so: Anne asked me why, and so differently and i in su that the question has been with me every hour'ginte I couldn’t answer it, except that I am happy-when Ta Wy. and terribly lonely for him when he is gone, . Why ist! “Because he has been your friend, and miné—and “But why is he our friend?” he persisted.- “And been such a strange and secret friendship, with the Bla ‘ coming and going as mysteriously as a ghost, so that not soul but you and I have ever set eyes on him in all this Sega of St. Denis?” “He is a strange man, David, and strange thou desires have run in his mind,” answered his mother. 6“ e aa ‘y Sock questions Anne has asked me and now it is time f to answer them,” David went on. “Until Jately I have} ‘see little of the Black Hunter, yet I feel he has been here many time that only you and maybe Kill-Buck know of. Why is it thata up and down these leagues of wilderness between the Canada our enemies he has no other name than the Black Hunter he loves us as you say, and as he seems to show, why i “a we cannot know his name?” “T do know it, David. I have told you that, and ales il have kept it secret only because it meant so much to him.’ “And there is a reason for hiding it?” ~ “He has thought so all these years. sO Many questions today?” He nodded. “Yes. And I have been asking them of m too. I think there has been talk at the Manor which hi a sot come to us. Anne trembles when I speak of the Black Hiaml and she is filled with horror when I tell her of our adventulé together. She asked me for the powder-horn this afternoon am I gave it to her. Only when I told her it was the Black Huiite who had suggested another angel kneeling beside her at the shrine—yourself, mother—did she soften a little. I have to make her think of him.as we think of him, but I cannot doit She is afraid.” And has “.nne asket

Page 41

zedy and | in a face avid’s Voice. ult!” ’ to the comaga W Patiently | he ash I <4 other, Yo ot notice the onight, san? ed his face he al with adventules ernoon ack Hunter her at the have tne innot do it. ‘This is Anne,”’ said David. “My Anne—of the powder-horn!’? ‘Our Anne of the powder-horn,’’ corrected the Black Hunter. Anne’s eyes were hiding their fear.

Page 42

“Afraid of one who visions angels kneeling at a shrine?” asked his mother, and there was an odd little trill in her voice which David’s youthful ears failed to catch. But he did see that her eyes were glowing again as she lookéd up at him quickly from her task of brushing the crumbs from the table with a turkey-wing. Then David laughed, and before she could move away from the table, he put his arms about her slim body. 54 Anne liked Bigot. Somehow “No wonder he thought of you as the second angel,” he cried. “You’re the most wonderful mother in all New France, an loves you as much as I—and tomorrow you must talk to het about the Black Hunter and answer some of the questions. has asked me. Will you?” “T will, David.” ; : Then he noticed that down over her wrists had fallen little clouds of snowy lace which until a moment or two ago had been

Page 43

fallen little ro had beet winds which had come from his lips had not seemed like the compliments of the others. Papa up out of sight. And beyond her in a corner of the bedi eyes fell upon something which set his heart suddenly ating faster. Tam blind and stupid,” he said, holding her so that her face Mo cgi from him, “or I would have known you have on pre ee which you wore at the Seigneur’s party, with the lace Tlove. And you look so fresh and pretty and were so d when I came up to the door——” : “Because I knew you were coming,” she interrupted him. “And Day-Dawn wasn’t here to help you, and she hasn’t been here to clear away the dishes o “She was tired and I sent her to bed.” His arms closed more tightly about her. “And you were singing the Black Hunter’s song when I opened the door, and now—over there in the corner—I see a gun which doesn’t belong to me— nd it doesn’t belong to Kill-Buck, (Continued on page 131) 55

Page 44

Those who know how to look beneath the surface may see the tears, but I do not let them fall, nor mar that serenity a queen needs.

Page 45

[Fa AM going to be fifty this year and I do not like it at all; in fact I hate it just as much as any other woman would. Halfa century! It sounds horrid! But I carry my fifty years rather lightly, astonishingly so, as my life has been anything but 5 bed of roses every day. Often I have been asked how I retain that look of youth. How? I cannot explain: It has of course something to do with inner spirit, with that something that knows not age and hich I believe to be stronger than the physical part of me so that so to say, carries me on wings. Then there is also that love of life and humanity and that mmendous health which allows me to see the bright side of gs and to smile, thereby hindering my face from settling m into sour lines. How ugly it sounds, sour lines! And with women those lines s always inclined to settle round about the mouth; therefore do scommend smiles. Not mincing, affected little smiles, but good road, honest, welcoming ones; even a grin if you like, but a friendly one. And above all do not be afraid of laughing! Laugh to your heart’s content, about everything and anything, md laugh also about yourself; it is tremendously healthy. And specially laugh first, before you are laughed at. Also laugh last youcan! I assure you I have often taken the wind out of my memy’s sails by laughing at myself first. And all this has a tremendous lot to do with the question of en, because good looks and how to retain them is a fright- important matter to women and terribly so to a queen. "You see, for thirty-two years my people have loved my face. lave considered it one of their dearest possessions—and now I im going to be fifty! A real tragedy, or it ought to be, but some- jow I am keeping it off. Certainly I have not been able to keep nes from out of my face, but I have been able to keep them, m settling down into ugly, depressing lines; and I have always wed my spirit of love, fun, kindness to be stronger than the iesh, so that no one thinks of my age’but only of my welcoming pression, and they feel that inner something which radiates gm me in smiles and lights up my eyes. who know how to look behind the surface may see the ars that are there beneath all the rest, but I do not let them fall jor-let them mar that outward serenity which a queen needs. * With me the woman and the queen keep blending, so my life “Wasbeen rich and full, my experiences manifold and certainly not ‘dull, though light and shade kept running like a pattern through itall the time. And it has been dreadfully important for me to * blend the queen and woman harmoniously, and I think that I ~~ have done so. ; My opinion, confirmed by personal experience, is that a woman tan be a tremendous power just by being a woman, as long as she _ uses that power in the right way, fairly, conscientiously and with- - outtrying tooverreach. This I have learned by living—by suffer- ing too—but that naturally goes hand in hand with the living. : T hate to think of women misusing their beauty for purely _ Selfish ends and by that to a certain degree degrading a blessing they ought to be immensely grateful for. -~ Beauty is of course the surest key to every door—I have “spoken about this before—but nowadays, thank God, there is More scope for woman; life is opening before her, she is working up to the top and she is beginning to have elbow-room. » I would, though, advise her remaining a woman for all that. I _ annot say that I am quite in sympathy with that tendency of + abolishing all differences between the sexes. To my mind a ~~ Woman, however hard she may try, will never be anything else ~ but avery poor sort of man, whilst if she lives up to the tip-top _ other possibilities, she can be a splendid woman. _ She ought never to allow man to forget or to overlook that she is @ woman, or three-quarters of her power goes from her. If she accustoms man to elbow her and push her aside because she is try- mng to live his life, she will be defeated. On his ground he will always be strongest, whilst on her own she will remain supreme. Ido not mean by this that she must set herself up as the eternal lure, and catch man with her wiles and deceit; I hate that sort, though instinctively every woman will use a certain amount of By MARTE of Fifty cing ifty wile. It was the weapon given her from the beginning of time, so there is no reproach to her if she resorts to it occasionally. What I mean is this: A woman, if it comes to a fight with man, will always get the worst of it. Nature has destined him to be strongest, and this woman must admit, which does not mean that he need be the conquering one. Queens, in history, have generally left a name—those ruling in their own rights I mean: Elizabeth, Catherine, Maria Theresa, Victoria, and names further back in history. But they did not try tobe men. They were all the greater rulers because they were “queens.” First of all there is for all men a certain glamour about a woman if she will only live up to it, and about a queen there is a double glamour. But she must never forget that she will be much more admired for doing a manly act if she never allows men to forget that she is a woman. : Joan of Arc did nothing remarkable if you compare her feats to those accomplished by men, but for a girl it was remarkable and had that wonderful glamour about it because she was a woman. I am supposed to be intelligent; but if you began comparing my brains witha man’s brains you would find them sadly wanting. I have all my wits about me and if I keep them from wandering they are quite sufficient for what is asked of me in life. A little extra-much has been asked: of me, no doubt, because circum- stances and the times we live in so willed it. Instead of allowing me to be merely a pleasant, good-looking woman, idling about to my own satisfaction, life seized me, so to say, by the scruff of my neck and made me turn all my possibili- ties into something else than play or self-indulgence. B.: I never wanted or tried to be anything else but a woman, and I assure you, no man coming to me is ever allowed to forget it, even if he can find my brain answering his and my ways free from self-consciousness and affectations. _ All-the time I keep well awake in his mind that he is having the pleasure of talking with a woman, that dreamed-of companion of every man’s soul. I think that the mistake the modern woman makes is that she wants to have it both ways. She adopts man’s speech, his ways, his liberties, his looser morals. Yet when it suits her she will suddenly fall back upon being a woman and want man to show her the deference to which she.has really thrown away all right. Certainly modern life has liberated and is liberating woman from certain humiliations, from certain servitudes, and I am un- grudgingly with her in this; but she is going through a transjent stage and she is not yet quite sure what foot she desires to stand on. She cannot be a man and must not try to be one, but she need no more be man’s slave. I was brought up by a mother who had a tremendous person- ality but who loathed the very word “feminism.” Her ideas, ideals and moral conceptions were those of- her time. She brought me up severely. and then launched me out into the world a perfectly innocent little idiot, stuffed full of absolutely false ideas about life. She let me go to a far-off country alone, utterly unprepared, to swim or sink. Sometimes I came near sinking, but my love of life, my instinct of self-preservation were strongest, and I learned to swim. I even learned to swim against the tide, and in doing so my muscles hardened marvelously and one day I found myself capable of looking not only after myself, but after many another as well, till I was at last looked upon as one of my country’s greatest assets. My life has been interesting—the life of a woman who never forgot that she was a woman, although many a time she had almost a man’s part to play and had to have herself forgiven for being strong, like a man. Sometimes I had to see a little bit beyond right and wrong as my mother conceived it, but it was forgiven me because I had to judge for myself, to stand by myself so that others could stand. Let woman glory in being woman. That is the message I want them to receive from me. 4 5

Page 46

cor £e cAde Good old Days remembers the When One Might Have a BIG NIGHT for 45 CENTS UST as far back as I can remember, I had an unholy itch for the theater. My notion of bliss was to go to a playhouse every night and watch all that entrancing ma-e-believe on the elevated platform. As soon as I could read I began to post myself regarding plays and actors. I saved up coppers and sent away and got the Harrigan and Hart song books. I learned the tunes written by Dave Braham and I still re- member them. I can sing ‘‘Are you there, Moriarty?” “Paddy Duffy’s Cart,” “The Hegant Bold MclIntyres,” “Miss Brady’s Piano. Fortay” and all the rest, but I refrain from doing so. I couldn’t tell you, at this moment, whether Joseph or Potiphar’s wife threw the first meaning glance, but I can recite all the lines of ‘You'll never miss the water till the well runs dry,” “Maggie May,” “When you and I were y oung” and “Bright-eyed laughing little Nell of Narragansett Bay.’ Some men treasure Treasury Certificates and others retain locks of hair and faded flowers, but I specialize on preserving intact all of the mushy ballads written during the Grant and Hayes administrations. Before I ever rode on a train I was a first-nighter in my dreams. My parents were respectable and went in for hymns with a melodeon accompaniment, but I tried to do “Love among the Roses” as I figured Billy Emerson would do it. Inever had seen Mr. Emerson and probably the imitation wasn’t much. Once I blacked up for a school entertainment and sang ‘“The Skidmore Guards.”” Those who remember say I was terrible. Why does the show-shop get into the imagination in such a conflagratious way? I didn’t know a blessed thing about the drama, but I was all excited over it, merely from reading and hearsay. We lived far out on the State Line division of the Pan- handle and the only .‘shows’”’ magio-lantern views. of the Mount of Olives, Swiss bell-ringing by stout blonds and gentiemen with black mustaches, and the week-stand repertoire troupers who did things to “East Lynne” and ‘‘Lady Audley’s Secret,” and on Saturday evening presented a silver fruit dish to the holder of the lucky ticket. The little “‘rep’’ companies worked out of Indianapolis. To the small towns’ they visited they were Frohman, Daly and Belasco—all under one tent. There was the Riley Company and the Graham Earle Stock and the Harry Hotto Players—all goo 1. Dora and Jennie Goldthwaite played our town. Edmund Breese, Fred Burton, Joe Kilgour, Billy Deming and many another high- up in the. Lambs Club and along Broadway had their early training in temples of amusement which had hardware stores underneath. Richard Bennett came from Bennett’s Switch over near Logansport, and his first name isn’t really Richard. The town in which I was born, Kentland, was founded by Alexander J. Kent, uncle of S. Miller Kent, who made his first costume appearance in McCullough’s Hall and recited Claude Melnotte’s famous speech in ‘The Lady of Lyons’’—the one in which Claude lies about his property. At that time he lived in Brookston and we called him “Seth.” I got into his first show for passing bills. When 1 was very young I saw Lotta play ‘“Fanchon, the Cricket,’ in Chicago. All I can remember is that she was all the time hopping up on the tables and swinging her legs in the most vivacious manner and had all the people around me fascinated and giggling. Then there was another high spot, once more at McVicker’s, when I was ten years old. Even a little country hunker, hanging on to his seat, was enough of a critic to know that Edwin Booth in “‘The Fool’s Revenge” was real city acting. Augustine Birrell says that a sure recipe for inducing young people to yawn is to talk about actors dead and gone. Which is 2¢ that came to us were lectures,- true. You can’t find out anything about a dramatic star unless you sit within range of his radioactive personality. All my life I have been inquiring of old-timers as to the real why of the greatness of joseph Warren, Edwin Forrest, John McCullough, Adelaide Neilson, Mrs. D. P. Bowers, Sol Smith, Mr. and Mrs. Barney Williams, Lester Wallack and some of the others who were a little ahead of my time or outside of my quarter-mile orbit. I never have been able to get any satisfactory information, An actor scores by producing an emotion within the listener out in front, but when the listener tries to analyze or describe that emotion, he is tongue-tied. Probably I could not waste magazine space more effectively than by trying to tell the young people all about Nat Goodwin's : super-comedy or Pat Rooney’s dancing or the dramatic intensity of “Louis XI” as played by W. E. Sheridan. Most people never heard of Sheridan, just as a lot of intelligent ignoramuses never heard of Charley Case or “‘Rolling Mill” Kelly. If I insist that Nat Goodwin, when he was in his effervescent prime, could stand with his back to the audience and, by a mere perk of his head, set the house in a roar, I am sure that everyone who didn’t know Goodwin will be assuming that I am either a bore or a liar. : i 1883 I burst out of my shell and became an ornament to the campus of Purdue University. Our dormitory was only two miles away from the Grand Opera House of LaFayette, and at last I reveled in the drama. The “road”’ got the big attractions back in the eighties. We went to see the Shakesperean actors— Booth, Barrett, Keene, Sheridan. We devoured melodrama— “The Silver King, ” “Romany Rye,” “The Black Flag,” “The Danites.” |The local sure-fire capacity hits were “Fantasma” by the Hanlons and Louis Morrison in “Faust.” Along came “Evangeline.” I saw the minstrel kings—George Primrose, George Thatcher, George Wilson, “Happy Cal’’ Wagner, Billy Rice, Carroll Johnson, Lew Dockstader, Frank McNish, Milt Barlow. I never saw Luke Schoolcraft—another aching regret. Willis Sweatnam was a genuine and painstaking interpreter of the negro character. -Just twenty years after I first warmed to his ingratiating comedy, I wrote a part for him in “The County Chairman.” He was “‘Sassafras’’ Livingstone, the colored loafer who was always begging or borrowing. It was easy to write dialog for Sweatnam. - All I had to do after I wrote a speech for him was to close my eyes and listen to him repeating it and if it sounded like Sweatnam [I left it in. When I began my first real intimacy with the theater the old- style comic opera was still going strong. The first of the Hoyt plays were coming along to start the revolution which resulted in the present style of musical comedy. But in the eighties the low-comedy monarch still had a red nose and lumps on his legs and the tenor wore pink tights and the chorus was all bundled up in superfluous clothing. “Olivette,” “La Mascotte,” “Girofle-Girofla,” ‘“Nanon” and “The Queen’ s Lace Handker- chief” were pretty good, but “Pinafore” and “The Mikado” simply stood the world upside down. I escaped from the prairie just in time to greet ‘“Ko-ko” and at once I was taken down with 4 consuming worship of Gilbert and Sullivan. It will be forty years this autumn since I first saw the curtain go up on that row of male choristers and heard the lively chorus: If you want to know who we a-a-re, We are gentlemen of Jap-a-a-n. On many a vase and ja-a-r On many a screen and fa-a-n . . . ” | aS ee pny

Page 47

that row sa : hentai: Lee ‘ e Pry » eR ta. x08 SATE TTT LRAAHE 4 : | i a i Aes @.George Ade and John T. McCutcheon when they took life. seriously I don’t have to consult any libretto in order to quote correctly. International law is a closed book, but I know my “Mikado.” Ihaven’t missed a performance since 1885. My first ‘““Ko-Ko” was Charles Drew, whom you may not remember. He was a talented buffo. After him came Dick Golden, Charley Bigelow, Digby Bell, DeWolf Hopper, Frank Moulan, Walter Passmore (in London), and many others. The last one I applauded was little Lupino Lane—very amusing but with insufficient reverential tegard for the matchless lines of the incomparable Gilbert. It is nothing to brag about, but I remember practically all of the lyrics, > most of the music and about half of the dialog in The Mikado.” I remember it because I can’t forget it. The songs are four-verse affairs, but I know all the verses. I thought I was the only person in the world, unconnected with the pro- fession, who had carried such 4 lot of verbal cargo around with him for years and years until I engaged in a memory contest with John Golden one evening down at Miami Beach. Introducing Mr. Golden—playwright, composer and producer of “Lightnin’,” “The First Year,” “Turn to the Right” and other clean plays which have had an uplifting effect on theater- goers and Mr. Golden’s finances. We were on John Brander’s yacht, out in Biscayne Bay, under a full moon. Most of us could not sing, but we did so. Some one started ‘““The Moon and I.” which is sung by “Yum-Yum” early in the second act of “The Mikado.” It is a very tricky com- position with Sullivan at his best in (Continued on page 156) 9

Page 48

N THE up-stairs room of the Tea House of the Amber Chrysanthemum, Ah Lum was wiping the marble tables for the late afternoon service. and singing as he worked; happily without knowledge of the end to which his song would bring him. He sang as though his heart were a bird beating its wings against the bars of its cage. He sang of his own country, of the too-much- celebrated porcelain tower and river of sincerity; and though the voice would have driven a professor of the true song into the seventh fury, the passion behind it would have set the rest of the world wondering that one man could carry such misery and live. He went from song to song, a snatch here and a snatch there. Under the overcast sky of the London June, he sang of green seas, Of house and garden, of prosperous fields, of almond and cherry flower and water-lily, of radiant skies and lanterned mid- nights and the faint hot smell of city streets at evening. of war and wine and feasts and travails, of man’s need of money, of the beauty of his fathers before him. He sang of all those material things of life from which the people of his country have made their poetry. He sang .. . But if you ever knew the Tea House of the Amber Chrysanthe- mum, you knew Ah Lum and his noises. Even if you never ate 6 as eA Story of Limehouse By THOMAS BURKE or drank there, you must have seen it if your business led you any afternoon to the wharves and warehouses at the end of the Causeway. You might have reached West India Dock Road in good humor with yourself and the day, and, reaching it, would be conscious of a pervading disquiet; something more than the Eastern hush that hangs in the air of this quarter; something faint and untraceable that clouded your heart and pressed upon it. At first you might imagine that something Asiatic in your Asiatic neighborhood was being done that should not be done; but as you walked on you would perceive that you were t this disquiet through the ear, and that it came from the far end of the Causeway; and when you had got that far you located it as a voice of lamentation coming from a little place just below the archway. You remember it now? The little fadec place, with a bead curtain to its door, and in its window a few tins of fruit and fish upon a permanent foundation of seaweed; and on the door posts, Chinese ideographs announcing its name and business, and murmuring of its excellent appointments for table games. It was popular and prosperous. It never invited. Its door was always closed. But it did well among its own people, the voice of Ah Lum spread news of it to casual white wanderers, who spread the news further. They liked to think that they only had discovered it; it permitted them the mild swagger of showing it to others, which they did as though they had invented it. Per- haps Hing Pu, its owner, knew something of the little corners of the human heart—most restaurant-keepers do—and, by not inviting, held out a subtle invitation. Once a wanderer had entered the Amber Chrysanthemum, t@ discover the mystery of this passion behind closed doors, and

Page 49

tSe AS s led you nd of the ck Road it, would than the omething sed upon in your be done; re taking ) the far u located lace just tle fadec yw a few seaweed; its name rents for Its door ple, and inderers, hey only showing it. Per- - corners _ by not num, to and had a The @.Ouong Lee and Ah Lum were friends, as philoso- phers and poets often are. ream of Ah Lum Illustrations by Herbert M. Stoops tasted Hing Pu’s fried noodles and bean-cake chop suey, he came again with a friend, and the kitchen—and sometimes the back room—held the attention that Ah Lum had first attracted. And Ah Lum, when he wasn’t serving, would sit somewhere unseen, with a guitar, and bring something of the color of his home streets to the bleak faces of his customers. He was the complete exile. His body was in a strange land, but his heart was set among the long fields and temples of the Middle Kingdom. Here, in this narrow street of little shops and lodging-houses, isolated from the haste and strength of the West, he had around him whiffs and echoes of his home, and from these scraps he built his dreams. He was not remarkable to the eye. Wanderers who had been led by the voice and the place into thinking of glamour and romance and some fantastic figure of a performer, were disappointed when they saw a young man in a lounge suit and colored tie and brown boots, serving pots of tea. The clothes did not “go” with the singing, and the set, square face did not repeat the agony of the voice. But the few who had perception noted that the long eyes held the expression of seeing something beautiful from afar. O.. Quong Lee, who kept the little store just opposite, noted it. He noted many silly things that others passed, while really important things, like the current price of tea or a week of wet Weather, escaped him. He too was an exile, but if he had any dreams, he never wailed them to the air. He had not the gift of song, but he had a more expressive gift—the gift of silence; ‘and his physical presence behind the window of his store said Exile as firmly as the voice of his young friend. For they were friends, as philosophers and poets often are. His work done, Ah Lum would ¢all most every night upon the old man, and talk with him of their home and of the hills where the spring is born, and they would look out upon the gray walls and the gray falling rain and sigh. It fell frequently to Quong Lee to explain to casual customers in his shop the noises that came from the Tea House. “It issa young man,”’ he would say, picking his words one by-one, “who singss of hiss country. Heiss not happy. He want.all time to go away to hiss country. He nocan. He nocash. So he singss of hiss country and it makes him not-so sorrow.” And the Englishman, who couldn’t understand wanting some- thing and not going for it, would ask: “But can’t he save up money, or get some one to ship him out?” “Save-up? Huh! He have cash—plenty cash. But he playss puck-a-poo. To make more cash quick—see? All-time he play puck-a-poo. All time he never wirss. So he no cash. And no friendss.” “Take him a long time to get back that way. Must be a fool— what?” And Quong Lee would blink and tie up the purchase. Perhaps he didn’t care whether Ah Lum was a fool or not; perhaps he didn’t want Ah Lum to go away. Certainly the Tea House didn’t, for his singing brought custom, and it was only in his song that he was miserable. In his work he was deft and clean and serious, and he spoke good English. He mixed cheerfully with his fellows, and went to the pictures and the Poplar Hippodrome and the Salvation Army with them; and for long bus-rides round London; and took his daily gamble in puck-a-poo with that zest which the workshop punter brings to the study of the early racing editions. If you had never heard him sing you would have said that he was happy; but his songs betrayed him. 61

Page 50

Q,Fanny wondered what Ah Lum would do if she promised him heaven and couldn’t deliver it. Whence he came, nobody knew or was curious to ask. He had arrived among them some ten years ago, from Cardiff, and had taken a job for a month—the job he still held; and through all that time his passion for home was at battle with his passion for gambling. Often luck had been with him for a week, and he had spoken of an increasing fund, of a few more weeks of equal 62 prosperity, and then—home. But, growing impatient, he would take his whole store to a fan-tan room, and at the end of the evening would craw] penniless down the Causeway to the London bed where he must still rest. : But if luck did not serve him, friendship did. At least, it gave him what he had asked for, if that can be called service. thoug

Page 51

the human heart is so made that it will often cherish the dirty Ai-eee! He looked through the window into the Causeway stone picked up in the gutter above the brightest box of marbles _ and its tiny shops, and into the window of Quong Lee’s store, and nted by the keeper of the bazaar. In the event, luck was, up at the sky that held the hue of a wrung dish-cloth. chaps, kinder to him than friendship. “What iss the good?” he siid. “‘I never get to China. Never. ft was Fanny Freyne who did it. Fanny liked the Causeway, A/-eee.” and bought tea and ginger and lily-root flower there, and some- “That’s where you're wrong, son. Wrong. You will get times had a meal with friends at Hing Pu’s restaurant. There there. Listen. You're going to China next week. Understand? she met Ah Lum, and heard his singing, and laughed at it, and I’ve worked it. I been telling people about you—them people later heard the cause of it. They became casual distant ac- what have been down here to see you. High-up people. And waintances. Both were quiet and a little withdrawn, and while . there’s papers coming tomerrow—government papers -that’ll she found interest in his neat appearance and his baby’smile take you right home wheréver you-want to go. They’ll come and his forlorn condition, and liked his clear deference to herself, tomorrow. And me or somebody else'll bring ’em. And next he saw her as a marvelous and beautiful: creature who*had - Wednesday you'll be on the boat going home. How's that, now? stooped to listen to his tale. ; Eh? That’ make you happy—eh?” |, One idle afternoon, when few customers were about, he told # “Happy?” ‘For a moment it seemed that he had. not followed her the secrets of his heart. . He told her of the tawaon the river - her words, or was still translating them. Then he folded his where he belonged ; how he left it when he was sixtéen, and came hands and beamed, and spoke his thanks. “Oh, yess. O-oh, to England with his father. How he had held always the mem- yess. But—is it true? Really true that I go to China? You ory of those scenes, and how, wherever he looked, they were are making a joke? After so many years . . . it does nct before his eves. He told her of the coming day for which he — seem true.” lived, when he would go back there, and buy a waterside farm, “No, reely. Honest. I’ve fixed it. I have reely.” and take an agreeable wife who would give him many splendid “Oh, miss, vou, aré*too good! Ht.iss wonderful. To be really ‘sons. He told her of the place he would occupy there among the going to China at last: It iss . ” He turned his face away serious and dignified people of his own province. and unclasped his hands. ‘There'll be nothing for you to pay. Those papers’ll take you just Where vou want to go. “Next Wednesday, it’ll be,”’ Aw Fanny, interested, as all women are, in being taken into “Oh; miss, vou are so good to a nobody! But why me?—there the confidence of a young man—even a vellow young man— _- are so many who would like to go back to China.” thought about it all and wanted to help him. Not that the sor- “Just because you’re you, I suppose. They liked your songs, rows of a lowly Chink. were any business of hers, or that she those fellers. And they’re high-up people. You can reckon could, without drawing unpleasant’ talk upon herself, do any- it as all settled.” thing for him: it wouldn’t have been quite the thing. A Chink, “O-oh, miss! It iss . . . Ai-eee!” and he finished his thanks she had been taught, may be all right, but he’s still a Chink; in a hubble of Cantonese. just as an Englishman may be all wrong, but is sti!] an English- His face held nothing of his inward emotion; only the eyes man. There was no getting away from the fact. But she had no looked steadily beyond the window as though lifted towards worries of her Own, so it pleased her to dally with a chance hills and hot skies, while the liquid syllables poured out of him ofmissionary meddling with other people’s affairs, and of pushing _ like an offering of wine before the temple. What he was saying the poor benighted creature towards his heart’s desire. Fanny didn’t know, but she was satisfied. Her surprise had So she spoke to her father about it, and he told her that there come off, and she had made him happy. The smile that he wore were societies for that sort of thing—getting poorpeople.home to about his dailv work, the smile that hid the hunger of his heart, their own countries—and he’d speak to his boss about it. His was gone; one does not smile in supreme happiness. In its boss heard the story,.which Fannvy’s father dressed up with some _ place was the expression of the lover who sees his love approach- humor, and said he’d.see what he could do about it. He went ing within his reach, while hardly believing that it is truly she. himself to the Causeway, and got an hour’s British amusement “You are so good, miss, to take this trouble of me. Shall I from the nasal howling of Ah Lum; and in his turn, touched sing some song?” with the fever of doing something for somebody, he spoke to a Fanny smiled back at him. There was nobody but themselves man higher up. =*»: in the up-stairs room, and it was pleasant to have him make a The man higher up went to see the theatrical exile, and the tale noise for her alone. . He took his guitar and leaned against a of Ah Lum and his songs made a few chuckles in a dull club _ table and sang a wilder song than any she had heard him sing: smoking-room and=lightened ‘the atmosphere of a dull dinner- at once a pean and a wail, as of wanderers returning from peril table. Half a dozen’of them made a pilgrimage to the restaurant and encounter; and he swayed his body and*sang as though of Hing Pu; and as the Englishman is always most ready to possessed of the soul of all who come home after long years. help when he’s being amused, it wasn’t long before the tale got _It thrilled her to know that she had been able, by the simple act higher still, and somebody. up there said he reckoned they of “speaking” for him, to move him to this intensity. could work it for the fellow somehow. So they did. Fanny Freyne had been a better missionary S than she knew. From her idle interest, Ah Lum’s sorrow became HE hoped nothing would go wrong with the arrangements. not only known and popular beyond his narrow Causeway: it It would be awful if, somehow, those papers didn’t come, after became a matter of competition among energetic idlers.. It’s she had moved him like this. Under the thrill she had a sudden wonderful how many people you can interest in giving time and fear that perhaps after all they wouldn’t come, and with it a service to a cause if you don’t ask them to give it. Ah Lum picture of Ah Lum when she broke the news to him. He might would never have been sent to the home of peace and color for do something dreadful; you never knew with these foreigners. which he longed if he had gone about begging people to help Or perhaps at the last moment the boat-wouldn’t be able to take him. He didn’t beg. Unknowingly, he borrowed the successful him. Or the papers might not be:in‘order. Or the ship might methods of the publicity agents, and made a song about it, be wrecked on the way out. But it was grtain they would come, anda joke of himself. His guitar and his voice did what the most and everything would be all right, bec@use dad’s boss’s friend hecessitous and pathetic “‘case’’ could never do. had had a Jetter from some office saying they were coming. Oh, Within two months of Fanny’s first word, she arrived one they were sure to come! a: afternoon at Hing Pu’s place in a mild excitement; and when And then the superlative. noise thaty Ah Lum was making 1 Lum had served her with tea, she told’him she had news. brought people torthe tea-room .to inquire the cause of it; and Tbeen working for you. It’s taken a long-time, but I done it. he came swiftly quiet and closed his lips and went about his Guess what I done?”? duties, ignoring all facetious questions. Fanny went out, still Ah Lum smiled and said nothing. wondering what he’d do if it happened that she had promised “You know all them swells that been coming down here lately? him heaven and couldn’t deliver it. Well, I worked that. Now suppose—suppose you was sailing She did deliver it. The papers came, brought by three of the for China next week. Eh? Out of all this fog and slush. To people concerned in the business who hadn’t vet seen the quaint . would China. Eh?” creature whom they had befriended. The quaint creature of the Ah Lum made a long noise like ai-eee and into his eyes came behaved with becoming quaintness. Hing Pu bowed them up- London e far-away look. stairs, and then produced Ah Lum and offered him as though ,, All those flowers you told me about. And sunshine every he were ‘a dish from the kitchen. Ah Lum folded his hands it gave day, And all the old places that you haven’t seen for years. and bowed, and the high-up friend, who was known and dis- though ff ? How'd it be?” tantly respected for his after-dinner (Continued from page 7”

Page 52

G,Phil Ware had passed out of their lives. Yet here was Jean, Tommy’s wife, and she had a man with her and by George, it was Ware! “ of. a WIFE : With a Sense of HEY—meaning Tommy Weld and Mrs. Carlotta Lee—were in one’ of the little booths that flanked the crowded café. The-booth, though it provided precious little privacy, did suggest. a certain intimacy. He realized, therefore, even before: he glimpsed Jean’s charming, audacious profile across the café—and a-full second before it came home to him that Jean also was in a booth and not unescorted—that appearances were - against him. They were apt to be, at times like . this when Tommy, for business reas sons, deemed it judicious that he take to luncheon a feminine client-iné | prospect who happened to be fair and> who, more often than not, was neither’ fat nor forty. Emphatically in the neither fat nor. . forty category fell Carlotta Lee. Yet © even so there was no reason why Tommy should start so guiltily, - _ ° This need of taking fair ladies to * luncheon had all been explained to Jean long since. Tommy was only three “ and-thirty and so had many things yet’ . to learn, but experience had disclosed to him at least one great fundamental truth. That is that the world wilbak . ways believe a man guilty until he has been proven innocent. si “And even then,” Tommy had grinned, “it will still maintain that there was something very funny about the whole business anyway.” a To make the world see clearly. was beyond Tommy. The world must think what it would. But he had felt the need of making Jean understand. This was important, because Jean was his wife. They had been married three years. They had no children. They were like thousands of other young married couples of their caste who be- lieve they should wait until they have plenty of money and so delay until— but this is not a discussion of birth control. ; The point is that as a matter of bus ness Tommy had to make bi attractive to women who were some times attractive themselves and who— though Tommy saw no need of mete tioning that to Jean—were not always averse to being attracted.

Page 53

mmy Weld vere In one- flanked the , though it rivacy, did nacy. He before: he , audacious and a+ full. me to him th and not neces were. times like . siness rea: 1at he take; client-in- be fair and« vas neither’: ner fat nor . Lee. Yet © ason why tily, 743 ladies to ed to Jean nly three “ things yet’ . | disclosed 1damental Id wilkak itil he has nmy had tain that any about early. was rld must e had felt derstand. Jean was ried three n. They er young > who be- hey have y until— of birth r of busi- - himself Tre some- 1d who— of men- t always Illustrations by Cc. C. Beall In that category fell Carlotta Lee. And Tommy jolly well knew it. Nevertheless, he preferred to believe that his interest in her was premised on the fact that she represented a potential commission of three thou- sand dollars. Tommy was a real estate broker, one of the firm of Weld, Hopkins and Adams. A firm which, starting with a shoestring, had, as Tommy pointed out to Jean, really made an enviable record. “We've still got the original shoe- string,” he explained cheerfully. ‘And if we are only a jump and a half ahead of the sheriff, that is more than a lot of real estate brokers can say these In public he sometimes referred to himself as a realtor. In private he told Jean that the term gave him a “That’s because you have a sense of humor,” Jean had assured him. Jean also had a sense of humor. A marvelous one. That was one of the reasons why Tommy had fallen for her so hard and so fast. He hadn’t, until he met her, had the slightest intention of getting married. He had changed his mind overnight. Jean’s mind had proven more difficult. She had been making a go of it as an interior decorator and even if she had been inclined toward marriage, Tommy would still have had to prove that he was the bridegroom elect. There were other men who felt about Jean as Tommy did. Jean hotly denied that she had a’come-hither in her eyes. She had said that what was teally there was, “You. amuse me but I’m busy—please don’t park here.” To that warning men were blind. The blindest were Tommy and a rival known to him as Mr. Ware, but to Jean as Phil. “Pill!” was Tommy’s way of re- ferring to Ware—but, wisely, only to himself. Tommy was a perfectly healthy, Rormal young businessman who Played a rattling good game of golf. vare was an artist who, without wear- ing his hair long, proved to Tommy’s Satisfaction that he was a nut by frankly confessing that such things as Appearances were against Tommy, too. They were apt to be, when Tommy deemed it judicious to take to luncheon a ‘eminine client like Carlotta Le.

Page 54

golf didn’t interest him in the least. Moreover Ware gave studio teas which Jean found charming. “Ugh!” was Tommy’s exclamation at the idea of a studio tea. Yet there was no question but that Ware had made a close race of it. He could, as Tommy realized, talk to Jean about such things as effects and nuances and the work of those high-hat Russians. And he got an awful bulge on Tommy by wanting to do a portrait of Jean. It was about that time that Tommy began to show hollows around his eyes and lose interest in golf, the real estate business and everything else save that which had become an obsession with him. There was no doubt about it, Jean had run him ragged before she finally capitulated. Ware had withdrawn himself from the scene, going to Paris. His wedding gift to Jean had been his portrait of her, a very effective bit of composition. It showed her in profile, with her dimple, and her tawny head against afeather fan. It also showed her arms and shoulders and rather more of her back than Tommy approved of. But he could afford to be magnanimous. “Tt was dear of him,” Jean had said, her gray eyes, usually so direct, a little dimmed. “He really has genius—he’ll be frightfully successful yet!” “It almost does you justice,” Tommy had conceded. So Ware had passed out of their lives—or so Tommy had believed—leaving Tommy and Jean to begin to live happily forever after. For Jean, Tommy had provided a small, smart house near a country club. The house wasn’t half good enough for her, but it was a darn sight more than he could afford. To make good the strain it put on his income he had plunged back into business with ardor. “We're glad you’re not a Turk, Tommy,” Adams had said. “Because if getting additional wives inter- fered with business as much as your initial effort, we'd hate to wait until you complete your harem.” “Oh, Tommy will always be something of a Turk where women are concerned!’ Hopkins had grinned. “They fall for him hard. I’ve been stringing that Macomber woman along until Tommy got back from his honeymoon so that we could turn him and his beaux yeux loose on her. She’s hanging fire on the Bacon place—think you can make up her mind for her, Tommy?” “Let me at her!’ Tommy had said. The Macomber woman happened to be more than forty and very fat. To her Tommy’s sugar-coated salesmanship proved a succession of pleasant little thrills to which she completely succumbed. Tommy, full of his triumph, had been explaining his methods to Jean when suddenly he had stopped short. “You see you can’t handle a woman client the way you do a man,” he had explained, a shade awkwardly. ‘‘They are apt to be more personal. That is, they want more in the way of personal attention and——” There he bogged again. This method of sort of rushing women clients and the desirability of it, as straight business, was one of the little things he had not thought to mention to Jean while he was in pursuit of her. But Jean had understood. “And you have such nice eyes,” she had remarked, with a flash of her dimple. ‘I married you on the strength of them myself—I feel sure that if I were an elderly widow I’d buy a house from you.” For which she had got herself well kissed. After that she had slipped out of the pink cretonne apron she had worn while pre- paring dinner and stood revealed as the Jean of Ware’s portrait. In the same severe black gown, a shade too daring perhaps, but marvelously alluring. They had dressed every evening for dinner then. To Tommy, with Jean opposite him, the thought that she who had been so successful was now preparing his meals for him had been almost unsettling. It was like having Joan of Arc or Mary, Queen of Scots, at work in his kitchen. “The worst of it,”’ he had confessed impulsively, “is that they aren’t always elderly widows by a long shot. Which, so far as appearances go : : 66 G,"You forget, Tommy,” said Jean, Jean’s laughing eyes had met his. ‘Are you afraid I’m going to prove difficult?” she had demanded gaily. ; “T wanted to be sure that you understood that it was—just business.” “I fancy myself a reasonable person,” she had retorted. “And I’m not inclined to be jealous.” Whereupon Tommy had felt he must circle the table to kiss her again. e Dinner is getting cold,” she had reminded him presently. In those days dinner was apt to be cold. But Tommy always ate it gaily and with a clear conscience. Nowadays . . . Well, they had been married three years. They no longer dressed for dinner. Tommy had found that aa ordeal after the day’s grind. Besides, Jean, without definitely going back to her first love, interior decorating, was accepting al occasional commission. At least that was what she had told Tommy. : “T have no genius for housework,” she had said sensibly- Jean was always sensible. ‘My commissions will pay for a mal and it will be better for both of us.” : This Tommy had doubted. The more so after the maid ap- peared. She was no Joan of Arc or Mary, Queen of Scots, his kitchen. She was a low-browed, grim-visaged tyrant with, as Jean told Tommy, the disposition of a feminine Nero. They had been married now three years. They were happy:

Page 55

said Jean, I’m going was—just d. “And to kiss her esently. ny always ree yeals. d that an definitely epting an had told sensibly— or a maid maid ap- Scots, 12 t with, as e happy: CNRS AOE i ae “that married men have been known to kiss—and run. Or at least they were as happy as married people can be. Jean was as attractive as ever, as full of charm. She was a wife any man might be proud of. Tommy was proud of her. If he were free and had to marry some one on the morrow. his choice would have fallen unswervingly upon Jean. *Ses if Tommy had been free and under no com- pulsion to marry anybody—would he still marry Jean on the morrow? Tommy never asked himself that question. He shied off it instinctively. Yet he had the feeling, unauthorized but none the less authentic, that he never should have married anybody. Why? He could not have put it in words. The best that could be said of Tommy was that he had a conscience. Which also sug- gests one reason why he should start guiltily when he caught sight of Jean across the café. Tommy would have denied this. The world, seeing him at luncheon with a particularly attractive woman, might draw cer- tain conclusions. But Jean, of course, would know at once that Carlotta Lee was just one more client. So he would have said. et he was not so sure. Of late he had surprised a speculative, slightly satirical gleam in Jean’s eyes at times. Now, being masculine, Tommy’s secondary ‘emotion at Jean’s Presence was a surge of irritation... What was she doing here? It They aren't immune, you know.”’ came home to him then that Jean was also in a booth. And she had a man with her. Tommy’s first impression was that the chap was unknown to him. A distinguished looking chap. Foreign? Something about him suggested Europe to Tommy. Then memory abruptly gave Tommy a clue. George, if was Ware! “Mercy!” insinuated Carlotta Lee’s indolent, subtly provoca- tive voice. “Whom are you scowling at so?” Tommy’s thoughts came back to her with a wrench. “Scow!- ing?” he protested. “Oh, I say sg “You looked perfectly murderous,” she assured him. Carlotta Lee was a widow. She might, indeed, be considered as still in mourning. The very smart frock she wore was of black, as dusky as her hair, and so was the fur that edged it at throat and wrists. The only touches of life or color were in her rings, of which she wore rather too many, and the two platinum bands that encircled her long ebony cigaret holder. Carlotta—Tommy did-not so call her yet, but he suspected that he would soon—smoked gracefully. And incessantly. They had known each other for less than a fortnight. She had come to Tommy in a business way. She had said he might be able to interest her in a house. Since, she had also given him the impression that he might be able to interest her in other ways. They all,Tommy sometimes remarked, (Continued on page 114) ) Was .it—by

Page 56

do-for him will not make up for the loss of the “blood”. mother. And as a result there develops between you and this child of your soul’s need, a love which no outsider can understand, If only I can make you see the adopted child as I do! I’m going to try to do so by setting down the story of my contact with the Marshall children. I shall conceal real names and places. Other than this, what I tell you is fact. One cold night last year some one rapped on the back door of a house in a little town near New York. Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson, sitting at supper, were in- terrupted by the maid. “There’s a boy at the back door wants to speak to the madam.” “Bring him in,” ordered Mr. Ferguson. Mary pushed Evan toward the table. A neatly dressed boy about ten years old, with a round face, chiefly distinguished by the remarkable size and quality of its freckles, looked soberly up into Mrs. Ferguson’s eyes. “Do you, now,” he stammered, ‘do you, now, maybe—could you want to adopt a boy?” “Huh!” gasped Mrs. Ferguson. “TJ—I see you hadn’t any. I thought maybe you'd like a boy.” “What boy?” snapped Mrs. Ferguson. “Me!” mumbled the caller, blue eyes apologetic. Ferguson grinned. ‘“What’s the matter with your own father and mother?” “‘They’re dead,” replied Evan. ‘The Jamesons, they were going to adopt us both. But they’ve decided they like Giles but they don’t like me. It’s a good home for a kid. Giles, he’s my brother. He’s three years old and awful cute. SoI thought I’d find me a place so maybe they’d keep Giles. I heard Mrs. Jameson say she’d not keep him if she had to take me.” “Why don’t they like you?” asked Mr. Ferguson. Evan fumbled with his cap. “TI guess it’s because I’m bad so much. She says I’m a devil.” Mrs. Ferguson spoke up. “What do ycu do to make her say that?” “Everything,” replied the boy. “I can’t never tell what is going to be bad, can I, till after I’ve done it? Then it always is. And—and I don’t obey very well, either.” “Do you swear?” asked Mrs. Ferguson. “A little,” admitted Evan, obviously de- termined to let the worst be known. “And— and I know some smut, too. And I’m awful careless and disorderly and noisy and lazy. She says I am.” “Well, I declare!”” Mrs. Ferguson ex- claimed. “You have nerve to ask anyone to take you in when you admit all that!” Mr. Ferguson laughed. “Any ten-year- old boy worth his salt is like that. Where'd G.Mrs. Honoré Willste Morrow NLY a few weeks ago a well- known clergyman, speaking to me of a friend who had adopted a child, murmured sadly, “Terrible risk! Terrible! So apt to go bad, these adopted children!” Not that he knew anything whatever about this child in particular or the intricate sociological problem of child adoption in general. But, like nearly everyone else, he had his theory. There is this direct prejudice against the adopted child and there is, just as prevalent, a subtle prejudice that appears whenever an the Jamesons get you, son?” : adopted child is mentioned. wi ee Evan named the child-placing agency in “Oh, you have adopted a child! How whose hands he and his little brother had wonderfully kind of you! I do hope it will G.''A little girl with yellow been placed when poverty and death had turn out well! Don’t do too much for the : aoe. destroyed their home. : : . hair and blue eyes’’—the : ag child. They say adopted children never : “To the Jamesons know what you're up ‘i Pipes nt demand exceeds the supply. i : : appreciate what’s done for them. to?” was Ferguson’s next query. Kindness! Appreciation! Good heavens, “No, sir, but she’d be glad to be rid of me. as if those qualities had anything on earth to do with adoption! And he’d be too. They’re crazy about Giles. He’s awful pretty, You adopt a child because you have none yourself, and your pas- © with yellow hair and blue eyes, and smart too.” sionate love for children is so great that you tale on the job which “How many places have you asked at?” asked Mrs. Ferguson. some mother has failed in. And you are thankful for the oppor- “Four. But nobody wanted me. Will you try me out: tunity. And you do for that child all that your infinite love and “Sonny,” said Mr. Ferguson, ‘‘we can’t interfere with. the your limited wisdom urge..vou to do, haunted alwavs by. the | Jamesons’ business. You'd better make up your mind’ to» thought that fate has been cruel to the child and that all youcan beh we ‘yourself and stop’there. I'll run you back in my car.” 68 o wn. a a ee ee ee es ee ae on oe ee aw i. Boe he |

Page 57

d’’- mother. his child of inderstand, ld as I do! tory of my onceal real I tell you ped on the New York. Tr, Were in- ts to speak on. A neatly h a round rkable size ‘ly up into you, now, y ? ” ht maybe ipologetic, with your sons, they ‘ided they ome for a and awful ey’d keep lim if she sked Mr. guess it’s ays I’m a at do yeu “T can’t d, can I, ilways is. , either.” rguson. ously de- Where'd gency in ther had sath had ou’re up id of me. | pretty, erguson. e out?” nind’® to’« ny car.” By HONORE h : ] d r WILLSIE l e MORROW The next morning Mrs. Jameson telephoned a complaint about Evan’s nefarious conduct to the child-placing agency in New York. : The agency promptly sent a field worker out to investigate. They do a most thorough job, those trained investigators. This one made a written report containing not only the detailed con- yersation I have given above, which she picked up from the Fergusons and their maid, and Evan, but also all that Mr. and Mrs. Jameson and the neighbors had to say. Toe} ints eas a week later I was asked to luncheon by a friend of mine on the child-placing staff, Miss Tower. “You remember Evan and Giles, the two boys you refused to adopt?” she asked. “Ves,” I replied meekly. “Well, this is what happened. A certain Mrs. Jameson has been on our waiting list for a long time. She wanted to adopt a baby boy. As you know, desirable young babies, open for adoption, are not easy to find. After a year of waiting, Mrs. Jameson grew impatient. A day or two after you refused Evan and Giles, she saw the two in my office, fell in love with Giles and agreed to take both boys on trial, since we did not wish to separate them.” “Wait a moment!” I protested. ‘Why make me feel like a criminal? Was I under any moral obligation to take those two icular children?” “No,” replied Miss Tower calmly. “But you never did give mea satisfactory reason for refusing them. You said you wanted but one child, yet you took two after all.” I was goaded to the point of truth telling. ‘The reason I didn’t take them,” I explained, “was because I’m a coward. I hadn’t. the courage to take ona ten-year-old boy.” “Um—yes—I see,” murmured Miss Tower. “But that doesn’t solve Evan’s problem, does it?” I groaned and agreed. Then she told me of Evan’s little pilgrimage. “When we assured Mrs. Jameson,” she ended, “‘that the beloved Giles would grow into a mischievous imp like his brother Evan, she contradicted us flat-footed. No cherub that would re- ceive the training that Giles would receive from her ever could be anything but a cherub. As for Evan—we couldn’t make her see the tragedy of what she’d done to him. She couldn’t see the ir- temediable harm _ that had been done to him. Peddling himself from door to door! Explain- Ing that he’s bad, but hoping with a child’s im- perishable faith in his right to protection that some one would care for him in spite of his badness.” “I think Mrs. Jameson had better let child adoption alone,” I said huskily. “Exactly!” agreed Miss Tower. “Both children are back with us again. And the 2g SA ATENNE OE Ee Fee QThis is an adopted child. What have you got against him? who I knew once had contem- plated adopting a child. However, when I re- minded him of his former interest, he shook his head. “We've given up any idea of taking a child,” he said. “We concluded that the risk was too great. They just don’t turn out well, on the average, these adopted children.” “Perhaps you mean the foster-parents don’t turn out well,” I suggested. “No, I don’t!” persisted John. “I mean that people hzve terrible difficulties with adopted children.” “More than parents have with ‘own’ children?” I asked. “T think so. Do you honestly believe —that the adopted child turns out as well, on the average, as the ‘blood’ child?” aa who try them have got to be as ‘a do,” I replied. 58 then belt much interested in Evan as in Giles.” “T’m open to conviction,” said the broker. They used to be two 9 I looked at him a little helplessly. I wanted Evan’s tragedy sat heavily on my heart. I sas couldn’t aca 4 feeling of responsibility in re- America’s 138,000 orphans. to find something more to quote to him than lation to him, although I knew that the agency figures, for I wanted to make him a convert Was perfectly well able to find a home for him. I talked toa to something more than the general proposition that child humber of my friends about him, particularly to John Warder, adoption is a wise social measure: I (Continued on page 144)

Page 58

i ee our heads up. us simply are not built that way. This is where luck or fate orchancestepsin. Gently and often without reason it taps us on the shoulder and points the right way to success. I, in a humble way, am almost a classic example of this. Whenever life has crowded me the hardest, then luck has treated me the kindliest. So it is that when I find I have made poor decisions and exercised bad judgment, I spend no time lamenting my folly; rather I try to capitalize it. Take “The Crossword Puzzle Books” as an instance. To date the puzzle books have sold nearly a_half- million copies and my share of the royalties has been more than $16,000. And yet if I had had my say I would have killed the whole crossword idea when it was a struggling infant on a newspaper. I tried my best to fling it into oblivion, to mar it utterly and destroy it forever. I hated it as man hates only a few things in this world. But some kind providence wouldn’t let me do it, and as a result I for the first time in my life have money ahead, a home paid for and time to do some of the creative things I have dreamed for years of doing. When luck finally did point out the way, I followed it like a hound on a fresh scent; but left to myself I would have taken the wrong path. As I say, the crossword puzzle is my finest example of how luck steps at the right moment into a man’s 70 By PROSPER OMEHOW chance or fate or luck, or whatever you want to call this strange providence, has a way of evening things up for the man of poor judgment. If it were not for that, there would be a lot of us ordinary human beings who would never be able to hold Now no one has more admiration than I for the man who can take this bull of life by the horns and force it where and when he wishes—I mean the man who forges straight ahead and who is always one hundred percent right in his decisions. But some of We flounder about in the bog of existence, eternally tak- ing the wrong path that leads into deeper and deeper swamps. Been a o6l Yar Luck cAnd—Among Other Things—I Made $16,000 From the Crossword Puzzle Craze BURANELLI life; but always, it seems to me, this same luck has had to help me over the rough places.. I wonder, if most successful men were really honest, whether they would not acknowledge quite frankly that their own endeavors have only partly accounted for their good fortunes. Certainly my own little success has been reached only partly by my own steering. For years I struggled around New York trying to find out what I really wanted to do, and then to find the opportunity to doit, Always my own judgment seemed to be worthless, and then in the nick of time luck would step in and somehow or other the @,Prosper Buranelli problem would be solved. For three years aiter I first came to New York from Texas I labored at music. Somehow it didn’t occur to me to try the usual thing and go toa music school and study, and anyway I didn’t have the money for it. Instead, I en- visaged the project of arising to new systems of tunes and chords through pure mathe- matics. I read through many books of harmony, counterpoint, orchestration, geometry, trig- onometry and algebra, and without any delay began to compose revolutionary masterpieces. I covered sheets of music paper with notes—operas, symphonies, sonatas, symphonic poems, masses, cantatas, fugues and divers minor pieces, all of which, a trunk full, disap- peared later when water got into the cellar where they were stored. Certainly, with this occupation as my sole means of support, I might have been expected to die of starvation and exposure, and yet it provided me most amply with food, drink and shelter. Through a friend of mine, Bob Ament, who was at that time an artist on the New York World, I met a young musician, Carlo Edwards, who was just back from Italy, where he had gradu- ated from the Milan Con- servatory. Edwards asked me to share his studio with him and as well gave me free lessons in harmony. After 4 little diligent study I realized that after all music was not my career. Undecided and unan- chored at this time, I found that (Continued on page 193) a i ee ~—_ (hh weet Mee PSR ee ae

Page 59

had to essful pe ledge quite - accounted ss has been 1d out what ity to doit. ind then in r other the om Texas I Somehow > me to try nd go toa study, and t have the ure mathe- nany books unterpoint, metry, trig- gebra, and lay began volutionary [I covered paper with ymphonies, nic poems, fugues and ces, all of full, disap- water got vhere they ainly, with is my sole t, I might ted to die | exposure, d me most drink and id of mine, vas at that 1 the New st a young Edwards, yack from iad gradu- lilan Con- rds asked tudio with ve me free y. After a I realized ic was not 1d unan- e, I found 1 page 193) ran OVE, a poet once said, is like a forest fire, consuming all in its path. But it also resembles a forest fire in another way: you never know when it’s out. You may trample on it, quench it with the waters of disillusion, smother it with the dirt and stones of contempt, and yet, underground, it’s eating its way toward the sunlight again. Love was absolutely dead between the Hutchinses. But there Were certain convenances to be observed, and Doris Hutchins’s lips curled as she noted who was her husband’s luncheon com- panion at the Blenmore. Well, at least he had the decency to turn his head, and his woman vis-d-vis had the grace to color slightly. _ Doris, glancing upward at her escort, read the quick sympathy in his eyes. “Doris,” said Bert Maillard, “you don’t need to endure this any longer.” She sank into the seat which the maitre d’hétel drew out for her; she arranged her wrap gracefully over the back of her chair; its white fur looked well against the sleek black of her head. She Permitted Maillard to order. Then, when the waiter had de- parted, she replied to his remark. I won’t pretend to misunderstand you, Bert,” she said. “But does it occur to you that Jim might object to my presence here By Arthur Somers au, oche Illustrations by W. E. Heitland + Q.'Your kusbend isn’t in love with you, Doris,’’ said Maillard. “Will you divorce him and marry me?” lhe tchins ivorce with you just as much as I object to his presence with Laura Waring?” “There’s a difference, Doris,” argued Maillard. “After all, Laura Waring has recently been through a pretty scandalous divorce. She’s thoroughly déclassée. It’s rather brazen of Hutchins to bring her. Not that I want to criticize—it isn’t the decent thing. Oh, hang it, Doris, I can’t stick to a lot of story- book rules about what a man must or mustn’t do! I’m in love with you. Your husband evidently isn’t in love with you. Will you divorce him and marry me? I’ve wanted to ask you—for ever so long, Doris. But—but—well, I was afraid—you might resent. Tell me, Doris.” “Ill divorce him and marry you,” she said. That evening, after coffee had been served and the servants had left the living-room, Doris came directly to the point. “Jim, we aren’t doing very well, are we?” He colored. “I suppose you saw me with Laura Waring. That it?” “That—and other things, Jim. And Bert Maillard asked me to marry him.” Her husband laughed loudly. “This is a raw age we live in,” he declared. married women to marry them——” ? “Men ask 71

Page 60

72 “Why not? Bert knows that we aren’t married. We live in the same house, but—you go your way——” ps “And you’ve begun stepping out in your own private direction, eh? Well, better to be frank and honest than-beat around the bush. I'll do whatever you say, Doris.” “T knew you’d be decent about it, Jim,” she said. Laura? You'll marry her?” He shrugged his shoulders. “‘I’ll get along, my dear. But— not that this implies anything about my prospective. marriage —Laura was innocent. Waring is a pup, had her framed.” “T’m glad of that,” she said. ‘Well, I’ll leave the details to you, Jim.” “You trust me, eh?” he asked. ‘Why not?” she countered. His ordinarily florid face grew redder; the flush spread from his firm chin with the cleft—how often had she kissed that over- grown dimple, as she used to call it?7—to where the blond hair waved above his broad forehead. “Well, considering that I’ve done you dirt—you think so, anyway—it just shows what a good sport you are to leave matters to me.” She shrugged. The movement released a trifle of the lacy stuff over her shoulders, and he could see a faint hollow at the base of one. How often had he kissed her there? “And— “c > we haven’t done each other dirt. Because we make a lot of ridiculous promises in the first flush of love, are we to be held to them forever? I don’t consider that you’ve been shabby tome. Any more than I think I’ve been shabby to you. We’ve had our li‘. and love together; they’re worn out—that’s all. Why be melodramatic and emotional when we don’t feel that way?” “You love Maillard?” he inquired.. “T’m not asking you if you Jove Laura,” she retorted. ‘What business is it of mine what you do? What affair is it of yours what I do? Let’s get the divorce decently over and—want to shake hands, Jimmy?” He whitened. “‘Hang it, Doris, it’s a pity that we couldn’t— that we didn’t——” “Spilled milk can’t be gathered up,” she laughed. “You’re a good sort, Jim. I hope I’m a good sort, too. Better that we separate with smiles than divide fighting. How about Junior?” “Sort of tough on him,” said Hutchins. “Still, half the chil- dren he plays with have new mamas and papas every year or so. He’ll understand. We divide him, I suppose.” Doris’s sensitive mouth trembled. “I wouldn’t be mean enough to suggest anything else, and I knew that you wouldn’t. And—and Jim!” ‘“‘Yes, old thing,” he encouraged her as she hesitated. “Junior will never know—from anything I say—that you aren’t—well, a hundred aces and a grand slam.” “Good girl!” he told her. “And—well, the same kind of scoring will. be done by me. You knew that, didn’t you?” “Certainly!” she exclaimed, almost with indignation. “Lord, because we aren’t silly over each other any longer, we don’t have to be petty, or forget each other’s decencies. Jim—now that we’re through—you’ve been a pretty good boy. Sorry if: I’ve done anything that grated.” “I’m the champion grater-of the world, Doris,” he laughed. “No, we’ve avoided trying to fix the blame. There isn’t any. Old Cupid just walked out on us. Happy days, Doris.” “T hope you break par every time you step out, Jim,” she said. That was that. Jim lifted his liqueur glass to her; she re- sponded by raising her own glass to her lips. She drifted over to the piano and began lightly touching the keys. When she looked around a bit later, Jim had gone. She went up-stairs, slipped into a dressing-gown, and before the open fire in her bedroom alternately read and dozed. She wondered what it would be like, being married to Maillard. A gentleman, Maillard. All right in every way. She liked him. She was ford of him. But she didn’t Jove him. Well, a woman mustn’t expect too much of life. She’d loved one man, and—it was over. The best she could hope for after this would be congeniality, understanding . . . What a mess one made of life! Or “sat a mess life made of one! The same thing; it didn’t matter how one phrased it . . . Mignonne, her maid, awakened her from her doze. The maid was screaming, hysterical, and Doris had to shake her violently before the woman became coherent. Fire—the upper floor was ablaze, and Junior—— The maid was brushed aside in Doris’s mad rush for the door. Already ~The Hutchins Divorce the corridor outside“hér room, a floor below the nursery, was filled-with smoke. Novuse to cry for help. She had let all the servants save Mignonne go out tonight. And Mignonne wag helpless, a victim of hysteria. Doris steadied herself against the wall. She was Junior’s only hope. But she must be cool, steady. Already a downward draft was sucking smoke along this floor and her lungs were burning . . .. People put wet cloths over their faces . . . She raced back into her own room, got a towel from the bathroom, soaked it in the jet from a faucet, and placing it before her mouth and nostrils, emerged from her room again, Sight was useless. But how many times, in the night, had she slipped up to Junior’s room, to feel if he were warm, to listen to his breathing, to pat him gently . . . Two strides. She felt the bannister leading up-stairs. She could hear a crackling sound, and the smoke was less opaque; a fed glare from above illumined the stairway. And her little boy, Junior, her son, was in those flames . . . She felt a tongue of flame sear her shoulder, and glancing down she saw that her dressing-gown had seemed to melt away from her. But she.was in the hall above now, and she could hear Junior’s frightened cries. She was in his room, had her arms about him, felt his convulsive clutch. It should be easier to descend than it had been to ascend. Why did her steps lag? Why did it seem that some great monster was sitting on her chest, that his arms were about her throat, that he was breathing flame into her‘mouth? . ... She came out of hell itself, escaped the clutches of a thousand demons who were torturing her, to meet the grave eyes of Doctor Hamells, the physician who had attended her since childhood, who had brought Junior into the world, who had guided Jim through the flu in 1918. : “All right?” he asked. : She sat up, ignoring the searing pain in her right shoulder; a nausea made her head swim, but she would not yield to it. “Junior!”’ she cried. Hamells pressed her gently back upon the pillows; she found that she was in bed, ina strange room. Terror overwhelmed her. “Junior!”’ she cried again. Hamells patted her hand. ‘‘He’s all right, Doris. asleep in the next room—Mrrs. Prentiss put him to bed.” “T want to see him,” she cried, unbelieving. Sound |g shrugged, walked to the door and gave an order. A white-capped nurse appeared in a moment; Junior was sleeping in her arms; he only muttered a petulant incoherency as Doris kissed him. In the doorway stood Marjorie Prentiss, a neighbor. She kissed a hand to Doris, took Junior from the nurse and disappeared. Well, darned decent of Marjorie to take her and Junior in. She supposed Jim would be coming in any moment now, and she prayed that no silly spectator of the fire would fill him with alarm, that he’d get no false report about herself and Junior. Suddenly she remembered their joint decision. Well, what of it? Because Jim had ceased to love her didn’t mean that he would view danger to her with equanimity. She beckoned feebly to Doctor Hamells. He came near the bedside. “Some one ought to meet Jim—tell him we're all right.” The doctor nodded reassuringly. ‘He knows, Doris. Better take a little sip of this.” She drank “this” and shortly fell asleep. Hours later she awoke. Beyond a pain in her right shoulder and a faint nausea, she was all right; she’d escaped, so the doctor told her, miraculously. But sleep had cleared the fog away from memory. She re- membered getting Junior, snatching him from the burning room, but—that was all. “How did I get down-stairs?”’ she demanded of the doctor. “Haven’t you been a bit surprised that Jim hasn’t been in to see you?”’ he countered. She crimsoned. Then she gasped, and clutched at her bosom. “Jim didn’t—he isn’t ae “He’s all right,” said Hamells. ‘‘Only—not able to be out and around. He came back to the house, went up-stairs, brought you both down, and—well, he was pretty badly burned, Doris. The tears leaped to her eyes. “And I’d begun to think that just be-because we—don’t l-love each other—he’d been ignoring me—didn’t care——” ee Doctor Hamells, wise and old in the ‘ways of husbands and. wives, smiled down at her. “How do you know you don’t love See orc Secocerp> Seo 2 Ln 4 zs.

Page 61

ould hear her arms ond. Why monster roat, that thousand 3 sleeping as Doris neighbor. urse and unior in. , and she him with d Junior. hat of it? he would near the t= . Better ignoring inds and Ke on’t love @,"‘No, we've avoided trying to fix the blame,’’ said Jim. ‘'There isn’t any. Old Cupid just walked out on us. Happy days, Doris.”’ each other?” he asked. ‘He cared enough to risk his life for you and Junior. You look pretty worried now about him.” She patted the hand of the physician, then turned her head away and pretended to sleep. How could she tell Doctor Hamells, who’d known and loved her so long, that not even Jim’s rescue of herself and Junior could affect their marital relations? A single act didn’t make people drift apart, so why should a single act, even one of grandeur, bring them together again? It took time for people to drift apart; the effects of time could not be counteracted by a moment. It was the next day before Hamells permitted her to rise from bed, and another day before he would let her go to the hospital tosee Jim. And when she entered the room where her husband 4Y,a cry of pity was torn from her lips. His face, thank God, was unmarred. But his hands and arms Were swathed in bandages, and she knew without being told that the rest of his body was equally confined. She sat down beside him and gently stroked his forehead. How hot and dry it was; how madly the pulse in his temples raced! For a while neither spoke. Then, gently, she told him how brave he was. He grinned gallantly up at her. ‘Brave yourself, old dear,” he said. “If you hadn’t got Junior to the door of his room, I’d never have got him—or you. The floor had caved in before I got there, and—brave? You’re my wife—Junior’s my child. God help me, I’d be a poor man not to do what you were willing to do.” The same old gallant Jim, always deprecating his decencies, his fineness . . . Why on earth didn’t she love him? She ought to love him. He was worthy of her love. Suppose he did flirt with Laura Waring. Hadn’t she flirted more than a trifle with Bert Maillard? Oh, if there were only some bridge to cross whereby they might be reunited! He seemed to read her thoughts. He (Continued on page 158) 3

Page 62

Illustrations by L. F. Wilford HIS tale I tell has to do with the eternal gift of a woman’s love. Also it has to do with that very fragile thing—the heart of man. Now I can’t remember when Tad Grosvener first came to Taos, nor even the first time that he visited my studio. You see, tourists are constantly coming to Taos either to see the artists or to try their own hands at painting. They’re a nuisance, Lord knows, and should be prohibited, since most of us came to Taos to be alone with our tubes and brushes, and not to explain to casual Boston spinsters that the purple object in the right fore- round isn’t a really truly cow. When Tad first came to the studio, I may have been painting Paquita. Paquita and her pueblo get-up. I’ve been painting her in my desultory way, making vagrant studies of her, ever since Don Felipe, her father, first brought Paquita to see me. And at that time she was barely six yearsold. For Paquita is half Pueblo Indian and half Spanish. Her grandfather is governor of the Summer clan in the pueblo just outside of Taos. On her mother’s side she traces back to the mighty Thunder Bird to whom the cliff-dwellers burned prayer sticks even before the pyramids were are Men say that from Don Felipe, Paquita’s veins hold the 4 of The ueblos eA Love of Old New blood of those proud conqguistadores of old Spain. And Paquita, you see, is rather proud of all this. I helped a little, I think, in her education. It was an informal education, at best. The padres in Taos taught her for a few years; then she went toa| Spanish seminary in Sante Fé. At seventeen she te turned to her beloved Taos, speaking fair English and perfect Spanish, and herself more beautiful than the dawn. Then after her father, the courtly Spanish Don, disappeared, as he did one night between sun-. set and morning, Paquita became an almost daily visitor to my studio. So, as I say, between paintings of deserts and pueblos and heart-breaking attempts to put some of the colorful glories of the Southwest on canvas, I made a number of studies of Paquita. For one thing, she was in and out the studio likes butterfly, chattering to me in English and Spanish, scolding my Indian housekeeper, bringing a world of sunlight into the life of a middle-aged dauber in colors. : Of course, at seventeen Paquita should have been married. A Spanish rancher on the Pecos affirmed this in a very substantial way. Any number of young bloods at the pueblo had assured het mother of the necessity. Meanwhile the mother said nothing, but seemed in nowise displeased that the middle-aged Pecos rancher was keeping the road dusty between his hacienda the pueblo. Well, she couldn’t have been entirely insensible to the advantages of a marriage with a wealthy Spanish rancher, and Rodriguez possessed many pesos. But Paquita wasn’t ready. a “TI do not love him, amigo,” she said to me one day. “Isit not right that I should wait for him who is to come? Did you net wait for her whose picture is behind that curtain?” I smiled. ‘Too long, perhaps.” “But one must wait for love to come, old. friend.”

Page 63

Love New old Spain. all this. cation. It > padres in > went toa| een she re-' ir English utiful than ‘ly Spanish | tween sun-| most daily eserts and he colorful of studies udio like a solding my to the life arried. A substantial issured her d nothing, ged Pecos ‘ienda and sensible to 1 ranchero, “Ts it not id you not “Yes, I suppose that one must wait,” I answered. She touched my hand. ‘There, I knew you would say lam right. Muy bien. I shall wait.” Radiant, care-free Paquita—the gods too were waiting. ‘ Then Tad came. A boy trying to be a writer of stories. I read a few. Some were good, some bad, like my pictures, I suppose, but he had the gift of youth and the ardor of youth, and it wasn’t long before Tad had adopted my studio and me. All through the morn- ings, while I painted, he would curl his long legs around my table and scribble his yarns. Now, there was nothing exceptional about Tad Grosvener. Behind him lay only the usual story of many well- to-do Eastern boys. Born to a certain station, graduating at the usual schools and entering the usual professions. And the fact that the name he bore was a very old and important name doesn’t alter the fact that he was just a clean, likable boy. So later when I felt inclined to blame him for what followed, I had more than once to remind myself of all this. His mother—‘the General,” he called her—had engineered his life along well-worn grooves, and Tad himself, I suspect, was 4 product of the General’s will much more than he knew. Heaven knows how he stumbled on Taos. It doesn’t matter. These things, being fate, never matter. Enough that the gods had de- cided Tad was to come and find Paquita sitting in my studio with the ceremonial robes of the pueblos on her shoulders, and the desert sunlight in her hair. Two young, healthy people had come face to face, and of course the inevitable happened. Their disparate lives, I suppose, only made them more attractive to each other. Tad stayed on. His mother—the General—was in Onolulu. So it came as no sudden surprise to me when toward the end of a golden afternoon a month later Paquita laid aside her tribal regalia and perched on the desk beside me. G,''All my life, I carried in my heart a dream,”’ Paquita told Tad’s mother, ‘‘un- til Tad came and my dream was real.’? ’ “Anciano,” she began a little uncertainly. Now anciano is a pet name of Paquita’s forme. It means ‘‘old one,” and I suppose in the light of her seventeen years I seem the contemporary of the cliff-dweller. “Anciano, I think I am in love with your Americano,” she said. Tad crouched low over his scribbling. Eastern cheeks grow pinker. Paquita sighed. “And you are not finding love what you thought it to be?” “Si. It is more wonderful than all my dreams. Yet I wonder and ama little afraid. Tell me, how is one to say what the future 75 I could see his pink

Page 64

76 will be? He is Americano. Iam a daughter of Spain and of the pueblo. How can I tell if all these things hold good omens?” “There is no way. One simply goes on—hoping the omens will be good.” “And I have prayed to both Our Lady of the padres, and to Manitou of my mother’s people.” “That is well.” And I said it without a smile. Then I told them part of a tale which is nobody’s business, but which has to do with a middle-aged painter who once let love slip by. “And I think, Paquita mia,’ I ended, “‘it is better to reach out and seize love when it comes rather than harden one’s heart against it for fear of the days to come. Yes, even though some- times, Paquita, love breaks the heart. For somehow I suspect that a broken heart is a better companion than a heart that is dust-covered and bitter with too much prudence.” Tad had laid down his pencil and stood before me. He looked very young and very resolute standing there with the wonder of love and of love’s protectiveness upon him. “She will always have me, you know,” he said, “‘whatever that may be worth. She’llhave me. For I want my life to be a service to her happiness. And I want her happiness more than life.” Yes, Tad meant it all. Then. You see, he was young, and Paquita very lovely. So Paquita’s mother pocketed her dreams of Rodriguez, the Spanish rancher, and shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘Madre de Dios,” she said, “‘if they will, they will.”” She had much of the world’s wisdom, that woman of the pueblos. And all this probably accounts for the fact that one fine day Tad’s mother, far off in Honolulu, received a closely written letter devoted largely to cataloging the virtues of one Paquita, and ending by asking the parental blessing and consent. And the General, after carefully reading the letter twice, tore it very slowly into tiny bits and smiled with lips that did not seem _ particularly mirthful. All of us in the artists’ colony held fiesta at the wedding. And the cere- mony, because of Pa- quita’s wish, followed the custom of her mother’s people. For they were made one in accordance with the corn rite—that oldest of all rites whose symbolism stretches back beyond the infancy of Christianity. Back even into the fading legends of the prehistoric cliff people. Perhaps it would have been better had the padre married them. I felt that at the time and said so, but Paquita smiled and tossed her head. “Tt will please my mother’s people, who are more my people than the men of Spain, anciano. Besides”—then she fell to plucking at the petals of a flower—‘‘besides, dear friend, why should we seek to tie the knot more tightly? If later love dies, why should we stay together? And if love does not die, then, amigo, any knot at all will be enough.” Which was good philosophy, of course, but like much good philosophy doesn’t always work out. The Indians of the Summer clan built the pair an adobe house on the outskirts of Taos, and from the patio one could see the sun rise over the Sangre de Cristos. Here Tad wrote his stories and Paquita kept house, and both wondered how Paradise could offer anything more desirable. Well, as a matter of fact, Paradise couldn’t, except in the matter of permanence, and here they knew six months.of perfect -happiness. Which is something the gods Madonna of the Pueblos do not give to all of us. So when Tad came down to my studi one morning with a face that no bridegroom should wear it wasn’t any great surprise to learn that the General had returned from Honolulu. “She’s pretty angry,” he said, opening a tightly folded tele. gram. “Calls my marriage a comic opera affair. Says I am to meet her in three days at Lamy and go back to New York. Nothing is said about Paquita. Besides, Paquita wouldn’t go.” y he was beginning to suspect that life is a bit more complex than was biologically intended. “And the question is ” T began. “Whether I'll go? Whether I’ll leave Paquita—that’s what you’re thinking, anciano? No, I’ll never leave Paquita. I don’t know how I'll live if the General cuts me off, and she probably will, all right. I’ve been thinking about that all the morning, It’s absurd, but you know I’ve never been taught to earn a penny, Always I’ve been taught to spend, and to take my prepared place in the world—never a word of money or how one gets it. And now I may have to go out and dig irrigation ditches—why, anciano, I don’t even know how to dig ditches! I think I’m the most ignorant man in New Mexico—but I’ll dig ditches with my bare hands before I’ll leave Paquita.” That was well done. I knew what it must have meant, too, Paquita, of course, couldn’t know—quite. She hadn’t been edu- cated up to the refined tortures that civilization has developed for itself. : “T had wanted the General to know and to love Paquita,” he went on, “for she can’t help loving her, but this will make it harder. Out here it’s all different. Paquita’s different, but the General has her own ideas of family and place and duty—you know, you’re from the East.” Now, I don’t like to be reminded of that. I’ve tried to outgrow it, Lord knows, so I answered testily that the best way to show the General the light would be to have her come to Taos. Tad nodded. ‘I am going to meet her at Lamy,” he said as we stood in the driveway, ‘‘and bring her up—if she’ll come.” % “What does Paquita say?” ee He flushed a little. ‘To tell the truth, . 7 Ihaven’t told her. What good would it x} ~=— do?” I shrugged my shoulders. What good indeed?—yet I wondered if the time wasn’t hastening when she would have to be told. Also, I found myself wishing Tad had more of that sterner stuff for which his ancestors had been famous. He’d need it all when he met the foe at Lamy. But Tad didn’t meet the General at Lamy. Instead, the day before he was to go down, a machine stopped outside my studio. The chauffeur was a product of the West, I could see that. The passenger was unmistakably an Easterner of the un- reconstructed variety. Even before she spoke to me, I had sensed the presence of the General. And since one can’t dire a stranger anywhere through the minia- ture labyrinth that is Taos, I transferred her to my car and together we drove to Tad’s bungalow. : The meeting wasn’t exactly effusive and I, sensing the storm, prepared to get @,Of course, at away, but Tad held me. The General too seventeen Paquita _ raised a detaining hand. should have “As an old friend of Tad’s,” I remem- been married. ber her saying, “and as one who must know the customs of these queer Peo ple, you will be very helpful to us~ you’ll—stay, won’t you?” : I stayed. Yes, and before that unbelievable conversation was over I wanted to break things. Paquita wasn’t there. I was rather glad of that. 3 Solemn as gophers, we all sat down within the little patio. We were waiting for the General to begin. She cleared her Se ee Ne a wel pote

Page 65

my studio 1 wear, it d returned ded tele. Ss Tam to lew Vork, idn’t go,” € complex 1at’s what .. I don’t - probably ' Morning, n a penny, ared place sit. And hes—why, ik I’m the s with my eant, too, been edu- developed juita,” he 1] make it t, but the the truth, | would it That good the time eneral at he was to itside my roduct of - passenger of the un- efore she -esence of n’t direct he minia- ansferred drove to - effusive ed to get ‘neral too I remem- sho must leer peo to us— ition was The day Tad left, a very lone- ly Paquita halted at my studio. looked at her son, and her first attack con- vinced me that she had fairly earned her title. “Tad, what the devil do you mean by the succession of absurdities that have blighted my past month?” “Tf you mean——”’ “You know perfectly well what I mean.” She turned toward me. “Has this younger generation lost the power of direct speech, or is. their attitude of imbecility reserved especially for their parents?’ Then she turned to Tad again. The Woman evidently never intended that any of her questions should be answered. “I can understand any boy of your age making an ass of himself, but not to the fantastic extent of taking an Indian mistress. h, don’t sputter, let’s spare our- selves the melodrama! Be like your “1 friend here, Tad, philosophic.” ae Philosophic, my dear lady,” I Managed to reply, “since I have N observing that the ability to a @Her voice, as she sang those debonair songs of Spain, wasn’t exactly gay. Tad added, ‘“Paquita is my wife, mother.” “God Lord, you mean you married her?” “Ves—I told you that, I think.” “You wrote me some balderdash, I remember, about a ceremony with ears of corn.” ‘““A ceremony, madam,” I observed, “that has served for the past couple of thousand years to unite people at least as permanently as our own incantations.” She looked at me a full moment, then gave a brief chuckle. “I think I shall like you, my friend.” I bowed. I doubted it myself. Then to Tad again: ‘“Let’s not fence any more, boy. You’ve con- tracted some kind of alliance with one of these savages. Well and good. I can’t congratulate you, but neither shall I take the trouble to.condemn you. It’s the future that counts. », I was Make an ass of one’s self is not confined to one’s children. It’s Naturally, I can't entertain the preposterous idea of your staying : true I haven’t kept in touch with the intensive culture of the East here or of your introducing a red savage as your wife to the itio. We of a couple of decades, but I’m wondering just when the.dis- people whocount. The only question, Tad, is—how difficult are throat, tinction between wife and mistress was entirely obliterated.’ you going to make it for me? Your friend, (Continued on page 49) 7

Page 66

a When George Ad Ade’s name spread threshold. It seems to be a © Prown Bros. Sinclair Lewis—one of his best friends in New York is a barber. HERE is a notion that when most people achieve that evanescent quality called fame they become as stiff and formal as a guest towel in the bathroom. They are suddenly lifted above the herd and a pack of slightly sneering “I-knew-him-whens” yip at their heels to puncture the first ballooning of the divine affiatus. New York is a sort of parade ground for celebri- ties. They either live or come here at frequent intervals. Thus we have a shooting gallery view of what are supposed to be dangling egos. The lionized playwright of the hour is prob- ably the reporter on a hotel run of yesterday. The best selling novelist may have been cutting his own hair in a Greenwich Village attic last year. The stage star of the moment often leaps from the glove counter to spotlight honors at a single bound. Fame seems to have a way of sneaking upon its victim suddenly. The ascent from the hall bed- room to the | :xurious hotel suite is often accom- plished overnight. This sudden elevation would more than likely leave most of us dizzy. Yet somehow the majority of our celebrities land on their feet. Their hats fit them still. It is the ambitious and ofttime unworthy strug- gler who seeks the glare of publicity; the man who has arrived shies from it. Many hide their light with an incognito, and dodging reporters is a part of their lives. The simplest, most unaffected men I know are those who have won eminence in their various fields of endeavor. It strikes me most of them shrink to the corners, wondering what it is all about. And if they are routed out it is to the accompaniment of furious blushes. The newspaper first page has rung with the daring Arctic explorations of Vilhjalmur Stefansson. His life is pitched mostly in the dreary waste of Arctic ice, but when he returns to New York’s GJohn McCormack Hogg he hides away in a top floor —a shy man ina at in inconspicuous Barrow Street in . . Greenwich Village. When a census taker public gathering. once called he gave his occupation as “a traveling man.” 78 of thick heavy dishes By O. 0, mous e comes to town from the peace- ful seclusion of his farm at Brook, Indiana, he js usually accompanied by his friend and companion of many jaunts, Ort Wells, but you seldom fing on the hotel register. Instead you find: “Ort Wells and man-servant.”’ Perhaps the busiest yet most approachable man in Gotham is Will H. Hays. There are no “in cop. ferences” or other high-falutin bunk outside his _ He sees every man or woman who calls on him if it is humanly possible. predominant trait of celebrities to be vitally interested in their fellow -humans— especially old friends. The approval of their home town has a tremendous appeal. A two-line recognition in the Shady Landing Weekly Gazette means more than a metropolitan Sunday page feature. About the only clippings Irvin Cobb preserves are those from the local press in Paducah, Kentucky. Almost the first per- son Sinclair Lewis Jooks up when he drops in from Europe is the first baseman of the old Sauk Center, Wisconsin, baseball team. He is a barber in the Grand Central. Kathleen Norris is the target for. women’s club luncheons. She is a forceful speaker and a brilliant conversationalist, yet in most of her leisure hours in New York she will be found mounting rickety tenement stairs to see old Mrs. McCarthy who is down with rheumatism or a_ brood recently orphaned by a building blast. Irving Berlin went from Nigger Mike’s Chinatown joint to mil lions in rattetat jazz. Yet he paid weekly visits to “Chuck” Conners until that picturesque character passed from earthly view. In the rabbit-like warrens of Chinatown, Berlin is ple to be remembered as “Little Izzy Baline.” : It is a common accusation when a man has gone to big things to say he has “a swell head.” If he dines at the Ritz there are those who remember —ha, ha—his favorite slot at the Automat. And yet a few days ago among those I saw dining in Beefsteak Charlie’s humble little eatery of Broadway were Peter B. Kyne, Arthur Hopkins, John J. Me Graw, S. Jay Kauiman an Gilbert White. “= They were not pecking birdlike at paté de foie gras on huge silver platters. They were consuming steak and onions and Irish stew, and jazz behind fronded palmshad given way to the lively clatter

Page 67

. @, US n the peace. diana, he is companion seldom find oT. Instead chable man no “in con- outside his alls on him f celebrities ’ -humans— their home ous appeal, ion in the kly Gazette 1etropolitan ypings Irvin those from Paducah, he first per- ks up when rope is the > old Sauk seball team. the Grand the target luncheons. aker and a list, yet in urs in New 1 mounting s to see old > is down - a brood a building rom Nigger int to mil- . Yet he » “Chuck” victuresque m_ earthly ke warrens is pleased Little Izzy accusation ne to big “a swelled t the Ritz remember te slot at go among Beefsteak eatery off B. Kyne, n J. Me man and ng birdlike 1uge silver consuming lrish stew, palms ly clatter Melntyre olks Big men worth while are proud of their early environment. The favored possession of Charles M. Schwab at his Riverside Drive mansion is the statue of the iron puddler—symbolic of his humble be- iming—that dots the expansive lawn. John McE. Bowman, who now owns a thicket of giant metropolitan hotels, was once a riding in- structor and millions have not snuffed out his love for horse flesh. He takes in the spring trotting- meets of county fairs. Roy W. Howard used to be a newsboy in Indian- lis. He now owns a chain of newspapers, one of which is in his home town. When he returns to Indianapolis his favorite walk is over his old news- paper route, for some of his happiest days were spent there. I should imagine that one of Webster’s “thrills that come once in a lifetime” would be for Howard to pass his own newspaper over the old route. Kin Hubbard, the genial Abe Martin,and Meredith Nicholson, the novelist, both of Indian- apolis, attend corn-shuck- ings at the crossroad _ vil- lages each year and de- light in organizing barber shop quartettes. John Ringling, the circus man, has a town named for him in Montana. On his first visit there the community had pre- pared a big celebra- tion. He hid in a hotel until a delega- tion finally dragged him out. Charlie Chaplin when he comes to New York eats at a solitary table in a far- away corner of a cer- tain grill. When he de- parts in his quick mignon way he scurries from post to post like a frightened rabbit. | Two of Edna Ferber’s closest companions in New York are work- ing girls—one a clerk in a radio shop and the other in a classified ad de- partment of a newspaper. Some of Miss Ferber’s happiest hours are spent in their boarding-house room cooking a dinner over a gas-stove. Many of her short stories have glorified Betty and Babe. The shyest fellow in captivity is “Tad,” the cartoonist, save among his intimates. Jim Corbett once called him before an assemblage at Great Neck and it is recorded that he fainted, revived and ran. _ Those who have risen to fame almost invariably turn to the simpler amusements. Channing Po!lock made a fortune writing Plays for Broadway, but he never mingles among the back- patters. He does not even attend his first nights, for he has found his greatest pleasure in the pipe and book. Frank Phillips is a millionaire oil man. He began life as the Proprietor of a barber shop and is proud of it. When he tires of the Toaring cockpit of Wall Street he returns to his home town in ebraska and loafs about the barber shop—usually making the P in a private car. Paul Whiteman, the orchestra leader, and Marshall Nielan, (Paul Whiteman, who still retains his license as a taxicab drives. © Brown Bros. G.Charles M. Schwab is proud of his early environment. the movie director, were once taxicab drivers in Los Angeles. They still retain their public licenses. Both are never so happy as when they are under a car tinkering with its vitals. John McCormack, the tenor, has hobnob- bed with royalty and received the world’s acclaim. He is almost as shy as ‘‘Tad’’ at any public gathering —a replica of the fifteen- year-old adolescent who feels he is all hands and ankles. McCormack spends his off hours on his farm at Noroton, Connecticut, digging post holes. Because of Ring Lardner’s deft exposé of conversational common- places, strangers often expect his talk to crackle with brilliancy. Then they find Lardner won’t talk among strangers at all. In any gathering he is as dumb as the oyster. It isn’t that he doesn’t like to talk, but here is a man whose thoughts are translated into seven languages who actually believes he has nothing important to say. New York, of course, has its show-offs who have achieved little and claimed much. They are constantly on display in public dining-rooms for the enraptured gaze of the yokelry, but the real celebrity is rarely seen in public. Celebrities realize they are just common clay—even as you and I. They do not enjoy a pedestal, for most of them are more conscious than we suspect of just how fleeting fame is. Indeed, I have found that most of them have a timidity complex. They reflect the manner of approach. They belong to the fraternity of good fellows and if you approach them in this spirit you will find them just that. ——-

Page 68

Faces the Danger IL Endured in By Gerald HAVE paid the full price of John Barleycorn; I know the terror of trying to stop being an inebriate. I know, too, the double terror of professional cures—and worse than all else, I know the ignorant cruelty and uselessness of 4.omes for inebriates. I would tell my story simply and humbly—and above every- thing I would warn any poor brother sufferer away from the sort of “drink cures’ that came so near to wrecking every last hope that I had left in myself and in my future. It was just after the war that I began to drink with a certain fierceness. Demobilized and with “Set Down in Malice’ com- pleted and successful, I had found work with a publisher and for a time was that unpleasant creature, a secret drinker. At intervals, with all the spasmodic strength of a weakened will, I checked my- self, turned my back on alcohol and put all the energy of my mind and body into my work. I began another book—a volume of short stories. But drink*had now got a hold on me. I would fight against it, but in my heart of hearts I knew, even as I fought, ‘that it would overcome me again. A-day came when a friend very bluntly said to me, ‘“‘You’ve become an inebriate.”” I knew it was true. I went home and brooded at my desk. What was I to do? Must I keep secret my vice, my weakness, my disease—I knew not its true name—or must I tell my wife, my publisher and my friends? I could’not answer any of these questions. But I went straightway to: the nearest doctor—an ordinary general practi- tioner. I told him all with utter frankness. He asked me ques- tions; I answered them. “The only. thing for you,” he announced, with a great show of confidence, “‘is an inebriates’ home.”’ “Precisely,” said I. “It’s what I’ve been thinking myself.” “And you'll go?” he asked, astonished. “Certainly. I'll go anywhere, do anything, to get cured.” “Good!” he said.. ““Go home, pack your bag and return as soon as possible. In ‘the: meantime I'll telephone and make all arrangements.” That night, soon after dinner, I was interviewing the doctor in charge of the institution where for a month I was to stay for my “cure.” My name, address, age and occupation and family history were written in a large book. The doctor was courteous but by no means friendly, I felt that if I could read his secret thoughts I should find them full of disgust, contempt and de- rision. At the close of my hour’s interview with him I felt like a pariah. My doctor, whose business it was to try to cure me, had removed:from me my last vestige of self-respect. ‘A bad beginning!” said I to myself, as I walked up-stairs to my room, a bottle.containing a sleeping-draught in my hand. I slept solidly for eight hours, and I awoke with more heart in me than I had had for many months. I looked out of the window onto the sun-strewn lawn, the flower beds, the banks of rhodo- dendrons. I felt hope suddenly awake in me. I had come to the right place. Nothing could touch me here. During breakfast I learned that all patients—alcoholic and drug—were permitted to play golf on the adjoining links; that after a fortnight’s confinement in the grounds, they were free to wander, in reason, where they wished; that the nearest public house was less than half a mile away; and that the doctor was peculiarly gifted in “spotting” a man who had taken only a single bottle of beer. I learned a lot more, but I was chiefly interested in the men and women upon whom, during the next week, I should have to rely for companionship. Thev looked, and subsequently proved, an interesting lot. AsI learned subsequently, there were three doctor patients—all drug cases—an ex-naval officer, a clergyman, a private tutor from Oxford, a charming American who read bridge books all morning and played the game at night, four men of business, an actress, 80 Avsy Maan Whe rinks of Enduring What Drink Cures Cumberland a wealthy gentleman farmer, a pawnbroker’s wife, and soon, To me they seemed extremely nice people, frank, kindly, clubable, and they were all mixers. To a casual visitor the whole place would appear like a hotel in the country, but I soon discovered that there was a good deal of secret drinking going on, and that once or twice a week there were public “breakdowns”—that is to say, a patient would make him. self drunk, and then make the fact apparent to everyone. Such cases consisted, of course, of men and women who had no desire to be cured, but who, having little or no money of their own, had been placed there out of harm’s way by relatives or friends. But the majority of the inmates were anxious to be cured. The institution seemed to me at first almost perfect; yet I soon came to. the conclusion that it was the last place in which one could hope to be permanently benefited. In the smoking-room the conversation was almost invariably of alcohol, cocaine, morphia, et cetera. The very victims of these poisons treated the whole subject as a joke. A man would relate how he had con- trived to drink seven bottles of whisky a day. Another insisted on telling us how he felt when suffering from delirium tremens, which, it appeared, he had had no fewer than eleven times. Iam by no means squeamish, but such conversation sickened me. The men were interesting, even charming individually; but they were distinctly unpleasant when taken in the mass. i system of cure was to “taper off” each patient from alcohol; that is to say, if a man had been drinking three bottles of whisky a day, he was given at regular intervals increasingly small doses until they were discontinued altogether. In addition to this there was injected into the patient’s arm three-times a day a mix- ture of strychnine, atropin and other drugs. The injections were so powerful that in a week or two one felt a new man. Bromide was freely given as a sedative to the nerves whilst the fierce energy of the strychnine awoke the heart to new vigor. On the moral side every patient was put upon his honor not to disobey any of the rules of the institution. To anyone who knows some thing of alcohol, this moral “restraint” will seem utterly ridicu- lous—as indeed it is. No dipsomaniac has any sense of in regard to taking whisky unless he is cured and no longer feels that craving into which every cell of his body seems to enter. I stayed at this institution a not altogether unhappy month, for I was able to work all day and talk or play cards in the evening. felt extraordinarily well—too well. I had an inward assurance that I could push mountains over and even full-grown policemen. I said good-by to the doctor, who gave me a few words of fatherly advice, and rolled down to the station in an automobile. Thena curious thing happened. I began to hum the tunes of hymns learned in childhood. For, indeed, I felt reborn, clean, gay. had escaped from the octopus. No longer had I the least fear of it. I was carried away by a great wave of happiness. : But an even more curious thing befell me. Opposite the station was the usual railway hotel. I tapped on the window the chauffeur. He knew what I wanted. I was at the bar now, the chauffeur by my side. “Two double whiskies,”’ I ordered. : We drank them. I ordered two more. These quickly dis- appeared, At the third order the chauffeur objected, declaring he couldn’t drive safely if he took more. But I had a third and@ fourth, a fifth and a sixth—numberless, numberless drinks. felt no shame, no regret. All this was inevitable. What blame there was belonged to fate. That night they took me back to the institution. Another “cure” began. For an entire month I wil/ed myself to loathe all alcoholic drink. For many days I was in despalt- Ppesrst fhm Fee ewe 2s

Page 69

d assurance policemen. of fatherly ‘s of hymns an, gay. I st fear of it. uickly dis jeclaring he third and 4 ; drinks. Vhat blame od myself to in despair. Photograph by Mauli & Fox When I was well enough, the doctor spoke to me in terms that I would not have taken from any other man. I stayed another month, during which . had a slight break- down. But eventually I was released and I took up a normal life. But drink called out to me all the time; I felt uneasy, apprehen- sive, restless. I could not work more than two hours at a time. In my heart I knew that, fight as I might, I should never escape om the doom planned for me by fate. My friends clustered found me to help. But it was no use. ; I returned to the inebriates’ home a third time, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth. : There came a day when, full of drink, I telephoned from home Be smebriates’ institution to tell the secretary that I wished tes - s cure’’ once more. At was, I think, my seventh aa a to be cured by methods which, in my own case, had over er again proved useless. @.Gerald Cum berland, author of ‘The Poisoner,”’ Sot Down in Malice,” “Tales of a Cruel Country”’ “Hang on a minute!” cried the secretary. “T don’t think we have a room to spare.” I waited a minute—it seemed a hundred years. another voice—that of the matron. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cumberland,” she said, “but we have orders from the doctor. He says that as the treatment here obviously doesn’t suit you, you had better go elsewhere: So sorry, Mr. Cumberland.” My friends rallied round me, as they have always done. They came to see me and implored me to “put myself” under the dis cipline of the British Inebriates’ Act. I did not understand. “Tt’s so simple!” they urged. “All you have to do is to restrict your liberty for a certain period. By signing a form you put your self under. the direct jurisdiction of the Home Office for six months. You will not be allowed out of the grounds except dur- ing certain hours when the hotels and (Continued on page 167) 81 Then came

Page 70

Illustrations by Marshall Frantz The Story So Far: HEN she first saw Kent Ferguson, a casual stranger at the old Espinosa rancho, Juanita fell in love with him. She did not see him again until Maria Espinosa had died, and Juanita had learned that she was not Maria’s daughter, but a mysterious waif, whose birth only a certain Sidney Fitzroy could clear up. Then, when: her world was tumbling about her ears, Kent came again, and advised Juanita to take a position as secretary to his employer’s wife, Jane Chatterton. So Juanita left the simple rancho where she had lived all her life and came to the Chatterton mansion. And there young Billy Chatterton, Jane’s son, fell in love with her. But not before Juanita had learned that the brilliant, beauti- ful and selfish Jane, who had climbed from poverty to be Carwood Chatterton’s wife, had some mysterious connection with her own childhood, and was desperately anxious to get her out of the way. Juanita learned too that Kent also was searching for a certain Sidney Fitzroy, to clear the title to some property Carwood 82 Copyright 1925, by Kathleen Norris G, ‘Juanita?’ At the sound of his voice a delicious weak- ness seized her. *'Kent!’’ she cried. 7 sae wanted to buy; and that Sidney Fitzroy had somehow beet associated with Jane’s obscure life before her marriage. As for Kent: he had long been hopelessly fascinated by Jane, who led him on deftly; but gradually he fell in love with Juanita, and one day told her so, and kissed her. But the next day her new happiness was dashed; for Carwood Chatterton and Billy were badly hurt in an automobile crash, and Juanita, coming suddenly into the room to tell Jane, found her in Kent’s arms. Heartbroken, Juanita left the Chatterton house and disappeared. Now Kent, in reality, had just told Jane about his love fot Juanita, and she had broken down and begged him for just one farewell kiss. But that Juanita did not know. Nor could Kent tell her because, after searching for months, he could not find het. Juanita had, in fact, taken a job with a ‘wholesale stationer it San Francisco. Then she had lost it, and been sick with influenza, and got another job in a department store. And all the time she was trying to forget Kent, and the life at the Chattertons’. Ses =" 3 ht be Oo bea ae ae je = +.

Page 71

t the voice eak- her. ried. ‘how been | by Jane, h Juanita, xt day her and Billy a, coming nt’s arms. sappeared. 's love for r just one ould Kent t find her. ationer in influenza, e time she ittertons’. Then suddenly she ran into Billy Chatterton on the street. Billy insisted on meeting her again and again, for teas, for suppers. He told her his father was now a total invalid; that he lf was working on the Chatterton newspaper; and that Kent had gone off, no one knew where. And he pressed his suit so ardently that at last Juanita consented to marry him. Some instinct told her it was not entirely right; but she was lonely, and poor, and she did like Billy immensely, even if she did not love him as she had once loved Kent; so they were married. They did not tell Jane Chatterton, for the time being, but they could not keep it from the papers. The announcement appeared next morning. The Story Continues: HE day, her wedding day, was like a queer, confusing dream. No hour of it, after the breakfast hour and the usual walk down-town, was normal for Juanita. Immediately upon teaching the Mayfair the strangeness began, and it deepened and ramified until the girl felt that life could never return to anything like order again. his morning she had a notice to call at Mr. Bladd’s office; Rot an entirely unprecedented thing. Sometimes Mr. Bladd sent for a girl if he wanted to make a change in a department; A 4 q Splendid *, Noe w Novel bs by — KATHLEEN NCORRIS twice he had so sent for Juanita lately, once somewhat puzzling her by showing her his wife’s picture and dwelling upon his devotion to his wife. He had followed this by the statement that Mrs. Bladd liked him occasionally to take “fone of the young ladies” from the store to dinner. “And leave me say,” Mr. Bladd had concluded, “I can give a girl as good a time as the next one!” Juanita had listened to this respectfully, looking at him with some wonderment. What was he talking about? “Tf a girl come to me,” Mr. Bladd had added, ‘“‘and says something like this: ‘Rupert, I’m sick of thirty cent table d’hétes—I’d like to eat once off of somebody but myself!’ that girl would of picked the right feller.” “Thank you. Was that all?” Juanita asked. Walking away she had wondered why any man should send for a busy clerk to tell her funny, vague things like that. The second time had been different. It had been almost dusk; some of the girls had gone home when Mr. Bladd had sent for Juanita the second time. He had asked her to sit down, had smiled in a rather disquieting way as he assured her there was “no rush.” Well, what was she doing tonight? his questions had surpris- ingly begun. His wife was in Cloverdale with her mother. Devoted to her mother. He kinder felt like a good dinner and a show tonight himself. How about it? Juanita had suddenly and disgustedly realized that this fat, oily little man was merely attempting what she had learned to call ‘‘mashing.”’ Lots of men did it, strange as it seemed to a girl. And now Mr. Bladd was doing it. She felt her cheeks grow hot with nervousness, and when he tried to remain between her and the door and caught at her hand, she spoke so suddenly, so loudly and affrightedly, that Mr. Ballow came in. Mr. Ballow was usually gone at this time; he was sixty, and not well. How- ever, by good fortune he was in the adjoining office tonight. When he abruptly entered, with his shrewd old eyes upon the assistant manager, Juanita disappeared. And she did not see Mr. Bladd again until he sent for her to fire her. Even then he wanted to get her address, “‘in case anything turns up,” but she did not give it. She returned to the aisles of harmonicas and combs and school tablets and green and red and blue glass rings with what spirit she might, and at eleven she cashed her pay check and left the Mayfair behind her. Two of the girls at the Mayfair had told her of possible posi- tions, but both, upon investigation, appeared to have been filled. When one had a job, Juanita mused, the world seemed full of empty jobs, golden opportunities. But the instant one was anxiously seeking one again, how the doors closed! She and Billy had had their oysters and were busy with chicken before she told him. He immediately became excited, rather to her distress. ‘‘Confound the old junk-shop anyway!” he said hotly. Juanita, although much less violent, assured him that she was not in the least nervous—she would easily find a better job than that of the old Mayfair. Quite suddenly they were discussing marriage. Just how it began she could not remember afterward, but there it was be- tween them, Billy leaning across the table, murmuring, Juanita 83

Page 72

looking down, hardly speaking in reply. Why not? She could go out now, tell the people at her boarding-house. He could step in at the office for a moment. They could go together to the City Hall . She was at Miss Duval’s again, running up the smelly stairway. “Who is zat?” called the boarding-house- keeper’s worn, sweet voice. “Juanita, Mademoiselle!” “Oh, chérie, at zis hour?” She might not be back for several days, the girl explained. She would write Made- moiselle. Eh, bien, the Frenchwoman con- sented, with a shrewd look. But she knew what she was doing, eh? Juanita kissed her. “I’m going to be married!” she whispered into the lean, dark neck. : So confided, it sounded thrilling. But the City Hall episode frightened her a little. She was very quiet when she and Billy got back into the car. They drove straight down to old Saint Mary’s, and Billy parked his car outside of one of the gaudy shops of Chinatown, when they went into the clergy house. A Paulist, aged, silver-headed, the elbows of his old cassock worn through, duly mar- ried them, and a brisk housekeeper, evi- dently accustomed to the service, wiped her big, clean Irish hand and witnessed the deed. The bare, clean-smelling parlor, fur- nished by a cottage organ, an artificial palm and eleven chairs, was the scene of their wedding, and during the ceremony Juanita was conscious only of a constant frightened prayer in her heart: “Oh, God, make me good—make me good—make me good!”’ and the occasional intrusion upon. her sense of hearing of a cable-car, laboring up California Street outside. Billy kissed her, whispered something, she did not know what. She smiled up at him blindly. Her first act as a bride was to slip for a few. minutes into the big church next door. There were candles burning among pussy-willows on the altar, little gold gasps of flame among the brown stems and the silver-gray buds. Juanita buried her face in her hands; she was too confused to pray. Then they went out, and Billy, trembling with a sort of awkward delight, wanted to buy her a wedding present. Please! He knew exactly what it was to be—a fur coat, and a little fur hat to pull down over her eyes. “Billy dear, I don’t want any wedding present!” “Ah, but please! one!” After all, the bewilderment in her heart and soul were eased just a little when he was so happy. She was utterly compliant in the dim, big, luxurious fur store. The coat, long, flexible, silken-lined, en- chanting, was of silver-gray fur, and the cap, mingled with her bright hair, gave her shy, delighted eyes so angelic an expression that the saleswoman remarked frankly that she ought to be in the movies. Mrs. Chatterton’s other coat and hat would please be sent to the San Mateo address, Billy directed, quite composedly. Juanita’s startled glance flew to him, and her color rushed up. The saleswoman discussed them as the “bride and groom” all day, on the strength of that one look. ‘And now,” said Billy, when they went out.to the car again and she established herself in the front seat, ‘next stop Pebble Beach. There won’t be a soul there. We'll love it!” The car moved smoothly out the long stretch of the Park along the beach road; they were running smoothly and swiftly down the Peninsula—past Burlingame and San Mateo, through 84 I want so to give you G, "Billy darling,’’ said Juanita, ‘yon whose thinned trees Juanita could see the stately spread ot the Chatterton mansion, up against the low line of the hills. “This is Wednesday,” Billy meditated aloud. ‘On Friday o Saturday we’ll come up and see mother and dad!” He was happy. He was chattering like the boy he was; of golf tomorrow, huh? Juanita would learn in no time. Of sur prising everybody, of wedding presents—they would get rafts of them. ‘ How young he was! It was part of his youth to be going to Pebble Beach. Honeymoons and Pebble Beach were associat in his mind like pepper and salt, or stocks and bonds.

Page 73

ita, ‘you'll read ot the hills. n Friday of he was; of 12; Of sul- | get ralts be going to » associat "ar ~e. have to let me go! I knew—dearly as I loved you—that it wasn’t the right love.”’ ww . . This is a terrible mistake, this is a terrible mistake, this is a terrible Mistake——” How long had some frightening voice been repeating that over and over again in her heart? Juanita knew that it was true. But why? Why? she asked er Panic-stricken soul feverishly. Why was it a mistake? him ee, cerrible mistake. You never should have married 4 Ais is a terrible mistake. ne he pains it so loudly that she could hear nothing else. ‘gag could she do now, tucked up here on the seat beside 2 acing toward Pebble Beach, toward her marriage night? fat could she do? Perhaps, Juanita mused, all brides felt like this; perhaps the fuss and flurry of a big wedding were devised especially to keep them from misgivings and doubts. Rush them, fatigue them, stun them into matrimony, and then leave them to discover for themselves afterward how right, how happy and sane it all was. Tomorrow she would probably be quite happy and normal. But she could not think of tomorrow; the fearful problem of Was there then really such a thing as love, today was too close. Apart from mere passion, was the love of a woman for a man? as there something—something that she should be feeling for Billy now, something that she knew she did (Continued on page 176) 85

Page 74

, By Eds M. Evans He was a (hap born with a Silver Spoon in his Mouth — with her. Had four cut-ins last Wed>esday night at the Prom affair. And in a canoe she makes a sweet snapshot. But she comes of even poorer and_ worthier parents than does good old Lafe, x #j G."‘Slow, darling! I’m not exactly" ‘going to be called in to make up the board of directors’ minds for them.’’ ANY things men’s minds divide on. On immortality; on the depth of Martian canals; on whether monogamy has been humanity’s life preserver or its whalebone that has cramped vital organs. But to two facts all men subscribe: that there is met in three score and ten years no green that is so vivid or entrancing as that of college campus; and that throughout life no feat is so affection- ately cuddled in memory as the pulsing, excited, hopeful, una- bashed leap from the springboard that is Commencement Week. Nearly a year beforehand, Eppie Hogeman spoke to his father concerning Lafe Darnold. “He’s a prince, papa. He’s got personality—see? Always smiling—makes lots of.friends. Lot of times when the faculty’s been sore over something, he’s gone and talked fast and slipped over the buttered words for the class’s sake—and everything was made all right, see? He’s the one who asked old tight Eli Buck for a five-thousand-dollar check for a new pipe organ—and got it.” Eppie was twenty-two, overweight, and the only son of the Hogeman industries, which included textile mills, cotton exports, ready-to-wear coat and suit factories and, indirectly, a chain of retail stores reaching from Long Island, New York, to Long Beach, California. Life to Eppie was a purple plum. His plump, good-natured fingers were fixed to squeeze forth the bursting juice. To his friends he was a friend. “T’m going to write for the stage myself, papa. Stand on my own feet and satisfy my ambition. But you can’t do better than give Lafe a job, like he was your son instead of me. He’ll do better by the business than I would. I’ve got personality, too— but it’s the ingrowing kind.” Eppie smirked a little, albeit candidly. He glanced around with condescension at his parent’s Long Island office, which was the handsome mahogany-furnished hub of a giant wheel. “I don’t see myself helping fer my life- time the commercialized fig-leaf trade of America.” “Does this Lafe?” asked his papa astutely. Eppie grinned. ‘He hasn’t got so much choice as I have, papa. Besides being your son and heir, I’m heart-free. But Lafe’s engaged to a slim, dark-eyed little girl whom nature formed on the domestic pattern—the I-want-candy-and-flowers-on-anni- versaries kind. Mildred’s light on her little feet. I like to dance 86 So he’s simply got to cultivate his future and cash in on his pep. Just the kind, I assure you, that your generation is always casting an eagle eye around for.” Lafe Darnold called, by request, at the Long Island office the next June. He was twenty-four that month, five feet eleven, weighed 145 and had a clean skin and light hair. His rather light blue eyes were easy and smiling. He wore a light gray suit, Ephemeus Hogeman smiled in return, a little wistfully. His own twenty-fourth June had been spent in a smaller, grimy office on the Jersey side. But he had a generous old soul. Per- haps good-looking Lafe Darnold in his gray flannel suit, with his easy air and courteous manners, seemed an agreeable sight to an older man who privately was a little sentimental. At once he liked the young man, as Eppie had promised. At that time, even for an exceptionally promising young man, five thousand dollars a year was very good salary. But, after some hesitation, Hogeman fixed that amount for Lafe’s first year. Eppie had said, “I assure you he’ll be worth three other fellows.” The following month Lafe and Mildred Loom were married. There was no need for them to wait. Lafe told Mildred that he wanted to get right down to steady future-building, and they might as well get the honeymoon and the furniture-settling off their young minds right away. “Of course,” fluttered Mildred. Privately Mildred was very con- scious of her own good luck. Plenty of dark-eyed girls and others had liked Lafe, and kept snapshots of him on campus, in row- boats, and near grand stands. They spent two golden July weeks at a small up-state lake resort, and then signed a two-year lease for a tiny city flat. dear little apartment, though. Oh, they were very much in love, being two thoroughly normal, good-looking young people! During the honeymoon or the furniture-hunting, they had not even a small tiff. But plenty of kissing. Both were sensible, they thought. Out of five thousand dollars, eighteen hundred is a fair portion for rent. That leit thirty-two hundred for food, clothes, dentist bills, theaters and saving. Their smiles met and were amused over the last word. Lafe would succeed sooner than most young men. It was hardly necessary for them to skimp too much. j What followed may have been the older Hogeman’s fault, in degree. Or Eppie’s. Or—only Lafe’s own. Or—perhaps it was Allah. About this time a new factor was putting its bright bill into American industry. Psychology, some people called this factor. The elder Hogeman did not employ this word, becausé like many middle-aged men he was bashful in uttering long words that he had not become acquainted with in his youth. But fa wm Prema cot See tsa Ess wemegeI el LS Sa a a | Scars tr 2.

Page 75

1S cut-ins last ; the Prom ye she makes it she comes 1d ~~ worthier od old Lafe, cultivate his on his pep. re you, that round for.” nd office the feet eleven, His rather ht gray suit, stfully. His aller, grimy d soul. Per- el suit, with reeable sight al. At once young man, But, after Lafe’s first three other ere married. vn to steady eymoon and away. “Of s very con- |s and others pus, in row- p-state lake city flat. A 1uch in love, ing people! ney had not e thousand That left heaters and e last word. + was hardly ’s fault, ina rhaps it was s bright bill - called this ord, because x long words -outh. But Promising. Young Man Illustrations by Leslie L. Benson privately he subscribed to many new factors he did not talk much about. Lafe was given a desk that was partly sub-executive and partly a sales desk. Ephemeus told a gray- haired manager what the young man was to do; he was to be put on the hard assignments that the other men, sub-executive or salesmen, could not handle. The assignments that they fell down on, to be exact. When told his more or less vague status, Lafe beamed. Per- haps an hour or so later, a thoughtful pucker came in the center of his well-shaped forehead, marring the beam. Still, any fellow would have felt complimented. Meeting Ephemeus Hogeman, Lafe nodded brightly at the older man, who nodded friendlily and encouragingly back. t night, over their brand-new orchid-banded china and their wedding present filet doilies from her Aunt Dean, Lafe told Mildred that he had a request to make of her. “Listening, darling? Say, this soup is good.” “With all my ears.” And she blew him a kiss, while she laid down new silver sugar-tongs. “Well, it’s this, sweetest: when I’m one of the notable alumni and we breeze back, by request, for a look-in at the dear old college chapel, and to give advice to the new crowd on how we ‘done’ it, promise me you won’t tell the other respectable old gtay-haired notables that your spouse once got a grand job by pure chance?” Gurglingly she promised. Then, indignantly: ‘How is it chance? You had to be what you are or Eppie couldn’t have told his father about you being what you are!” “What am 1?” “I won’t feed your vanity, sir! But”—gurgle again of satis- faction—‘“the Hogeman business must need some one like you awfully badly! And perhaps before even five years rs “Slow, darling! You see, I’m not exactly going to be called in tomake up the board of directors’ minds for them. Or the presi- dent’s, It is only the new salesmen and the sub-heads to whom I’m to hand my strong young shoulder in emergency —” ., You know, Lafe,” interrupted Mildred dreamily, “I think its perfectly wonderful that with your personality you’re so modest, too.” 44prre Hoceman went to Europe for two years. Lafe was slightly relieved. Eppie had lunched him rather too often. He feared the older Hogeman might think too much friendship had N injected into business. _In fact, there had not been a lot of business. August is no Siesta, either, in the textile or ready-to-wear trade. Of course Lafe had to learn the ropes. He fell down on the first ticklish job to which he was assigned. Radkins, a local Eastern salesman, been unable to get the general linens order for a new chain of hotels, which the Hogeman jobbers ardently desired. The yer for the chain happened to be a new man in his business, "You know, Lafe,”’ said Mildred. “'I think it’s perfectly wonderful that with your personality you're so modest.” too. It was not a case of an old wise buyer to be shrewdly managed by an experienced—and perhaps stale—seller. But Darnold didn’t land the coveted order, either. Well, orders aren’t always secured. Perhaps Radkins was not displeased. Possibly the elder Hogeman was not exactly disappointed. In the textile trade one learns to accept lost orders with philosophy. But Lafe Darnold fancied that Radkins eyed him with covert patronage, while Ephemeus seemed not quite so cordial at chance encounters in corridor or office. A month later he fell down again on an assignment. A Southern cotton grower was in the city on a junket. Lafe was told to show him around town and cultivate his friendship. The Hogeman interests would like a contract for his crop. Unfortunately, the cotton grower’s wife decided that Lafe was too young and good- looking to escort her husband around a wicked Northern city. Ephemeus Hogeman never quite got the facts. But he knew that Lafe had failed at a not very difficult task. Lafe’s stock dropped considerably with him. Six months later, with a man- ager he agreed that the young man hadn’t done much that even the ordinary new men couldn’t do well enough. Three thousand dollar men had equalled him in accomplishment. Why waste two thousand? Long before the year was up, Lafe had begun to wear a con- scious and uncomfortable look. One day on Thirty-third Street he ran into Archie Kutts, nephew of Joseph Kutts of the bond and brokerage firm. Archie was glad to meet an old classmate and said that his uncle needed smart young men as flies need sugar. Lafe told Mildred that he hadn’t all along cared much for the textile business. Mildred widened her dark eyes glowingly and chirruped that bonds sounded better. They had Archie and his wife out for dinner. Theater parties followed. Life seemed brighter. Lafe recovered an optimism that he had lost. And Ephemeus Hogeman seemed rather relieved by his departure. 87

Page 76

88 Unluckily, the new connection wasn’t lasting. The uncle died six months later. Lafe found himself sitting at a desk that was in probate. From the tangled affairs of the firm, court control promised to endure a decade or more. Archie was disgruntled at his own cold push into financial space. Lafe got no sympathy because he had drawn no salary for two months, and had only moderate commission due him for sales. He said aggrievedly to Archie that he’d been given a chance only at the tougher commissions, anyway. Archie was a little annoyed. “Well, hang it all, Lafe, you’ve got more personality than the rest of us. Always had. Naturally Uncle Joe expected you to tackle the worse angles.” Lafe went home and told Mildred, and got sympathy and a milk and upholstering bill. They counted their visible assets and their liabilities, including the rent, which was beginning to draw ouches, and both were sober for two weeks. Bond and brokerage business seemed crowded. L was at a luncheon reunion of the class that he got in touch with "Harold Oberly. They sat together. Harold was in the building and loan business with his older brother Herbert. He needed a first-class man. Lafe said doubtfully—for by now he was a little unsure of himself—that he didn’t know a lot about the building and loan business. Harold said that was all right; Lafe had brains. The following Monday morning Lafe was installed at a hand- some*desk on Eighth Street, Circassian walnut, with his name ebonized on glass standing in a Circassian walnut frame on a desk corner: Mr. Lafely Darnold, Manager of Subdivisions, Class C. He lunched often with Harold, and played golf Saturday after- noons. Harold said you had to golf if you wanted to meet cer- tain men. It was toward the end of the month that Herbert Oberly arranged a meeting between Lafe and old Eli Buck, the trillionaire who owned a strip of land coveted by the Oberly brothers, but not coveted at any fancy price. My, no! “He wants to sell—see? You're just the boy to handle him. Remind him of old college days and the organ. He liked you, evidently.” But Lafe brought back the same price that had been asked from other men. With a slight flush, he explained that old tight Eli couldn’t see much connection between his buying a pipe organ for‘a college and cutting a price to a business firm on land that he didn’t particularly desire to sell, anyway. Five months later Lafe became aware that in the posted total of sales made by some fourteen men his name was ninth. Herb Oberly’s mariner toward him was not so cordial as once it had been. His commissions for the year amounted to twenty-nine hundred dollars. But the firm had too many men on its working roll. Some of the older and better ones were complaining. The world does get smaller every year, especially its building sites. That even in Harold’s financial heart he was not glued came the impression to Lafe. Rather testily one night he explained the situation to Mildred. Or tried to explain. “T don’t know,” he said complainingly, ‘why they should expect me to put across deals that others fall down on. I’m no superman.” He was startled. Something fluttered into his Mildred’s lovely dark young eyes—and went out. Something that was not the absolute admiration wont to show in the eyes. For some reason, Lafe was horribly annoyed. “T’m not,” he repeated with irritation. She opened her lips uncertainly. Then she closed them—as if she could not, or she would not, say that he was or he wasn’t. Lafe could not help wondering. While he read the evening papers, while he undressed for bed, in the morning while he shaved and through the crack of the door watched Mildred sugar his iced grapefruit—the wonder kept with him. What had Mildred opened her mouth to say? Well, of course he didn’t exactly hope that she believed him to be a superman. In that case—h’m, in that case he had no alibi for certain facts. But—did she think he was a plain dub? An enigma remained. Rather taciturn, he came out of the bathroom and without keen appetite tackled the grapefruit. Six months later they had learned to breakfast without fruit, iced or otherwise. Lafe had left the Oberlys, and his new desk, real estate, was strictly commission and two'months had passed without a deal sponsored by him. It was true that the year A Promising Young Man happened to be an off one, where realty deals were concerned A period of forced inflation had come to an end. “Funny,” he said once to Mildred oddly. “Lots of men make big money. Easy. Stocks and bonds; or real estate. By somehow I don’t connect.” ; Mildred laughed. Oh, that little low nervous laugh! Then she said, oddly too, that if he didn’t connect with something soon, she’d be wearing an evening dress three years out of date Well, Mildred had her side. Twenty-nine hundred dollars g year!—and there had been the naive, careless certainty that the fourth year of their married life would see Lafe genially pulling down about twenty-nine thousand. Still, it was the fourth year of marriage; and by that time young woman and a young man are fairly well acquainted. Yes indeed. She knows what part of his neckbands are first to fray and whether he or she will win out when for cold cream and shaving cream the silver has gone low. And he knows way in which her eyebrows can lift, or her crépe de Chine undies can be flung untidily on a chair. So Mildred’s small statement was more amiable than many wife’s might be—in the fourth year. But something in the look that presently she gave him—well, it was appraising. And Lafe, who for some time had privately been an uncertain and rather thoughtful young man, resented her giving him that kind of look. He tried to fight off the feeling of uneasiness that was intensified. Two years later Mildred had obviously lost her girlish profile, She had the matron look. She had a little permanent frown, too, on a forehead that once had been white and smooth. Her gray chamoisette gloves had been washed once too often. ee They were living in their third apartment. The first had been, given up when the two-year lease expired. It had me a hateful place, as any set of rooms can become when rent day looms more and more unkindly. “te They had not particularly liked the other places to which they had moved. There had happened the Rolyston dinner. That dinner! It had been ghastly for the Darnolds. eS Johnny Rolyston had married, and wished his old friends and their wives to come and admire his pretty, cosmopolitan Alicia, daughter of a one-time American consul. a, The dinner was given in a hotel on Fifth Avenue. Well, Mildred’s French blue satin gown was old. Four years. But she had fixed it up decently, she fancied. New silver ribbon shoulder-straps, and not a perceptible odor of benzine. Ift hadn’t been such a mob in the elevator—or if she and Lafe hadn't been twenty minutes late and therefore afraid to wait for the next elevator! But Lafe’s trousers hadn’t got home from the presser until the last minute; and hurrying and not very much at theit ease anyway over going at all, they had squeezed into the filling car and somehow in the crush the wriggling Mildred’s four-year old satin had given way at mid-spine. l N ot knowing all the damage, she had hurried from the dress- ing-room. Lafe saw at once. He kept wretched silence for a while. Another woman saw and nudged a third woman. Lafe saw that. : Some of the wives on hand wore white satin from Paris, with pearls; others, cloth of gold with diamonds. There were some shabby women. Not many. None shabbier than Mildred, who cried all the way home and later in her bed. : Lafe got out of his evening clothes in sullen silence. Epp Hogeman was in London and had not been present. That been about the only satisfactory side of the evening. Lafe had caught two or three men—oh, why trim the facts?—he had caught practically every fellow present giving him little furtive, puzzled glances. The two Darnolds went forth no more to dine. A year later— that was when the renting firm where Lafe was keeping books failed—he said one night to Mildred, with forced jauntiness, that they seemed to have begun along the middle and gone down. “T don’t know,” snapped Mildred, who looked her twenty-si years, “why some people are lucky and some aren’t.”’ “Well, by heaven, I have been unlucky!” shouted Lafe. Mildred shrugged. No more. She said nothing. Odd! how the shrug of a mistress can inflame a man’s love. But the shrug of a wife inflames only his temper. Lafe flung himself out of the flat and was sullen for a week, and then marital relations wert resumed on a disillusioned plane. Six years later, a chance meeting with Eppie Hogeman turned a low and mud-bearing tide.

Page 77

Te Concerned, of men make estate. By laugh! Then mething very S out of date. red dollars inty that the nially Pulling J that time a ainted, Yes, first to fray, d cream and knows every were some Idred, who ce. Eppie That had ing books iness, that e down. wenty-six fe. Odd! how the shrug out of the ions were n turned @The meeting could not be dodged. _Lafe Darnold would have sidestepped the encounter. Indeed, his right foot lifted to dash on past the corner at whose curb the big blue car of foreign make had purred to a stop and was letting out Eppie. Afterward he learned that Eppie’s wife’s family lived in the de luxe apartment building at the corner. Eppie’s big black eyes were keen. They missed little in street orclub. Eppie’s booming, self-satisfied voice hailed him. Well, It would have been queer if Eppie had not recognized the man with whom he had spent four pleasant years, sharing room and text-books. For all that Lafe was shabbily garbed and his shoulders rounded like any failure’s, his nose and light brown hair were unchanged. Lafe flushed when he found the meeting could not be dodged. But he put out a hand for Eppie’s hearty shake. Eppie recognized Lafe for all that he was shabbily garbed like any failure. It was not necessary to ask about Eppie’s health and fortunes. Newspapers kept the one public news; the health was the kind plainly evinced by plenty of good color, full cheeks and dominant attitude. Eppie hadn’t written much for the stage. But yet much of the world chose for its fictional heroines what Eppie proffered. He was head of a film-distributing agency. Eppie was the type that eats mutton when it cannot have beef. Lafe tried to parry questions as to his own fortunes. has been said, Eppie had good eyes. They parted after Eppie lunched him. denied. By mail the next morning came a friendly note from Ephemeus Hogeman. Could Mr. Darnold call and discuss a position? That was the way that seemed kindest But, as Eppie would not be nued on page 106) 89

Page 78

a 5 By the Author of The Garden Illustrations by R. F. Schabelitz HEN Canon Lesley came back to his house in the Precincts of Armbury from the Saturday afternoon service in the Cathedral he found his wife in the drawing-room, with a clean- shaven, slightly Jewish looking man, whom he didn’t know, but whose face wasn’t wholly unfamiliar to him. He must have seen it, somewhere, but he couldn’t remember where. “This is Mr. Crichton Lewis, Phil,” said Mrs. Lesley, looking up at her husband over the tea table with big brown eyes. “You 9 ("I haven't got a — now, ’’ Crichton told Mrs. Lesley. ‘We divorced a few months ago.” know we used to act together in the old days. But Crichton’s been in America for over ten years now, and he’s only just come back. He stopped here on his way from the sea to London on purpose to look me up. Wasn’t it good of him?” The actor had got up when the Canon came into the room, and now he held out a strong looking, very masculine hand. “Very glad to meet you!” he said in a resonant, indeed an almost heroic, voice, and with a slightly American accent. “I couldn’t pass your very door without stopping to have a look at Val—at Mrs. Lesley, that is. He drew down his eyebrows as he pressed the Canon’s soft hand. “We were great pals in the old days,” he added, fixing a pair of deliberately resolute eyes on his host. “Really, you know, the stage owes you a grudge, Canon.” : “Ah, now I know why your face seems familiar to me,” said Canon Lesley, smiling. “I’ve seen you act. One of my rafe

Page 79

ot a chton esley, od a 790.7? to act ld days. been in Ts now, e back. ay from rpose to good of yhen the om, and looking, ou!” he leed an .d_ with ry door hat is.” ft hand. 1 pair of ow, the e,” said my rare wares , TE RAEN RM oh teen 4 powders Woman's visits to the theater. You were Mercutio—yes, you were Mercutio.” “A fine part! I’d gladly act it again.’ “But you mustn’t bear me a grudge. Look at Valentine! wouldn’t go back to it, would you, Valentine?” She shook her brown head. “I’ve cast.in my lot with the church. Come, Phil, and sit down by the fire: I can’t tell you how amazed I was when Crichton walked in. He’s at the Rose.” And then they began to be friendly. The actor was very good-looking though not very young. His face was worn and had no freshness, but the features were hand- some, the eyes had a glitter, the mouth was dominating and firm. He was not really tall, but somehow he managed to look tall, especially when he was on the stage. He was muscular, had broad shoulders, a fine chest. He was one of those actors to whom the adjective “manly” is perpetually attached. “He’s such a manly fellow!” women said of him. He had always been tremendously popular with women. Now he talked in his fine “carrying” voice about the years he ad spent in America, the many successes he had had, the con- dition of the stage over there, his projects for the future. He had come oyer to act in London in a play which had already had a great triumph in America. He had played the principal part in New York. Now he was going to open with it in London. You of Allah & Bella Donna By Robert i Hichens Canon Lesley endeavored to be interested in all this. He was a sympathetic man and he had by chance married an actress. But he was not, and never had been, really charmed and at- tracted by the theater. As to stage life, he knew very little about it. Eleven years before he had encountered his pretty wife at a bazaar got up by some big wigs in London for an East End mission in which he was interested. He had fallen in love with her at once, but not at all because she was an actress— really in spite of that. Pisce fallen in love, he had with remarkable promptitude proposed. He hadn’t expected that Valentine would accept him. He had indeed felt almost sure of a refusal. A popular young actress—and Valentine was very popular—seldom chooses a clergyman as a husband. Philip Lesley hadn’t had much hope. But Valentine had accepted him, and had even—hadn’t she?— hurried on their marriage. She must have been very much in love with him. And then she had left the stage and had settled down as a clergyman’s wife. It had all been rather exceptional, rather remarkable. Less than eight months after their marriage their only child, a son, had been prematurely born. Valentine had caught a bad internal chill, had nearly died in bearing him. But she had 91

Page 80

weap renee te mercifully recovered, and the boy had turned out quite a strong little fellow. And Mr. Lesley had become Canon Lesley of Armbury Cathedral, and was a happy husband and father and a suc- cessful man, with a City living in London, and his Canonry, a house in London, a house in Armbury Precincts. The church had been kind to him. But he was a devoted son of the church. And he had almost forgotten that his wife had been an actress. But now he remembered; now he was made to remember. “They called me ten times after the third act, and a New York audience isn’t easy to get hold of, either. But of course I had a marvelously fat part, the part of the play. I wouldn’t have 92 @.The Canon had never before known Ronnie to take such accepted anything else. That goes without saying. They roseat me. I made up my mind to bring them to my feet. Not so easy, but I did it. I open in London in the same piece on February the fourth, at the Magnet Theater. You must come, Canon, come and bring your wife along. I’ll see that you get two stalls. She used to act with me, you know. I must have her there. “February the fourth! We shall still be here, I’m afraid. “But you can run up. It’s only an hour anda half.” “But let me see—wait a moment!—isn’t it a Saturday? “To be sure it is, so as to give the d p’sh! p’sh!—I mean s0 as to give the critics a chance.”

Page 81

ke such rose at 0 easy, bruary Canon, ) stalls. re.” az 399 ean SO ER IE a asidden hatred for anyone. And Mr. Lewis had been particularly nice to him. “I can’t be away on a Saturday. I preach in the Cathedral eveay Sunday morning when I’m in residence.” Preach! I say, that’s a shame, though. Can’t you take a Sunday off?” 4 I'm afraid not. I’m only here for three months in the year, and the easier the task the more incumbent upon me the carrying of it out faithfully. Don’t you think so?” : € actor looked “stumped.” He drew down his eyebrows Over his oddly glittering eyes and fingered his decisive jaw. Preaching! Faithfulness “incumbent” upon a man. However d Valentine manage to “stick it’? He hadn’t set foot in a church—except for an occasional memorial service at which he had been obliged to “show up” because it was for some dis- tinguished actor—for many years. “Rather! Of course I do!” he said, in his heroic voice. ‘But I’m d—— I mean I’m sorry. I wanted to have you both there.” He looked across at Valentine. She was gazing into the fire with a dreamy expression on her beautiful face. She had been very pretty, but now—yes, she was beautiful. As he looked at her she looked up and asked: “How’s your wife, Crichton?” The actor’s determined self-possession (Continued on page 168) 93

Page 82

G.He was a revolutionary general and if his ammunition hadn’t given out he’d have ubset the government and been minister of war now instead of selling lottery tickets.

Page 83

The . By MW. Somerset Maugham Man with the Scar A Thumbnail Drama from (Central America T-WAS on account of the scar that I first noticed him, for it ran, broad and red, in a great crescent from his temple to his chin. It must have been due to a formidable wound and I wondered whether this had been caused by a sabre or by a frag- ment.of shell. It was unexpected on that round, fat and good- humored face. His face was naive, with small and undistinguished features, and it went oddly with his corpulent body. He was a powerful man of more than common height. I never saw him in anything but a very shabby gray suit, a khaki shirt and a bat- teredsombrero. He wasfarfromclean. . He used to come into the Palace Hotel at Guatemala City every day.at cocktail time and strolling leisurely round the bar offer lottery tickets for sale. If this was the way he made his living it must have been a poor one, for I never saw anyone buy, but now and then I saw him offered a drink and this he always took. He threaded his way among the tables with a sort of rolling walk as though he were accustomed to traverse long distances on foot, , paused at each table, with a little smile mentioned the numbers he had for sale and then, when no notice was taken of him, with the same smile passed on. I was standing at the bar one evening, my foot on the rail, with an acquaintance—they make a very good dry Martini at the Palace Hotel in Guatemala City—when the man with the © scar came up. I shook my head as for the twentieth time since imy arrival he held out for my inspection his lottery tickets. But my companion nodded affably. “Qué tal, General? How is life?” “Not so bad,”’ said the other. ‘‘Business is none too good, but it might be worse.” “What will you have, General?” “A brandy.” He tossed it down and put the glass back on the bar. He nodded to my acquaintance. “Gracias. Hasta luego.” Then he turned away and offered his tickets to the men who were standing next to us. “Who is your friend?” I asked. “I’ve been intrigued by that terrific scar on his face.” “Tt doesn’t add to his beauty, does it? He’s an exile from Nicaragua. He’s a ruffian of course and a bandit, but not a bad fellow. I give him a few pesos now and then. He was a revolu- tionary general and if his ammunition hadn’t given out he’d have upset the government and been minister of war now instead of selling lottery tickets in Guatemala. They captured him, along with his staff, such as it was, and tried him by court-martial. He was sentenced to be shot at dawn. “I guess he knew what was coming to him when he was caught. He spent the night in jail and he and the others—there were five of them altogether—passed the time playing poker. They used matches for chips. He told me he’d never had such a run of bad luck in his life; they were playing with a short pack, Jacks to open, but he never held a card; he never improved more than half a dozen times in the whole sitting and no sooner did he buy a new stack than he lost it. When day broke and the soldiers came into the ‘cells to fetch them for execution he had lost more matches than a reasonable man could use in a lifetime. “They were led into the patio of the jail and placed against a wall, the five of them side by side, with the firing party facing them. There was a pause and our friend asked the officer in charge of them what they were keeping him waiting for. The officer said that the General commanding the government troops wished to attend the execution and they awaited his arrival. ‘'Then I have time to smoke another cigaret,’ said our friend. He was always unpunctual.’ “But he had barely lighted it when the General—it was San Ignacio, by the way; I don’t know whether you ever met him— followed by his aide-de-camp, came into the patio. The usual formalities were performed and San Ignacio asked the condemned men whether there was anything they wished before the exe- cution took place. Four of the five shook their heads, but our friend spoke. “ Yes, I should like to say good-by to my wife,’ he said. ‘Bueno,’ said the General, ‘I have no objection to that. Where is she?’ “ “She is waiting at the prison door.’ “*Then it will not cause a delay of more than five minutes.’ “ “Hardly that, Setor General,’ said our friend. “* “Have him placed on one side.’ “Two soldiers advanced and between them the condemned rebel walked to the spot indicated. The officer in command of the firing squad on a nod from the General gave an order; there was a ragged report and the four men fell. They fell strangely, not together but one after the other, with movements that were almost grotesque, as though they were puppets in a toy theater. The officer went up to them and into one who was still alive emptied two barrels of his revolver. Our friend finished his cigaret and threw away the stub. “There was a little stir at the gateway. A woman came into the patio with quick steps, and then, her hand on her heart, stopped suddenly. She gave a cry and ran forward. ** *Caramba!’ said the General. “She was in black, with a veil over her hair, and her face was dead white. She was hardly more than a girl, a slim and lissom creature, with little regular features and enormous eyes. But they were distraught with anguish. Her loveliness was such that as she ran, her mouth slightly open and the agony of her face beautiful, a gasp of surprise was wrung from those indifferent soldiers who looked at her. “The rebel advanced a step or two to meet her. She flung her- self into his arms and with a hoarse cry of passion, Alma de mi coraz6n, soul of my heart, he pressed his lips to hers. And at-the same moment he drew a knife from his ragged shirt—I know not how he had managed to retain possession of it—and stabbed her in the neck. The blood spurted from the cut vessels and dyed his shirt. Then he flung his arms round her and once more pressed his lips to hers. “It happened so quickly that many did not know what had occurred, but from the others burst a cry of horror; they sprang forward and seized him. They loosened his grasp and the girl would have fallen if the aide-de-camp had not caught her. She was unconscious. They laid her on the ground and with dismay on their faces stood round watching her. The rebel knew where he was striking and it was impossible to staunch the blood. In a moment the aide-de-camp, kneeling by her side, rose. “* ‘She’s dead,’ he whispered. “The rebel crossed himself. “ ‘Why did you do it?’ asked the General. “ ‘T loved her.’ “A sort of sigh passed through those men crowded together. The General stared at him for a while in silence. “Tt was a noble gesture,’ he said at last. ‘I cannot execute this man. Take my car and have him led to the frontier. Seor, I offer vou the homage which is due from one brave man to another.’ “A murmur of approbation broke from those who listened. The aide-de-camp tapped the rebel on the shoulder and between the two soldiers without a word he marched to the car.” My friend stopped and for a little I was silent. “But how then did he get the scar?” I asked at length. “Oh, that was due to a bottle which burst when he was open- ing it. A bottle of ginger ale.” “T never liked ginger ale,” said I. 95

Page 84

By Rredertc® o£, -{€ 0 ttin s@ How (an They ALL e Wrong?r [ May Not Religie All Ther They Have tala ae, Bur— ’VE been calling on Ists. Not modernists or fundamentalists or even bolshevists—but all the funny Ists who claim to listen in on God: the phrenologists, the graphologists, the numerologists, the palmists and, of course, the “‘astrologists.” I have let them experiment on me. I have submitted myself— on four continents and in thirteen countries—as a laboratory specimen for their analysis. And nowI submit, without pride or shame, the amazing result. On the desk before me are the written records of seven con- sultations with seven different Ists in seven different parts of the world. The numerologist, the graphologist and the astrologer wrote their own statements—the first two before they had ever seen me; the phrenologist, the card reader, the palmist and the sand diviner gave their ‘‘readings” verbally—and I wrote down what they said from notes immediately following the interview. They are all substantially in the words of the Ists themselves. And they are all in substantial agreement with each other. For instance: Every seventh son and daughter of them says that I am a writer—and one of them, God bless her, says that I am an enter- taining writer! Every one says that I do my best work alone, and will do my most interesting work after I am fifty years old. All but one prophesy extensive travel. Five out of seven say that I will often be misunderstood, but that my honor will never. be successfully assailed. All of them say I can do nothing with my hands. Four of them indicate that I am the kind that always has some- one come along at the last moment to “‘save his life. ’ Six say I am choleric and easily angered. All insist that 1 am too fond of luxury, and spend more money than I should. Five say that my practical nature pulls me one way and my spiritual another. “2 All agree that I will never have much money, but always enough. : . Six of them say that I spend more money on others than I do on myself. All assert that I am moody and difficult to live with. Five out of seven insist that I will be interested in the subject about which I am now writing—the occult. There are, of course, many differences in phraseology. Sone are crude, others scholarly ; some terse, others verbose. And there are, as you see, frequent omissions. The Ist generally dwells on the subjects which most interest him. I often try for purposes of comparison to ‘‘lead” one of these people into stated channels, but in vain. They go their own way. The important thing is that there are substantially no disagreements. They all say the same things. Now, if one man tells me that I am going to be the next President of the United States, I laugh at him. If two men tell me—and they claim to have special knowledge of the subject—I smile a bit self-consciously. But if an astrologer in New York, a graphologist in Boston, a palmist in Paris, a phrenologist in Rome, a card reader in Madrid, a numerologist in London, and a sand diviner on the edge of the African desert all tell me that I am headed for the White House, I’ll be very thoughtful! And that is the position in which I find myself: not that my Ists told me that I’d be President—most of them never heard of the Presidency; but they did tell me, as you can see. many other Sing: that were just as remarkable for all of them to know. 6 4 I am not’ talking about yogis, swamis, rhythmical dancers and bahas; or table-tippers, spirit photographers and mediums generally. My experiences with the dark-lantern crowd’ have’ been many but disappointing. I remember one comic opera: night, when I first came to New York and would try anything’ once, my old friend Cteveland Moffett took Charley Towne and me out into the middle of Central Park in a limousine and tied tip our heads in black velvet bags. Moffett was, and is, a writer of serious prose; Towne was a poet, and is the world’s most durable: bachelor. There was another man there, a short, fat, red man, who said he manufactured something in glass cans. I imagine = furnished the limousine and otherwise assisted in holding the ag. After they had us tied up like a couple of negro Ku Kluxers, they drove us twice around the reservoir, into a side street, and: decanted us into a mansion of almost movie magnificence. I’ never did find out whose house we were in when Cleve let us out of the bag. But I found out one thing that night: there is nothing’ for me in any ism where I have to be blindfolded and led around’ by a string. This particular house contained a dancing lady’ swami in a darkened room—no morte inspired than Ann Penning- ton, and not half so pretty—but it did not contain—any more’ than the New Amsterdam Theater contains—the keys to heaven. I am not squeamish. I am quite willing to believe that we are. destined to break through the thin veil that separates us from the: Beyond to the accompaniment of lilti g songs and swaying legs. We may yet arrive at Truth through Charlestoning! But I want, to do mine in a lighted room, where I can see as well as hear the’ band. And so I confine these present observations to the “day shift”—the Ists who work in the open with what they believe to’ be a science. : I N THIS list, I include astrologers whose operations are mathe- matically accurate—whether or not their premises are correct; and phrenologists, physiognomists, graphologists, even palmists. 1 hesitate about the last named variety, not because the palm of the hand is necessarily less indicative of character than the kind of writing produced by the fingers, but because there are among the palmists so many obvious fakers. They are associated so defi- nitely with church fairs and circus side-shows that I fear to give them their rightful place among the occult pra titioners; but I know some palmists, notably a Madame Fraye in Paris, whose work is careful, sincere and astonishingly accurate. For a long time I held out against numerology. But last spring, on the George Washington, I happened to sit at table with a most agreeable gentleman, the son of a Methodist bishop, and himself a distinguished lawyer in New York and London. . The second day out, he interrupted the hors d’ceuv es by asking me when I was born. I told him the noble date; and he jotted it down on a small pad, on which he had already written my name and a series of apparently meaningless numbers, mostly sevens and nines. And presently he began adding up the figures in my birth date. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Your numeroscope,”’ he answered. } Numerology meant little to me at the time, except that it had caused Neysa McMein to abandon the good, old-fashioned, Quincy, Illinois, “Marjorie” with which her parents had chris- tened her and to assume instead the name of Abd-el-Knms favorite horse. And it did not seem to me to have the least basis eo wot ee er ee Oot OORT OC a ae ae a

Page 85

cal dancers. id mediums crowd: have omic opera: y anything’ Towne and and tied up a writer of ost durable t, red man, I imagine holding the u Kluxers, street, and ificence. I’ e let us out eis nothing’ led around’ ncing lady’ n Penning- —any more’ to heaven. that we.are. 1s from the aying' legs. But I want, as hear the: o the “day “believe to’ ure mathe- re correct; n palmists. he palm of the kind of among the ed so defi- sar to give ers; but I ris, whose But last table with ishop, and don. . The asking me e jotted it | my name tly sevens ires in my hat it had fashioned, had chris- -el-K rim’s least basis G@Frederick L Biskra, in Robert of probability. It is conceivable that a man should express his personality when he writes his name. It is conceivable, as John Burroughs said, that since everything in the universe affects everything else, the stars may affe t man. But it is inconceivable tomy practical mind that the accident of the number of letters in 4 person’s name or the sum of the figures in his birth date should bear any relation whatever to his character or fortune. But when this solemn-faced lawyer began to describe my character and fortune in the same identical terms that I had first heard twenty years before at a Boston dinner party and have sincé heard from dozens of Ists of every kind and description, I knew that I must add numerology to my already healthy collection. {To the lawyer, numerology was only a plaything. But later, when I sent my name and date to a London expert, I found that numerology was at least what its name implies: a strictly mathe- matical science. For the resemblance of the amateur and profes- sional “characters” to each other and to the verdicts of dozens of other Ists was so astoundingly close as to constitute one more evidence that some things are so, even if they “ain’t” so! . Collins and the sand-diviner of Hichens’s beloved Garden of Allah My Boston hostess of twenty years ago was, I realize now, a very advanced woman, for she served with her dinner something that wasn’t liquor, but seemed to go bigger and last longer than the real thing: a sealed envelop for each guest containing his or her reply to the dinner invitation and a “reading’’ from a well- known graphologist on the writer's character and prospects. I read mine first; and I shall never forget the laugh that greeted it. For the hostess in stuffing the envelops had happened to attach the “character’’ of the lady I was taking down to dinner to my R.S.V.P! I learned with surprise, and so did the company, that I was inclined to dress myself chiefly in “‘chiffons and soft, flowing draperies.” But the giggle and the guffaw soon gave way to interest and amazement. For William Leslie French—I think he’s dead now, but he was at the time the world’s greatest graphologist—had painted an astoundingly true word-picture of each of those twelve dinner guests. And he had done it, not from life, but from a few scribbled lines. I didn’t become a convert that night to the science of graphology—when it comes (Continued on page 186) 97

Page 86

lutroducing DENIS MACKAIL an English Writer with {aughs in his System anda Character who will Amuse You Hugo the Sleuth HERE are mornings—don’t we all know them?—when the whole world seems to be conspiring to prevent us from getting on with our work; and of course nobody’s work is easier to interrupt than an author’s. Few of us have the determination—or the money—to keep an office away from our homes, and the result is that when one of these runs of bad luck sets in, we are as unprotected as a policeman on point duty. No, we are even more unprotected than that, for at least no one can ring the policeman up on the telephone. I had got five thousand words of healthy, imaginative fiction to deliver by the end of the week, and I had also—for these things happen to the best of us—not a single idea in my head. From half past nine, when I had sat down at my table, until half past eleven—when the telephone rang for the seventh time—I had not contrived to secure even ten minutes of uninterrupted concentration. Is there any wonder that I snatched at the receiver so violently as almost to drag it out by the roots? Is there any wonder that my interrogatory “Hullo?” was delivered in the manner of a lion at bay? But the next moment I had managed to control myself. “Oh, hullo,.Elkins,” I said. ‘Is that you?” You all know J. B. Elkins, I am afraid. He is a rival of mine, and incidentally a friend of long standing. And I don’t know why it was, but somehow or other I didn’t want to be heard losing my temper with a fellow who gets better prices for his stories than I do. SoI relieved myself by making a horrible face, and listened. “T’ve got a young man here,” he said, in his deliberate, high- pitched voice. “And I can’t quite think what to do with him. Would it be all right if I sent him round to see you?” This, it struck me in all the circumstances, was considerably beyond the limit. “If he wants a job——” I began brutally. “He doesn’t,” said Elkins. ‘‘He’s got one. He’sa sort of cousin of old Biggleswade’s.”’ Even if you haven’t heard of J. B. Elkins, you must un- doubtedly have heard of Lord Biggleswade, the philanthropist and newspaper owner. I could hear Elkins waiting for me to sound impressed; and I was determined to sound nothing of the sort. “Qh,” I said. “And what do they pay him for that?” Not bad, you know, considering the kind of morning I’d been having. But totally wasted on dear old Elkins. “T haven’t asked,” he said, with a delicate hint of reproof. “But he’s writing up some stuff about the younger authors—for 98 i | JANES wiOMmoucey FACS one of Biggleswade’s papers, I gather. Of course in my own case —ah—hum ee The suggestion was that Elkins himself was a good deal more than a younger author. There was a second, fainter suggestion that I was being offered a favor in being put in the young man’s way. And to this I immediately reacted with every ounce of my professional conceit. “It’s very good of you,” I began; “but it just so happens that I’m particularly busy this morning, and——” : There was a sudden sound in the ear-piece—a kind of scuffling and bumping—and a new voice obtruded itself. “Hullo!” it said, loudly and cheerfully. ‘Hullo-ullo!” For the moment my impression was that an over-zealous tele- phone operator had switched me on to somebody else’s conversa tion. And I was just going to start rattling the hook when Elkins’s voice came back again. I couldn’t catch his precise words, but there was a distinct sound of expostulation and pro- test about them. “It’s all right,” I called out encouragingly. “I’m still here.” But it was the new voice that answered me. ‘“Hullo-ullo!” it said, more joyously than ever. “I’m just popping along to see you.’

Page 87

y OWN Case deal more suggestion ung man’s ince of my ypens that f scuffing zlous tele- conversa- ook when is precise 1 and pro- | here.” o-ullo!” it yng to see Illustrations by ‘ James Montgomery Flagg I don’t really know how to convey the warmth and im- petuosity of this announcement. It wasn’t only as if the speaker were my oldest and dearest friend; it wasn’t only as if the prospect of popping along to see me were almost destroying him with enthusiasm and excitement. Quite apart from all this I seemed to hear the unshakable belief that I also must be completely car- tied away at the notion of our meeting. “Wait!” I shouted anxiously. “Who are you?” And then, desperately: “Elkins! I say, Elkins!” Bur no sound came from J. B. Elkins. The new voice had taken entire possession of the line. Ha, ha!” it laughed, with intoxicating geniality. “I’ll be Tound in an absolute jiffy.” And then it slammed down its re- ceiver, and there was nothing left for me but to slam down mine. ‘Wasn’t it enough for Elkins that he was an established success. Without his going out of his way like this to wreck a fellow writer’s morning? I looked waspishly at my telephone, made a movement towards it, changed my mind, and finally rang the bell. _ ‘Oh, look here,” I said, when at length it was answered. “I’ve just heard that a gentleman is on his way here. I don’t know his ’ G.‘Gentlemen, allow me to present Mr. Gregory Sep Coote,’’ F announced. > name, but I don’t want to see him. Will you tell him I’m very sorry, but I’m particularly busy, and if he wouldn’t mind writing, then—ah—er s My voice died away, drowned by the prodigious throbbing from an apparently open exhaust pipe just outside my house. “Really,’”’ I began impatiently, ‘“‘the noise people make in this street , The throbbing was reinforced by a frightful screech from an electric horn, and forgetting all about my waiting handmaiden and my uncompleted instructions, I dashed angrily to the win- dow and put my head out. A lean and exquisitely attired young man was stepping out over the side of an exaggerated sports model—eighty percent of engine and about five percent of seating accommodation—and flinging a pair of gauntlets back where he had just come from, he looked‘up and met my congested gaze. “Hullo-ullo!”’ he called out. ‘Here we are.”” Then he ran up my front steps and beat fhunderously on the knocker. This—there could be no doubt of it—was the fellow who had so truthfully announced that he was “popping along” to see me. But even in the foreshortened glimpse which I had had of him he had destroyed all my preconceived notions of the kind of 99

Page 88

100 man who writes literary gossip. Asa relative of Lord Biggleswade he would pass muster well enough, for Biggleswade, notwith- standing his newspapers, is a genuine patrician; the fourth of his name, and as thoroughly inbred as royalty itself. The Biggles- wade family tree was probably teeming with exquisitely dressed young men in sports models, but why it should enter any of their heads to start interviewing Elkins or myself, or why——__ I looked round quickly and saw that my handmaiden had left the room. “Here!” I called out. “Wait a minute. I just o Too late. I ran out onto the landing, but she was already in parley with my visitor on the door-mat. “That’s all right,” he was assuring her, with a fresh and com- pelling outburst of gaiety. “Fixed it all on the telephone just now. [’llgoright up. This way?” he asked, already bounding up the stairs. And then he saw me standing there at the top of the flight. I could have told you what was coming next. “Hullo-ullo!”’ “I’m very sorry,” I began, with an attempt at stiffness; “but——” “T know,” he cut in, slapping me affectionately on the arm. “Infernal nerve, barging in on you like this. But there it all is. Must make a start somewhere, you know. I say, what a ripping little room!” Could anyone have resisted this method of attack? Could any- one have maintained his dignity when slapped on the arm by this extraordinary creature? In spite of all that I had suffered, in spite of my clear memory of the work which I hadn’t even begun, I found myself thawing. “Come in,” I said—though as a matter of fact we were in. “Er—have a cigaret?” The extraordinary crea- ture stopped smiling for a fraction of a second. ‘‘No, thanks,” he said. “I— well, the fact is I’ve just turned over a new leaf. No smokes before luncheon. No drinks before dinner. Early to bed, early to rise. You know the rest of it, eh? Well, that’s me.” As a method of self-intro- duction it was admirable up to a point. But there was one important partic- ular which I had still not gathered either from Elkins or my visitor. Perhaps he read my thoughts—for he can be quick enough at that—and, with a sudden and quite disarming blush, rushed on. ‘““Name’s Peak,” he said. “Hugo Peak. I—ah——” One simply had to help him. “A relative of Lord Biggleswade’s,’’ I sug- gested. “Or at least so Elkins ig “Elkins,” he interrupted. “There’s a fellow for you. I always thought you au- thors simply loved seeing your names in print, but I’d hardly started in about my articleson Our Younger Writers when he closed up like a clam. Disheartening, you know. That’s what I call it.” For the briefest instant the smile left his pink and white face. “Well,” I pointed out, “after all, Elkins has been at it for nearly thirty years now. So perhaps——” “Has he?” Mr. Peak broke in. “Golly! I never knew that.” I will not deny that his ignorance—though I had @,"‘By Jove! HONTCOWERY Mid, I bet he’s a detective,’ I said. Hugo the Sleuth no wish to test it further—warmed the cockles of my heart “And so, you see,” I tried to resume, “possibly Elkins thought——” But he wasn’t listening. I let it go at that, and as I did so he dashed off again. “But who told you about old Biggles?” he asked suddenly, I took it that he was referring to his noble relative. “Elkins,” I answered at once. ‘He said you were on one of his papers, and———” "he MY astonishment, Mr. Peak uttered a hollow and muffled groan. “I was,” he said. “But he let ’em fire me. Dashed old ” With a gulp he controlled himself. “After all,” he added surprisingly, “‘he’s her father.” It is the fate of novelists that they are perpetually scenting romance in real life where it doesn’t exist. But surely I coulén’t have misread the still more ingenuous rush of blood to the countenance which had followed immediately on these last words. The young man believed himself to be in love. “T’m sorry, if I’ve said anything to——” Mr. Peak. seemed to shake himself, and in one continuous movement to conjure a cigaret from a case in his hip pocket toa condition of incandescence in his mouth. I saw no reason for reminding him of his recently declared views on smoking, for I was only too glad for him to do anything which might calm his fevered soul. Without as yet putting it even into unspoken words, I knew that I liked this young man. “Not in the least,” he cut in, flicking his extinguished match into my fireplace. “But it’s like this, you see. Old Biggles said he wouldn’t hear of it unless I settled down to something. He’s like that, you know. And of course I wanted to please him, so I said, ‘All right. I’lltake a jobon one of your papers.’ As a matter of fact,” he added frankly, “‘it was Sally’s idea, really. And a jolly good idea too, 1f only——” Some dark memory seemed for a moment to cast a shadow on his spirit. He dropped abruptly into one of my armchairs, and then realizing, apparently, what had happened to his new resolu- tion—he flung the cigaret after the match witha gesture of disgust. “Dash!” he said remorsefully. And then: “But I'll show them the kind of ‘ellow Iam. I’lladmit I made a mess of things the first time, but who could have helped it with old Biggles sitting there waiting to catch you out? But Sally’s been per- fectly splendid. She’s the kind of girl, you know, who—well, I mean——” Here it seemed to cross my visitor’s mind that his soliloquy was being overheard, and by a com- parative stranger. He pulled himself together and started off on another tack. And now there wasa pathetic and unconvincing note of efficiency in his voice. “Sally’s no end of a reader,” he informed me. “Personally, I’m no earthly use at it. Novels, you know. They just get right past me. But still, as I said to old Elkins just now, that’s no reason why I shouldn’t do some jolly good articles about authors. Of course it would be better in a way ifI knew that anyone was going to buy them. But then, that’s the worst of being a—a” —he snapped his fingers and contorted his brow as he sought in vain for the missing word—‘“a free- lance. That’s what lamnow. Yousee the idea?” “Of course,” I said, cutting short his explana- tion. But of all the free-lance journalists whom! had ever met or heard of, it seemed to me that Hugo Peak was the most unrepresentative and incredible. Suddenly I saw a vision of his inter- view with J. B. Elkins; of Elkins’s swift discovery that this alleged newspaper man didn’t even know the elements of his job; and then—yes, by George —of the malicious inspiration which had prompted him to ring me up, to avenge the interruption of his own morning by demolishing some one else % I owed Mr. Elkins something for that; but it still seemed impossible to feel any real resentment against Mr. Peak. It was ridiculous, though, to prolong our conversation after his latest confession.

Page 89

my heart, ly Elkins I did so he ddenly, - ON one of nd mufiled . Dashed er all,” he ly scenting I couldn't 0d to the these last continuous pocket toa reason for ig, for I was t calm his ) unspoken shed match ou see. Old ss I settled you know. oI said, ‘All pers.’ As was Sally’s f only—” moment to ed abruptly n realizing, new resolu- atch with a then: “But I'll admit 1e, but who itting there 's been per- , you know, mind that 1 by a com- ogether and there was a siency in his formed me. Novels, you But still, as reason why ‘icles about in a way if] them. But a—a’”’ —he brow as he d—‘‘a free- e the idea?” ris explana- ists whom I to me that ntative and of his inter- ft discovery + even know , by George d prompte srruption 0 » one else’s. - but it still resentment rolong our I “But don’t you think,” I asked, “that it would be better, in a way, to have some idea what paper you’re writing for, before you set to work?” — I know that!” he agreed at once. “But, you see, Sally I didn’t interrupt him this time. He interrupted himself. For the best part of a week there had been sitting on the shelf over my Writing-table a china doll belonging to my daughter. A spasm of uncontrollable affection on her part had resulted in the back of its d caving in, and to calm her maternal tears I had rashly under- taken to repair the damage. It had seemed a simple enough G. ‘But let me,’’ begged Peak. fix it for you in no time.’’ It was too much. ‘‘I’m sorry > ———, i a “T'm no end of a hand with my fingers. I'll * I began firmly. operation at the time, considerably less straightforward when I had made my first attempt, and—well, there can be no disguising the fact that I had put off making a second. I’m like that, I’m afraid, at times. But it was on this unusual object that young Mr. Peak’s pale eyes had suddenly lighted. With a look of sympathetic horror he swung himself out of his armchair and, leaning across me, reached for the piece of cardboard on which Susanna (the doll) and her fractured skull were still waiting my further attention. “T say,” he said seriously, “this is a bad case. Can’t we do anything about it?” 101

Page 90

‘e 102 I gave a short, nervous laugh. ‘Oh, that,” I said. ‘‘No, please don’t worry about that. It belongs to my little girl, and I was just going to——”’ “But let me,’”’ he begged. “I’m no end of a hand with my fin- gers—if you see what I mean. Here, where’s your glue?” He helped himself from one of my pigeon-holes. ‘‘Are these all the bits? Now, just you go on with whatever you were doing and Ill fix it for you in no time.” It was too much. “T’m sorry,” I began firmly, “to seem at all——’”’ “ Waar” He looked up vaguely from where he was already sorting the china fragments. ‘Oh, I know what I was telling you. There I was,” continued young Mr. Peak, “‘keen as mustard; all geared up, ready to give old Biggles the scoop of his life; simply panting with enthusiasm, if you follow. And what do they do with me? Shove me ina little room without a telephone and for- get all about me. I had twelve days on the Courier, and eleven of them—if vou’ll believe me—I just sat there and twiddled my thumbs. ; “T can tell you, I was nearly frantic. Used to go round the office on my hands and knees, almost; beseeching some one to give me something to do. Point was, they wouldn’t take me seriously. One fellow—Harris, they called him, but I could never quite place him—he did try and take a little trouble. ‘You’ve got to show what you can do,’ he said, ‘before anyone’ll let you do it. That’s the rule on a newspaper; so get busy.’ “Of course I saw he meant it well. But how on earth can a fellow get busy if nobody gives him a start? I tell you I was in a most uncomfortable position; and if it hadn’t been for Sally, I’d have dashed well walked out after a couple of days of it. But she said the only thing was to go through the mill; she said that was Biggles’s idea—to see what I was made of, and all that sort of rot. Sol sat tight there like a limpet. It didn’t seem to me to be the way to get on in the world, but at any rate I wasn’t going to let them send for me when I wasn’t there. If that was their little game, then we’d soon see who could hang on longest.” Here young Mr. Peak paused for breath—and to place a neatly gummed section of cranium in its appropriate place—and I did my best to obstruct his threatened resumption. ‘“Jt’s very good of you,” I said, “to be telling me all this. But honestly; you know——” ‘‘Not'm the least,” he cut me short. “It’s a relief to get some of it off my chest. Well, as I was just going to say, it all went on like that—depressing simply isn’t the word—until one evening when I was-pretty near bursting with boredom, and I went down- stairs to see this fellow Harris. I felt he was something important, you know, because he had a huge room all to himself. “ ‘Look here,’ I said; ‘this is getting a bit thick, if you see what Imean. When are you fellows going to find me something to do?’ “Vou’d have thought he might have answered a plain question like that. But not a bit of it. He just started coughing up all that dreary kind of stuff about how we’d all got to begin at the beginning, and how opportunities came to the fellows who knew how to find them, and how nobody could expect to run before they could walk. All thoroughly sound, no doubt, but about as much use to me as a bottle of acid drops. ** “Now, look at some of the men we’ve got on the Courier to- day.’ he said. ‘How do you suppose they managed to make good?’ ““T haven’t the foggiest notion,’ I said. “ ‘Look at Walter Bridges,’ he said. ‘Started as an office boy. Nobody behind him. But he’d got news sense. He learned what the public wanted. He learned what the editors wanted. And what is he now?’ *““T don’t know,’ I said. : “ ‘He’s our star reporter,’ said old Harris. “That’savhat-he is. He could walk out of this office tomorrow_and get-a.job on-any paper you like to mention. And why? Because he’s never waited to be told what to do. Because he’s a go-geftér. Because we all know that anything old Wally sets his hand to, he’ll de- liver the goods.’ =* . “ ‘Oh!’ I said. + “ ‘Ves,’ said old Harris. ‘And it’s up to you, my lad, to show us the stuff you’re made of. Show us that,.and we shan’t worry whether your cousin’s a lord or a rag-picker. But don’t expect you can come in here and get treated differently from anyone else.’ “And then he thumped one of the bell-pushes on his desk, and a girl came in with a lot of letters for him to sign, and I just faded away. At the actual moment it was the only thing that anyone could have done. to settle that while I was scooting through Kent. Hugo the Sleuth “But,” continued young Mr. Peak, fixing me with his pale blue eyes, “I’d jolly well made up my mind about one thing. If this was the kind of line they were taking, then I was through with that poky little room on the sixth floor. If they really wanted me to start butting in on the rest of the office, then I'd just jolly well show them something. “And I didn’t let the grass grow under my feet, either, I just lit out along that corridor and burst into the big room at the end— where I’d seen a lot of fellows scribbling away in eyeshades, anda lot of dirty little boys running about with bits of paper. 4 haven’t the ghost of a notion what they’re all doing,’ I said to my. self, ‘but whatever it is, I’m in on it.’ , “And yet, you know, it wasn’t nearly as easy as it sounded. [ spoke to several of the fellows and offered to give them a hand but they might just as well have been deaf. And as for the dirty little boys, if I tripped over one of them I must have tripped over a dozen. And all the time the telephones were buzzing, and the tape-machines were clicking, and the fellows were muttering to themselves. Oh, a regular hive—if you see what I mean. “ ‘This is a bit slow for the onlookers,’ I said to myself after a time; and I drifted over into the corner where the stuff was cor- ing in on the tape. ‘Perhaps I’ll see something there that'll give me an idea,’ I thought. And by Jove, you know, that was exactly what happened. ‘Do you remember that affair the other day when the People’s Popular Bank went bust? A dirty sort of business, as I see things, and pretty tough luck on the widows and orphans who thought they were going to make seventy-five percent on their outlay. Well, as I was telling you, just at the very moment I bent over the machine, the story came spluttering out on the tape. ‘Failure of People’s Popular Bank. Reported Disappear- ance of Mr. Gregory Coote, the Managing Director. Warrant Issued for His Arrest.’ ‘* “Hfullo-ullo,’ I said to myself. stars have spoken. hound gets busy.’ And I legged it right out of the office, hopped into my car that was waiting in the vard, streal.cd off te the club and stood myself a drink.” ‘Gregory Coote, my lad, the A: THIS point, with all the skill of a born serial writer, young Mr. Peak suddenly paused. “A drink?” I echoed. ‘But why ‘6 “Stands to reason,” said young Mr. Peak. “I’d got a pretty big job in hand, as I saw things, and the first business was to make certain that I was absolutely fit. Besides, it was getting on for dark now, and heaven knew when I’d meet my next meal. Might not be for days. The drink.was a perfectly sound idea. “What’s more, it seemed to quicken the old intellect. ‘What I’ve got to do,’ I told myself, ‘is to imagine that I’m in Coote’s shoes. What would a fellow do if he knew there was a warrant out for his arrest?’ Well, it’s obvious when you put it like that. He’d bolt. Where’d he bolt to, though? Abroad, of course. Only one more question before I got going. Which port would he start from? ee “Well, which port would I have started from? No difficulty there. Shortest sea passage for me every time, and if I’d got away with all that. cash, then blow the expense. Besides, the kind of fat City blighter that I took this Coote for would be bound to be a rotten sailor. Dover, then. I could make it in two hours. with any,kind of luck, and be back again before the Courigr went to press. — ~ te , “As for the actual plan of campaign, there’d be plenty of time I rather favored a clean knock-out, but of course there’s a lot to be said for ahalf-nélSon.if the other fellow isn’t too particular. I borrowed a’yard-or two of string from the porter, just so as to be ready for Ep anything; and then—about. half. past five, I suppose it was— skipped back into the old bus, and.away.we went. = - > “It may have taken me twenty minutes’getting clear of the tram-lines, but after that—well, if we dropped below forty, then the needle didn’t have time to notice it. It was a topping evening, stars and moon going all out, and hardly a creature on the road. It was only just half past six when I buzzed through Maidstone, and she was firing like an absolute dream. By George, too, It did me good to get a breath of fresh air again. And partly because of that, and partly because I had a kind of hunch that my troubles about Sally were coming to an end, I started singing. “Well, there I-was, rending the welkin as you might say, and nipping along at somewhere around forty-five, when all of a sud- den I came round a bend clean on top of another fellow’s tail- light. Down I -jumped on all the (Continued on page 104) This is where the Courier’s special sleuth- : Baar

Page 91

us pale blue ng. If this rough with wanted me st jolly well her. [j just it the end— 1ades, anda paper, .f said to my- sounded. [| em a hand, or the dirty pped over a 1g, and the uttering to ean. self after a ff was cor- that'll give , that was he People’s ;, as I see phans who nt on their moment I out on the Disappear- Warrant y lad, the cial sleuth- ce, hopped te the club iter, young pretty big is to make ting on for 1ext meal, ind idea. ct. ‘What in Coote’s a warrant t like that. irse. Only would ke o difficulty if I’d got esides, the would make it in before the ty of time I rather be said for borrowed - ready for . it was—l ear Of the orty, then g evening; "the road. Jaidstone, too, it did ly because y troubles t say, and | of a sud- low’s tail- page 104) Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 103 It would have been How often the hostess realizes with vexation that her dinner has been above all criticism except for some one short-coming in it! And how important it is that the soup course at the beginning shall not be the “if” which she tries so hard to avoid! No doubt. the enormous popularity of Campbell’s Soups is due largely to this fact: Housewives realize that Campbell’s are always to be depended on, that their splendid quality is uniform and always the same. Every time you place Campbell’s Tomato Soup on your table you are certain it will be a soup you are proud to serve—a puree of rich tomato juices and luscious tomato ‘“‘meat”’ blended with golden butter and seasoned by chefs who know! 21 kinds 12 cents a can a wonderful dinner if — With bubbling tone, my saxophone Weaves spells of syncopation. Add Campbell’s pep, then how they step With frisky jubilation! Campers Soup COMPANY we CAMDEN, NW. US-A- Cream of Tomato! Heat the contents of can of Campbell’s Tomato Soup to the boiling point in a saucepan after adding a pinch of baking soda. Then heat SEPARATELY an equal quantity of milk orcream. Stir the hot soup INTO the hot milk or cream but do not boil. Serve immediately.

Page 92

brakes, but the fellow in front said afterwards that he’d thought I was calling out to him to stop. Consequence was he jumped on all his brakes too. Then his back tire went with a bang, and over he shot into the ditch. “T gave a yell and he gave a yell, and for the best part of a minute there was a crashing and crunching of glass and metal, and then out he crawled and shook his fist in my face. “ ‘Sorry, old man,’ I said. ‘My mistake, I expect.’ “**VYou dashed murderer,’ he said. * ‘Steady on,’ I said. ‘Keep cool, old son.’ “*You infernal road-hog,’ he said. ‘If I weren’t in such a hurry, I’d make you pay for this.’ “ ‘Not me, old boy,’ I said. ‘I’m insured. Besides, we’re both jolly lucky to be alive. There’s nothing to get shirty about.’ “‘He was shirty, though. “ ‘Well, look here, old fellow,’ I said. ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry myself, but I don’t mind obliging you if you'll stop screeching like that. Where were you going?’ “““T was going to Dover,’ he said, picking some more of the hedge out of his back hair. ‘And if you’ve made me miss the boat ; “ “My dear old sportsman,’ I said. ‘Every cloud is silver-lined. Hop aboard and make yourself at home. I’m going to Dover myself.’ “* *Vou’ll take me to the harbor?’ he asks. “ ‘Right up the jolly old gangplank,’ I said. ‘Fetch along your traps.’ “Well, to put the whole thing in a nutshell, he yanked his hold-all out of the wreckage, climbed onto my front seat, and away we went. It wasn’t long before we were as matey as anything. “ ‘Tt’s quite a coincidence, you know,’ I said, ‘my running into you like that. Because I only made up my mind to come this way quite on the spur of the moment.’ “ *That’s a funny thing,’ he said. ‘So did I.’ “ ‘Dashed funny,’ I said. ** ‘Going abroad?’ he asked. * ‘Well, yes and no,’ I said. And then, be- cause after all he’d taken our little contretemps fairly decently, and I could see he meant to be friendly, I thought I’d tell him some more. ‘As a matter of fact,’ I said, ‘I’m on a news- paper. Special correspondent and all] that. I’ve got a bit of a stunt on tonight.’ “And by Jove, you know, I could see he was quite impressed. “ ‘Ves,’ I said. ‘I’m out after this blighter Gregory Coote—you know, the fellow who’s robbed the till at the Popular Bank. Bit of a scoop for my paper if I catch him, what?’ “T don’t know that I’ve ever had such a success. “ ‘Coote!’ he gasped. ‘But how—I mean, what on earth makes you think you'll get him down here?’ ‘Oh, just two and two together,’ I said. ‘Put yourself in his place, and all that. Of course I may be wrong, but nothing venture, nothing win.’ “ ‘But isn’t it really a matter for the police?’ “<Police!’ I said. ‘Not on your life. I’m playing a lone hand in this game. I’m not going to go sharing all the credit with a set of bunglers like the police.’ ‘He was more impressed than ever. I could see that. “* ‘T suppose,’ he said presently, ‘that you’ve got the blackguard’s description, eh?’ “Well, do you know, it was a funny thing, but this was absolutely the first time the point had struck me. ““*Good Lord! I said, ‘I’d forgotten all about it. ** “Oh, you can’t think of everything,’ he said. ‘And, as a matter of fact, talking of coin- cidences, I might be able to help you. I tsed to see something of poor old Coote, before he started this Popular Bank. That was what gave me such a start when you said you were after him.’ “Well, there was a bit of luck, if you like.

I say, how dashed careless of me!’ * *Go on!’ Isaid. ‘You don’t really mean it!’ “*T do,’ he said. ‘I used to travel up on the same train with him every day. Of course he’s a bit difficult to describe—nothing special to catch hold of, I mean. But if he hasn’t dis- guised himself, I ought to be able to pick him out anywhere.’ “ ‘My dear old son,’ I said, ‘don’t tell me that Providence didn’t send you into that ditch. This is where we go into partnership. Just you stick to me till the boat sails and I’ll see you get your photograph on our back page. No,’ I said, for I could see he was a nervous sort of fellow, ‘I don’t want you to do anything except point him out. Ill do all the dirty work.’ “However, just at this stage he suddenly began to get cold feet. Didn’t want to risk losing the boat; didn’t want his name in the papers; didn’t want to get mixed up with the police. I had quite a job persuading him to help me, and it wasn’t till we were actually running through Dover that he finally gave way. Then, all of a sudden, he seemed to make up his mind. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘T’ll do what I can. You come on board with me, and we'll keep a look-out as the passengers come up the gang- way. If I see Coote, I'll give you the word— but after that I’m going to clear out. [ma peaceable man, I am, and don’t you forget it.’ “« “My dear old boy,’ I said, ‘you leave the rough stuff tome. That’s absolutely all I want you to do.’ Then we drove in through the harbor gates. There was the boat, all ready and waiting, and I parked my car right on the edge of the quay. We couldn’t have timed things better, for the London train came in just as we’d put the fellow’s hold-all in the cloakroom. We rushed back to the rail and started watching the passengers come on board. “T was all keyed up, as you can guess, but nothing seemed to happen. One after another the men and women came trooping up over the side, but none of them seemed to have guilt written in their faces, and my friend let ’em all pass without a word. It was beginning to look as if my deductions had slipped up somewhere, when I suddenly noticed a fellow in a felt hat and a raincoat at the bottom of the gangway who was staring at all the passengers as they went by. “ “By Jove,’ I said, ‘I believe that chap there’s on the same game as us. Just you watch him. I bet he’s a detective.’ “My friend shook his head. “Tm a bit short-sighted,’ he said. ‘Just let me put on my glasses.’ He put on a big pair of tortoise-shells and had another look. ‘’'m not sure,’ he said. And just at this moment the fellow below turned and stared right up at us. I saw his face light up, and he began running up the gangway. * “Quick! shouted my friend in my ear. ‘It’s Coote himself! Nab him? “He slipped back through the crowd, and I slipped forward. I met the fellow in the rain- coat half-way down the gangway, and he tried to rush past me. “ ‘Woa! I said, catching him by the arm. “ ‘Let go, you fool!’ he’said, and he kicked me right on the shin. “«Pve got you,’ I said; and by George, you know, I had. Those gangways are dashed slippery places, and I’m no lightweight what- ever I look like. We both lost our balance at the same moment, but he reached the cobble- stones first, and I was on top of him. He gave one groan and turned up his eyes. “There was a crowd round us in no time, but I never lost my head. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘This gentleman’s a friend of mine. I'll look after him.’ And I picked him up and dumped him down on the seat of my car. It didn’t take a jiffy to step on the starter, and we were half- way through the town before anyone had a chance to stop us. As we came up the long hill, Coote suddenly started groaning again. “* “None of that,’ I said. ‘You leave that to the widows and orphans.’ Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitau for October, 1925 Hugo the Sleuth by Denis Mackail (Continued from page 102) “He tried to snatch at the wheel, but I was ready for him. I got my rug wound round his head and shoulders, and I Jashed him up with the porter’s bit of string until he could just breathe and no more. ‘Now, then, m i said, ‘you keep quiet and there’ll be no more trouble. Otherwise——’ But there was no more fight in him. He just flopped back on the seat and let the world go by. “It was just ten o’clock when we fetched up under the archway at the Courier office, | lifted poor old Coote onto his feet, heaved him over my shoulder, dashed in through the swing-doors and straight into Harris’s room, “« ‘Ffullo-ullo,’ I sang out. ‘What about it? “There were four or five fellows there, all staring at a photograph on old Harris’s desk and they all shot round together when they heard me. “* ‘What the devil does this mean?” asked old Harris. And I heard one of the others say, ‘Oh, Lord! It’s Peak.’ But I didn’t care, | stood my bundle up on one end and started untwisting the string. Then I made a bow. “ “Gentlemen,” I said, ‘allow me to present Mr. Gregory Coote.’ “They all gave a loud gasp; and as I pulled off the rug, they all gave a yell. And then, quite suddenly, I had the most appalling feeling that something had gone wrong. “Some of the fellows dashed across and began helping my prisoner into an armchair. Butit was Harris who got his voice back first. He snatched up the photograph that they’d all been looking at and came dancing towards me. “ ‘Coote?’ he shouted. ‘You dashed idiot, this is Coote!’ “He showed me the photograph. It was the fellow whose car I’d smashed. The fellow I'd driven half across Kent and seen safely on board the Calais steamer. “*Then who did I bring in here?’ I asked. “Old Harris gave a perfectly frightful sort of grin. ‘Peak,’ he said, ‘you’ll walk straight out of this building and never dare show your face inside it again. You’ve spoiled the biggest scoop in the whole ten years of my editorship. You’ve half killed my star reporter, and—~” “ ‘What!’ I said. ‘You don’t mean—— . “But old Harris simply turned his back. As T left the room, I could see them going on their knees to the star reporter. They were calling him ‘Wally, old man,’ and begging him not to leave them. “But he did,” added young Mr. Peak, with acertain gloomy satisfaction. ‘And that’s why old Biggles wouldn’t give me another shot— not even when they caught Gregory Coote in Barcelona.’ That’s what turned me into a free-lance.” He rose suddenly from his seat on the other side of the hearth and handed me my daugh- ter’s doll—exquisitely repaired, and with its blond top-knot once more in position. “I’m afraid I’ve taken up an awful lot of your time,” he said. “And of course you're perfectly right about not writing stuff you think some one’s going to buy it.” His temporary despondency seemed to melt be- neath the warmth of his own smile. “But I'll soon think of something else,” he added brightly. “Old Biggles hasn’t done with me yet—not by a long chalk he hasn’t. And if] haven’t got a story out of you, at least-—— “At least,” I interrupted, “you have done the precise opposite.” He laughed gaily, though it was clear that he had no idea what I meant. He continued to laugh gaily as I saw him down-stairs into his sports model, and we parted with a vague but cordial undertaking to meet shortly at one of other of our clubs. Then, still chuckling to myself, I returned quickly to my writing-pad. But there wa gratitude as well as amusement in that so There was something very like triumph. For though I was still crowing over youns Mr. Peak’s adventure, still more was I crowing over my old friend J. B. Elkins.

ieee ae oe

Page 93

oss and began hair. But it ck first. He . towards me, dashed idiot, . It was the he fellow I'd en safely on re?’ I asked. ghtful sort of straight out ow your face oing on their were Calli g him not to . Peak, with d that’s why other shot— clear that he ontinued to airs into a vague but ly at one or _ I returned t there was that sound. umph. over young as I crowing Hearst’s International-Cosmopolhtan for October, 1025 othing can take the place ot Fels~Na ptha ! It isn’t work that steals away youth—or takes the bloom from pretty cheeks. It’s the work you do! needlessly. Do you want extra help with the wash? Nothing can take the place of Fels-Naptha! Do you wanta “lift” with the cleaning about the house? Nothing can take the place of Fels-Naptha! Are you tempted to try new things for washing and cleaning? Nothing can take the place of Fels-Naptha! Nothing can, for splendid soap and dirt-loosening naptha, working together in Fels-Naptha, give you extra washing and ws cleaning help that you cannot get in any other form! Safe, thorough, wholesome cleaning! Smell the Isn’t this extra help worth a penny more a week? Cheaper in naptha in the end, anyway! Fels-Naptha! Give Fels-Naptha its place in your home. Buy a Golden Bar today at your grocer’s. © Fels & Co. Philadelphi« THE GOLDEN BAR WITH THE CLEAN NAPTHA ODOR

Page 94

106 Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 A Promising Young Man by [da M. Evans Cominued from page 50) to Eppie. Again he had put the skids under papa. “You must, papa. He’s down and out. Grease spots on his vest. No—he wasn’t un- clean. You know the spots that cleaners simply can’t get off—old clothes’ trade-marks. His shoes were awful. He seems to be keeping books for some retail grocery store, and selling oil stock odd hours. Trying to sell, I mean —excuse me! It hurt me to look at him. And to listen. Now see here, papa—it wouldn’t be comfortable for him to work for me. He’d suspect right away that I gave him a job out of charity. Old brilliant Lafe! But you can do it different from me, papa. Just you . Ephemeus may have been about to protest. “Now, papa—don’t tell me you haven’t got a place to stick him where he can’t help being partly worth two thousand dollars a year. All the Hogeman offices, factories and retail stores! Every business anyway has to carry so many sticks-in-the-mud. That’s statistics! Out of my pocket, papa, Ill be willing to give you whatever you pay him. I’d have loaned him today ten thousand dollars—twenty thousand. But he would have felt shamed. He’s gone down—down in life.” Very gentle was a big voice. “But not in that way.” Perhaps Lafe Darnold might have torn up the kindly letter, which had been dictated by Eppie right at papa’s alpaca elbow. But Mildred had seen it too, and she wanted to know whom it was from. Then her dark eyes, not so prettily dark as once, had instantly dilated with avidity. Well, there was a reason that he held himself in Mildred’s debt. Long time past, and more than once, she had broached the subject of going to work herself; stenography, or rooming- house. He had shouted, pride cut to the quick, that he wouldn’t be living with a wife whom he was not supporting. So she had given over the thought. But she had remained bitter- eyed and tight-lipped. Now, therefore, he shaved himself and al- lowed her to brush his hat and his coat and clean a necktie and wash a handkerchief. There was bitter anxiety in her face, and pathos in her insistent attentions. Ah, a pity that humans cannot brush or benzine a spirit! Ephemeus Hogeman was older by twelve years than when Lafe had last seen him. But facially he did not show this. He could have told you something about a liver and kidneys that were fighting a losing battle with time. But Ephemeus was not a person to talk about himself. The twelve years, however, showed on the younger man. They protruded like clods on an untended path. With a somewhat for- bidding look, Ephemeus had waited his en- trance after his name had been handed in by the girl. But at first sight of the younger man, the forbidding expression altered. Something else besides a poor record twelve years back entered the room with him. Perhaps it was the too anxious, humble smile, Or the way Lafe held his hat meekly in hand. Or the middle-aged sag to profile. Ephemeus had seen enough of life to have acquired involuntarily and helplessly a private sense of poignant charitableness to his kind. And he remembered quite distinctly the young fellow who twelve years before had come through the door with such careless young overweening confidence and charm. At the previous time Lafe had smiled. Easily, winningly. Between the two kinds of smile lay, oh, plainly, much of failure, of snubs, of mistakes, of false hope and lack of ability. The elder man read this. Now he knew why Eppie, to use one of the latter’s favorite expressions, had made him “the goat.”” He saw that pride still lived behind the under-dog docility and the middle age. It was a bit of bleeding pride that, peering forth from the mechanically smiling eyes, hurt the owner and the behoier. It was partly born of the moment, but partly because subconsciously the post had been in Ephemeus’s mind for some time, he thought of a niche for Lafe. An outside niche. The preliminary words were jerky. But as he spoke, in the older man’s mind an idea grew and took on width. He needed a man, he said, to do work that might be called confidential. Some one trustworthy and not too aggressive. Drumming his old fingers on his desk, Ephemeus went on slowly to say that modern business, big business, that is, had a hundred triangles to the old trite one of labor, capital and taxes. Business had its little mishaps too, which came from small hidden causes, and sometimes amounted to a devastating total. Perhaps the long and rather rambling résumé was given in order to draw Lafe out of himself. He sat attentive, with his fixed, anxious, affable smile. When the older man paused, he murmured yes respectfully. ' “What I want you to do,” Ephemeus summed finally, ‘is to visit unexpectedly the factories, mills and chain stores which are owned by us or connected with our jobbing association. We want to know things. It is not a question of getting a typed statement of sales and profits every six months, or every month. We wish to be closely informed on all local conditions. We want to know whether the complaint we get about a foreman in Detroit is honest, or the revenge complex of some lazy worker. We want to find out if Chain Store Twenty-eight is run by an in- growing or upgrowing local manager; and whether his wife was a nagging, intolerable woman who pushed a decent man to the wall, or the report is true that he forced her to get a divorce because he was in love with the beautiful, dumb cashier. “We want detailed and unbiased reports. We wish an honest man with some power of observation.” The last two sentences seemed to hang in the air with a hint of intentional compliment. A little more mechanical became Lafe Darnold’s subservient smile. The felt rim of the hat which he still held was twisted by his nervous fingers. Ephemeus looked away. Of course the job wasn’t bad. Some men would have jumped at it. Lafe tried not to think of certain words that drifted into his mind. Industrial spy. Gum-shoed investi- gator. Snoopy work. Private detective. Lafe said rather pitifully that there didn’t seem much of a future to such a position. “No,” admitted Ephemeus shortly, as if to suggest that the speaker heretofore hadn’t glimpsed much of a future. ‘“But—well, I be- lieve I can promise permanency. And twenty- four hundred a year, besides your expenses. Also——” The older man cleared his throat and looked away from the other’s right shoe on which for a.moment his eyes had lighted. “It isn’t work that calls for foppish attire. In fact, in the smaller towns, hanging around boarding- houses—well, I don’t mean that the man should look like a hobo. You understand.” Lafe continued to smile on his chair. It was unpleasant; like a male wax effigy in a shop window. But his thoughts were rapid, like a squirrel’s feet on a circling run. “Two hundred a month. Mildred could live on that. My expense money would do me. She could give up the dumpy rear four-room flat. Get a little new, clean kitchenette. _She’d be happier without me hanging around. It’s as much as a lot of women get for alimony—from well-to-do husbands. Two hundred—Mildred could live on that. She’d be happier. She could get PY He wet his mechanically smiling lips. Mildred should have. her alimony, as custom has set the amount. “I can start in at any time,” he said aloud. “Any time at all, sir.” Eppie had spoken to his parent of the Darnolds’ undivorced state. “Which says something for the two of them, papa. In these decree-hunting days. That’s one reason ’'d like to help him, and her. Such a pretty girl!” But as Lafe had anticipated, many problems of his and Mildred’s life were solved simply and suddenly by this belated separation, No more of a dumpy flat. No more break. fasts with a silent woman and an uneasy man purposely refraining from much talk. No more little edgy arguments of evenings. No more forcedly optimistic attempts on his part to explain that firms were contracting or business was poor. Often when head-lines were screaming Business Revival Pleases Nation, Mildred listened rather brightly when Lafe explained that she could get a kitchenette, and enjoy matinées when she liked. She muttered once: “Good heavens, Lafe, I don’t see that it’s such a great job. Sort of private de- tective——” He wet his lips nervously and she did not finish the sentence. Her mouth was tight as if it had pressed back too many ends of sentences. “Tt—it’s permanent,” he said. He got his clothes all out, for packing. She was looking after the crating of the furniture, He had a fairly good suitcase, tan-colored leather, which had gone on their honeymoon, It was roomy enough for all of his wardrobe. Mildred got some new ties, shoes and socks for him, and said briefly that she’d try to save enough for a dark suit for him in the next few months. No—she silenced his protest; he needed a suit. She had objected a little, not much, to taking the two hundred. He knew— and she knew—that now she was salving her own sense of relief at the parting of their days. But for all the new accessories and the pre- sentable suitcase, he was not a cheerful figure departing to take his train. They said good-by without apparent emotion. And when he was in the street and could not see her, he sighed. with a faint relief and so did she. She went on with the packing. He had left her to find her own clean kitchenette. Eppie had held that their non-divorce did the two a certain credit. But Mildred had another opinion. It had often seemed to her that she and Lafe had souls too small to separate. They remained together and were faithful to each other much as two cowardly children sit hand in hand in a cellar. Their life had become a cellar emotionally, but by habit they sat together and tried pathetically to feel virtuous over sharing each other’s company. Now—much was settled. At intervals thereafter Lafe came home fora few days, a week-end; if he could call home the city where he drew his pay and where Mildred in a kitchenette that was cramped but very immaculate rather awkwardly welcomed him and fixed him a cot bed. About twice a year he came. Even the first time she found him a quieter and older man. He said that his work was easy. Oh, he guessed he could hang on to the job without trouble, even if Ephemeus Hogeman hadn’t practically insured its permanency. Mildred had suggested a show and paid for the tickets out of her monthly two hundred dollars. She insisted afterward on suppet. She was dressed fairly well. She was rouged and powdered into a semblance of her younger self. Lafe saw that she was happier than for several years. But even so the evening was not a success: It was dull. So they did not go out again. Lafe, so Mildred sharply told herself, didn’t fit in restaurant scenes. He sat slumpily ina chair and had little to say; and sartorially he didn't cut much of a figure among the other men. He talked little on this first reunion about his work. He was not sullenly incommun cative. His letters had not been that. He was not the kind of man to pretend a stiff resent ment which he did not feel. He did not blame Mildred because she had been unable to keep her love for him at a white heat of illusion. He had indeed half recognized the wretched truth C1

Page 95

er, 1925 89) cason I’d like tty girl y iny problems dlved simply aration, more break- uneasy man Ik. No more empts on his ntracting or id-lines were es Nation, 7 when Lafe henette, and he muttered n’t see that private de- rvously and Her mouth k too many icking. She ie furniture, tan-colored honeymoon, S wardrobe. nd socks for try to save he next few protest; he a little, not He knew— salving her ' their days. nd the pre- erful figure aid good-by hen he was , he sighed He had left tte. Eppie id the two ad another er that she rate. They ul to each en sit hand ad become t they sat el virtuous home fora | home the re Mildred | but very ‘omed him on the first older man. he guessed it trouble, practically d paid for > hundred n supper. ‘as TOUg “© younger r than for a success: nut again. didn’t fit ‘in a chair he didn’t r men. ion about communi- He was iff resent- not blame e to keep ision. He hed truth Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1025 OW do the stars at Hollywood take care of their skin? How do they keep it smooth, soft, exquisite, in spite of the constant use of make-up and the cruel exposure to high-power artificial light? We asked over 480 stars at Hollywood what toilet soap they select for the care of their skin, and why they prefer it. Woodbury’s proved to be fourteen ARE You TROUBLED with an oily skin — blackheads — conspicuous nose pores—or any other skin de- Sect? Begin today to give your skin the Woodbury treatment it needs. FREE —A guest-size set, containing the new, large- $12 trial cake of Woodbury’s Facial Soap and samples of Woodbury’s Facial Cream and Facial Powder. Cooyright, 1925, by The Andrew Jergens Co. 107 ; 3 +A rounn the luxurious private swimming-pool much of the social life of Hollywood centers. Here the stars meet to discuss their work and talk over each other’s productions. THREE HUNDRED and Firty-[wo STARS at HOLLYWOOD ¢ell why they are using this soap for their skin times as popular as any other soap! Three hundred and fifty-two, or nearly three-fourths of the entire number said they were using Woodbury’s. The largest number using any other one soap was 26. ““Woodbury’s lathers so easily and plenti- fully and makes the skin so soft and smooth!” “ No other soap is so mild and yet so bene- Jicial to the skin.” “Dainty, cleansing, harmless—splendid after removing grease paint.” “My skin is extremely sensitive on ac- count of using make-up continually. I find Woodbury’s Soap the least irritating of all.” “T find it best for my skin. It keeps the skin free from blackheads, enlarged pores, etc.” These were some of the comments vole unteered by the Hollywood stars. A skin specialist worked out the for- mula for Woodbury’s. This formula not only calls for absolutely pure ingredients. It also demands greater refinement in the manufacturing process than is commer- cially possible with ordinary toilet soap. In merely handling a cake of Woodbury’s one notices this extreme fineness. Around each cake of Woodbury’s Facial Soap is a booklet of special cleansing treatments for overcoming common skin defects. A 25c cake lasts a month or six weeks. Within a week or ten days after beginning to use Woodbury’s you will see an improvement in your complexion. Get your Woodbury’s today and begin tonight the treatment your skin needs! Cut out the coupon and send it today! Tue ANprew Jercens Co., 1610 Spring Grove Ave., Cincinnati, Ohio Please send me x you live in Canada, address The Andrew -imited, 1610 Sherbrooke St., Pert), Ont. Quelch & Gambles, Led., Blackfriars Road, London, S. E. 1 FREE The new heen trial cake of Woodbury’s Facial Soap, the Facial Cream and Powder, and th rons car er, and the treat- y Jergens Co., English Agents,

Page 96

108 —that Mildred would have been a happier woman had she been a worse one, and that he might have been a stronger man had he been just a trifle weaker. They had loved each other, but had small desire to love again. So, perhaps, his letters had been merely better than none. He told about the weather usually, and if he had or had not a cold. Mostly he had not a cold. He told of any little divert- ing incident on train or at hotel in which personally he had not figured. But he never wrote Mildred about his re- ception in that first Hogeman clothing factory in Detroit. He had strolled in and was looking about the place, uncertain what to look for or to report. The foreman knew his identity before he knew the foreman’s. Al Horsman was a big, thick-boned chap, with old-country sullenness in him and new- country insolence. But, comparatively speak- ing, he was a successful man. He had started as kicked-about errand boy. He had risen to be foreman of a factory which had high-class Eastern capital backing. He had married the girl he wanted, from a cutting- room; and he had three children, in the second, fifth and eighth grades respectively. His oldest boy would soon enter high school and wanted a flivver. Al Horsman knew that if he stepped out of this factory, he could have his pick of six other like positions. Always he paid his respects for his condition in life to the proper person—himself. And there is a gift given with success; it is the power to see through the other fellow’s pose. He looked twice at Lafe, and marked in- stinctively the mechanical, docile smile, the uncertain hand put forth for shaking. “Some lame duck sent out to snoop,” he said to the head stitcher. ‘Say, I don’t have to stand for him. He needs a lesson.” Presently Lafe found out that the bottom of his overcoat had lapped up oil somewhere, as a blotter laid in ink. Al’s smile was inno- cent but insolent, while a bookkeeper was giving Lafe last month’s record sheets, already on file in the head office. Later Lafe sent in his report of Al: “Not very amiable, but a decent family man, much interested in son about to enter high school. A good worker, truculent, but not a pest to the girl workers.” Lafe had seen no reason to allow his own treatment to flavor his report, although he had written this uncertainly. He did not tell Mildred either about the oil, and the money that he could ill spare for having the overcoat cleaned. A man is ashamed to tell a woman of an indignity. It had cost something too to send in the unflavored report of Horsman. A tendency to wanton mischief is not a good sign of character. Sometimes it bespeaks degener- acy. Still, Lafe told himself with a grim smile, Horsman was merely obeying nature’s first law; he recognized the intruder as an enemy. A year became two; three; four. He traveled to and fro, sometimes on very indefinite assign- ments. To make sure that he was earning his salary, he reported almost everything he could find out about working conditions, average tempers, workers’ tendencies at home and abroad, merchants’ and boarding-house keepers’ gossip. Business in general waxed and waned. He began to have his remembered routes. The jobbing-house association expanded steadily, however, so that he was steadily finding added routes. In the fifth year he remained at home three months, tabulating accumulated reports, some of which were his own, some other men’s. It was not a pleasant period for him or for Mildred. The kitchenette was small; and he interfered of course with a routine of life to which Mildred had accustomed herself. She was older. On the surface she was the overrouged, discontented woman who tries to turn her forties back to her twenties. With another woman in the kitchenette building she had sat in the balcony of a Forty-second Street theater one night and had seen Eppie Hogeman and his wife in a box below. Mrs. Hogeman Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 junior was a fashionable flesh symphony in Russian sable. She had Italian eyes. In the foyer crush of departure, Mildred passed them and was not recognized by Eppie although in front of him. She knew that, recognizing her, he would have spoken. Well, she had changed from the fresh young dark-eyed girl in blue organdy for whose Prom dances he and dozens of other friends of Lafe had begged. On the way home, in the subway, she. was peevish so that the other woman was offended. But what Mildred bitterly envied in the per- son of Eppie Hogeman’s wife was not her youth nor her beauty nor her sable coat. Mildred put away her rouge that night. When her present lease expired, she got a cheaper place to live and began to economize in various petty ways. Getting home at trip ends, Lafe was de- pressed more by the new Mildred with her tightly drawn back hair, and her pursing of lip over her rent, than by the old ironic woman with her bitterly rebellious eyes. He left home for another trip. It was a relief to immerse himself, heels over’ head, in other men’s problems and troubles. With these of course the earth was over- running. In time his own egotism was squeezed to death, figuratively speaking. Work became the sop it will always become to those who get enough of it. There came a year when the garment-jobbing association loaned him to an association of fur-jobbers. Lafe took his transfer docilely. He distrusted the cause. He was afraid that Ephemeus wished to get rid of him. But he did not want to appear ungrateful by a show of pride. And at the end of the year he was transferred back to his old connection with the textiles. On certain of his routes he seemed to be needed, too; work had accumulated; in parts of the country strikes threatened; his reports would help firms. So he was glad that he had not acted spunky over the transfer. For he had grown used to his harness; like any horse he would have missed it, he told himself. He had come to take a curious pleasure in making out his careful and lengthy reports. Indeed, he began to feel like one apart from a world of tense, competing workers. The old student feeling had come back to him; he was writing themes, capitulations; and the faculty hardly ever corrected them, or gave a black mark. He did not tell anything like this to Mildred. No more than he told her of certain women with whom he came in intimate contact. As the years went on, his shoulders were more rounded. Few flappers put a questing eye in his direction. He was no “daddy.” He was a quiet, near-sighted, shabby man who mostly read newspapers on trains or talked with other men, mostly as shabby as himself. But once in a while a girl was invitational to him, like Letta Kraine, timekeeper in a Toledo factory, who kept a volume of Dostoievsky under her time-book. She “spotted” him as a spotter, misread his character, and promptly accepted an ungiven invitation to lunch with him. She had red hair and green eyes and a milk-white skin. In one rapid stretch of chat- ter, she allowed him to learn that she was half Russian, half Dane, with one living parent in the ‘‘flop’’; that she smoked and was willing to drink; that she had taken a business course at night school and was a wizard on the type- writer; that she had read most of Marx and all of Laurence Hope; that she liked the feel -of crépe de Chine on her skin; and that she detested baked potatoes and gravy. She wore a rather good marmot coat and a smart little satin cloche that she likely had made herself. She had a thick wrist but long white fingers that spoke of blue blood some- time mixed with peasant red. Lafe was tired that noon. He had ridden all the night before in a chair car.- He was saving expense money scrupulously at his own expense, with a vague idea of buying a cottage and acre or two for his and Mildred’s old age. So he listened almost in silence and ate his order of baked potatoes and gravy. He was . not at all allured by the clever young woman who was inclined to succumb to his remnant of good looks and to his pleasant if mechanical smile. As he listened to her, he was saddened over her perverted views of moral and social relations. He tried not to be too discourteous in keeping his hand from her soft-palmed pressure. He paid for the luncheon, and that afternoon advised a factory manager to fire her and jn her place put some young big-bosomed stolid Scandinavian who was filling a hope chest with sheets and chemises. The years went on. Sometimes two went by without Lafe’s meeting Ephemeus Hogemen face to face. The latter went South winters and North summers, or to Europe. Lafe did not mind this. Nor did he mind what happened one night in a small hotel in Kansas. The smoke-filled office suddenly was noisy with college songs. It was Com. mencement Week all over the land. The tow- haired son of the hotel keeper grinned from his radio receiving set. Ephemeus Hogeman, Eastern billionaire, was broadcasting from his powerful station for the grandson and his college friends. It is true that something went past Lafe Darnold. But it was only a wraith—a wraith of emotion. He would have liked to put out warm fingers and stayed it in its passing. He would have liked to feel old tingling and sentimental longings. But he felt only tired and apathetic. He had not handled life well. Mildred blamed him. He did not blame her for this. Another year passed. Some mental change must have come over him; or a certain stilted nod or two from old Ephemeus, and a fixed stare once from Eppie, had lain worriedly in his mind, impelling him to uneasy conjectures. After two successive week-ends in New York, he was glad to get again out on the road. ‘ Not yet had he been told he wasn’t making good, or was no more needed. He prolonged the last trip purposely. But when he finally got back at the head office building, he was convinced that his apprehensions had not been groundless. Eppie was in town. In a newspaper in the subway Lafe had read that Eppie was one of certain notable alumni invited by their old college to be on hand to commemorate the dedication of a new chapel. Eppie had pro- duced the most notable motion picture of the year. He was glad that Mildred did not much read the newspapers. All day he busied himself winding up three months’ reports. He had to wait until nearly four o’clock to get a free typist. Sometimes the girls lifted thin sleek eyebrows at his need of one of them. He al- ways asked rather apologetically. They won- dered just what use he was anyway to the firm; and why he didn’t tip once in a while; and why was he so fussy about nationalities. For in- stance, once Miss Duell had had to do a page over because she‘had mixed some Norwegians with Danes. One of the former had em- bezzled. What difference therefore did his country make? ; Some of his typing, however, Lafe did him- self; what he didn’t like to give even the limited publicity of stenographic ears. when old Abel Order of the Chicago factory married a fourteen-year-old errand girl ap he had to be laid off because she was a little trouble-making pervert. : Lafe thought sometimes that this care on his part was squeamish, and his wordiness not of much account. Ephemeus Hogeman had never given any sign that he wanted reports secret or lengthy. 3 But even this last night Lafe was painstak- ing. And after a boy had come to his elbow to say that Mr. Ephemeus Hogeman and his son both wanted to see Mr. Darnold in the exect- tive private office before he went home, he corrected a Hungarian last name. Then he went to his employer. This time he wore no fixed, anxious-to-please smile. The end had come to a rut that had become —@ Ss. eS SEY | ¢

Page 97

ber, 1925 young Woman his remnant of if mechanical} was saddened ral and social O discourteoys T soft-palmed that af ternoon re her and in osomed stolid ope chest with 'S two went by eus Hogeman South winters De. ' did he mind 1 small hotel fice suddenly It was Com- nd. The tow- nned from his 1s Hogeman, sting from his Ison and his nt past Lafe ith—a wraith od to put out passing. He tingling and thetic. ell. Mildred ier for this. rental change -ertain stilted , and a fixed worriedly in y Conjectures. nds in New t on the road. asn’t making He prolonged en he finally ding, he was had not been spaper in the e was one of by their old 1emorate the pie had pro- icture of the ot much read isied himself He had to o get a free d thin sleek 1em. He al- They won- y to the firm; ile; and why ies. For in- to do a page Norwegians er had em- ‘ore did his afe did him- ye even the c ears. As -ago factory nd girl and was 2 litile s care on his iness not of in had never ports secret as painstak- his elbow to and his son 1 the execu- t home, he This time smile. The ad become Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1025 109 Why Mn Wiliam 6 Borah believes in this aye por The wife of the distinguished Senator from Idaho speaks from a unique exper tence “Juz Pond’s method keeps the skin in the pink of condition, rejuvenating it from the strain of entertaining. Just as surely, too, do Pond’s Two Creams protect the complexions of women who ride the sage-brush-covered prairies of our great West. These two excellent Creams, in which I firmly believe, are made to serve women of all pursuits, in all climates, everywhere.” Tight Gel AUGHTER of the late William J. McConnell, former Governor of Idaho, and wife of its present Sen- ator to the United States Congress, Mary McConnell Borah was destined from the first for public life. The young man who was her father’s private secretary fell in love with this golden-haired slip of a girl who rode her own ponies over the sage-brush plains so fearlessly and well. After they were mar- tied the Senatorial toga fell upon this young man’s shoulders. _And then came the test of formal offi- cialdom at Washington! Mrs. Borah met it with complete success and has ever since responded to the countless official and social demands of Washington life. O woman is busier, yet Mrs. Borah finds time to work for sick Veterans of the World War cared for in three great Government hospitals in Washington, writing their letters home, taking them Cigarettes and magazines. : Mrs. Borah believes in a rounded life, a woman’s looking after the details of er appearance. Not long ago I asked her What she considered the best way of car- ing for the skin. “A good cream,” she answered, “for cleansing and keeping it firm and fine. And another for protecting it.” Then she told me how the women who live on the great western plains of our country must protect their skin as they nde or drive over the prairies. “The alka-- line dust of the desert ruins their complex- er shin ions unless they guard them carefully. This is just where Pond’s Creams are such a help. They keep the skin from becom- ing parched in this dry atmosphere.” — of prominence everywhere are depending upon Pond’s Two delicate Creams which you should daily use as follows: Every single day cleanse your skin with Pond’s Cold Cream. Always at night, and on returning from an outing, pat it over your skin. Let it stay on long enough for its pure oils to seep down into the pores and bring to the surface the dust and dirt which clog them. Wipe off all the cream and dirt and repeat the process, finishing with a dash of cold water. Over your newly cleansed skin, before you powder, smooth Pond’s Vanishing Cream. It gives your skin a positively damask smoothness and over it your powder goes on beautifully and stays smoothly and ever so long. Moreover, this thin veil of Vanishing Cream acts as a protection, guarding your skin against drying, chap- ping, and burning from sun, cold and wind. So always use Pond’s Vanishing Cream before going out. HEN you buy Pond’s Creams ask for the new generous jar of the Cold Cream. The Vanishing Cream, of which you use less, comes in smaller jars only. a a “ Other women of distinguished position who approve the Pond’s Method are: Her Majesty, Marie, Queen of Roumania Mrs. Reginald Vanderbilt Mrs. O. H. P. Belmont The Duchesse de Richelieu Mrs. Marshall Field, Sr. The Lady Diana Manners Mrs. Gloria Gould Bishop Mrs. Livingston Fairbank The Princesse Marie de Bourbon Mrs. WILiiAM E. Borau wife of the Senator from Idaho who 1s Chairman-elect of the Senate Foreign Re- lations Committee of the next Congress, 15 a prominent leader in Washington Society FREE OFFER— Mail this coupon and we will send you free tubes of these Two Creams and little folder telling you how to use them. s Pond’s Extract Company, Dept. K, 141 Hudson Street, New York City Jease send me your free tubes of Pond’s Cold and Vanishing Creams. EVERY SKIN NEEDS THESE TWO CREAMS

Page 98

110 Can one tobacco satisfy a man with 45 pipes? You might imagine that the law of aver- ages would require a man with 45 pipes to smoke a variety of tobaccos. Evidently, it doesn’t work that way, for here is a pipe connoisseur who after vainly trying every tobacco his tobac- conist could mention, finally got around to Edgeworth. The result is, his humidor is now “Edgeworthized.” Mr. Sonnenblick makes application for a life membership in the Edgeworth Club. All in favor say “Aye.” But first read his letter: Larus & Bro. Co. Richmond, Va. Gentlemen : When a man has 45 pipes he certainly is up against it for an all-round tobacco. But first, about my pipes. There are 2 Dunhills, 6 Comoys, 4 BBB’s, 4 Kaywoodies, 2 Petersons, 2 GBD’s and the usual meerschaum, calabash, corncob, ete. Some were sweet from the start, others remained obdurate and bitter de- spite the fact that I used every American brand and every English brand I could get ot my tobacconist could mention. Fancy prices! Hang the price. I wanted pipe satisfaction. The brands I tried failed; the mixtures I made _ failed because the tobacco varied. I saw the ads written by Edgeworth smok- ers, but they sounded too good to be true. I didn’t try Edgeworth in despair, but just to see how less bad it might be. Well, it is praise enough when you know that my oftice humidor has been Edgewortb- ized. Now my good pipes taste better and my bad pipes taste good. If you’ve got a life membership open, put me down. It’s the King Bee of to- baccos and I think I’m a qualified judge. Respectfully yours, Ira J. Sonnenblick. Let us send you free samples of Edgeworth so that you may put it to the pipe test. If you like the sam- ples, you'll like Edgeworth wher- ever and when- ever you buy it, for it never changes in qual- ity. Write your name and ad- dress to Larus & Brother Com- pany, 4-J South 21st Street, Richmond, Va. Edgeworth is sold in various sizes to suit the needs and means of all pur- chasers. Both Edgeworth Plug Slice and Edgeworth Ready-Rubbed are packed in small, pocket-size packages, in handsome humidors holding a pound, and also in several handy in-between sizes. We'll be grateful for the name and ad- dress of your tobacco dealer, too, if you care to add them. To Retail Tobacco Merchants: If your jobber cannot supply you with Edge- worth, Larus & Brother Company will gladly send you prepaid by parcel post a one- or two-dozen carton of any size of Edgeworth Plug Slice or Edgeworth Ready-Rubbed for the same price you would pay the jobber. Hearst's International-—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 pleasant; he would accept this end with fair grace. It was not a very elevated attitude on his part. But he had come in contact with too many men who had gone down with the smoke of battle in their aching nostrils; his own for- tune didn’t seem to matter so much as formerly, except as it would be felt by Mildred. He felt qualmish at the telling her—that was all. But he never made to Ephemeus or to Eppie the little grateful speech, without sycophancy, which he had planned. Unsteadily he came out of the office and ge‘ out on the street and turned to the subwa, stairs. At home Mildred met him as usual, neither effusively nor unwelcomely. She was not in very good humor, though. She had not been sure that he would be home for supper, and had been uncertain about the quantity of steak. But when he had hung up his hat and stood statue-like in the small living and dining-room, she saw that something had happened. “You’ve lost your position,” she, accused him mechanically. ‘Oh, dear!” “Mil, listen.” His voice swayed. And it was the old honeymoon shortening of her name. She stared; was he ill? “Mil, I’ve got something to tell you. Prob- ably you’ll not believe it. But it seems’”—his words were shaking clods on the air—‘that I’ve been doing pretty important work these years. And so the jobbing associations have been unanimous that I be appointed their rep- resentative on an industrial commission which is to present certain aspects of national con- ditions to the President. The President of the United States, you understand, Mildred! We’re to be received at the White House. yo, and I, and our Washington expenses paid. And do you remember that Eppie Hogeman and] used to be pretty good friends when we were at college? Eppie thought that he ought t write the board—the college board, you know. Mildred—in order that they might have gx opportunity to include me in the notable alumni who are invited to be present next month. “You see”’—his voice quavered like a broken reed—‘“‘it has happened—so I have been ag. sured, Mildred—that I have tediously got to- gether statistics of which the world happens to be in need. For law-making and education of workers’ families. And it had to be gathered patiently and—sort of gleaned by hand. Not by—by adding-machines. I have been a hand worker, they said, in a mechanical age. What did you say, Milly?” But she said not a word, although her dark eyes had begun to gleam out of her head, like coals. She began to cry. ““Mil—dear. ” He was beside her, arms around her. It was the woman Mildred who murmured brokenly: ‘You said you’d be one of them, the notable alumni. Oh, I remember your voice —so young, so confident! And I’ve always blamed myself somehow.” “You silly girl! Not you, Mil, to blame for anything! And ”” He blushed sheepishly in his embarrassment and his pride. “If ever I said anything like that, all I’ve got to utter new is that I’ve gone and much surprised myself by keeping my word!” ooo) The Dream of Ah speeches, made a five-minute delivery in that vein, though its fine flavor escaped half his audience. Then he handed over the papers, with minute instructions about the boat’s sailing day and its berth at Tilbury, and these were repeated by a young man who had spent some time in the East. As they were handed over, Hing Pu put his hand on them. “There iss no money in here, sir?” “Mecney? No—why? Only passes.” “Tt iss not safe to give him money. He play with it and lost it.” “Oh. Well, he might trade those passes. Here—we’ll keep these till Wednesday. We'll bring ’em down Wednesday—or get Mr. Hickson to keep them for him. That’ll be best—eh?” Ah Lum made no-comment. He accepted his own weakness and bowed. He did not burst into profuse thanks for their kindness. He said they were too kind, but his face ex- pressed nothing and seemed to hide no more than the face of a statue. He might have been acknowledging the loan of the evening paper. But Fanny knew better. She knew what simple hot emotions were crowding and beating behind that mask. The long look in the eyes that met hers reported things too deep for words or gestures. He was going home. At last he was going home. . . That evening the news was all round the quarter, and there were feasts and invitations to feasts. Hing Pu gave one with Ah Lum as the guest of honor. The owner of the house where Ah Lum mostly played puck-a-poo gave one. The place at the corner of Penny- field gave one. For five days Ah Lum was the center of many tables, and the subject of all gossip. Always there were comings and goings in these two streets; men who stayed a month and departed, and came back next year and departed again, while Quong Lee and Hing Pu and the other shopkeepers sat steady year by year. But the one man who most yearned to depart had never had the chance; he could not pay his passage, and was in- competent to work his passage. Now, after many years, his hope had been achieved; and those rho had heard everlastingly of the river Lum (Continued from page 63) farm among the hills, and whose afternoon sleep had been worried by that wailing, were perhaps glad to know that they had heard the end of it. Certainly they came forward with ceremonies of departure more fitting to an honored guest than to one of themselves; they seemed to be celebrating something more than Ah Lum’s happiness; but he was too enfolded in his for- tune to perceive anything in their attentions but honest congratulations. Already he seemed withdrawn from Limehouse and _ Poplar, already half-way towards China; no longer a feature of the Causeway, but a loiterer who could not be taken into the common run of things; who could only be entertained. He even stood out of the games of puck-a-poo; and though Hing Pu advanced him a week’s money, he seemed to lose interest in the tables, and played only a game or two. Right up to the Wednesday evening when he was to take the train to Tilbury they crowded him with feasts. Then in the hour of his departure they turned out to send him off, and the Causeway was astir with olive faces and babbling tongues. The doorway to the Tea House was impassable. Fanny was there, and her father, and the high-up friend, who had nothing better to do that evening, had brought three new friends from the West to see this curious corner they had heard so much about. In the light mist of the Causeway, before the shuttered shops, they moved without noise back and forth, as one. Trains grumbled across the arch at the end. A cart came through, driving a wedge into the crowd. Quong Lee, wearing still the robes of the monarchy, s# in his window staring at nothing. Somebody unseen started to wail one of Ah Lum’s songs, mimicking his noise. There was a smell 0 dust and sandalwood; the smell of Ah Lums home. F Then the hero appeared at the bottom the steps leading from the tea-room. He = dressed for his journey in a thick ulster aa cloth cap and trousers that were a little to long for him. He carried his belongings 4 little blue sack that dangled from his am. Behind him came Hing Pu. At the door

Page 99

ober, 1925 and, Mildred! ute House, you Nses paid, fogeman and] when we at by: ought to ard, you might ee n the no > present next d like ab have re diously got to. world and education to be gathered by hand. Not ve been a hand cal age. What ough her dark her head, like side her, arms yho murmured 1e of them, the er your voice 1 I’ve always |, to blame for 1ed sheepishly ride. “If ever ve got to utter uch surprised 1ge 63) ose afternoon wailing, were -y had heard ith ceremonies 1onored guest seemed to be in Ah Lum’s led in his for- eir attentions idy he seemed and Poplar, a; no longer . loiterer who nmon run of rtained. He ' puck-a-poo; him a week’s erest in the r two. vening when Tilbury they in the hour to send him ir with olive The doorway ible. Fanny the high-up to do that friends from rer they had eway, before vithout noise mbled across me through, Quong Lee, onarchy, sat Somebody Lum’s songs, ; a smell o of Ah Lum’s e bottom of m. He was < ulster am a little too ongings In @ m his arm. ‘t the door

BUILT BY THE Hearst's [nternaional—Cosmopolitan for October, 1025 or seventeen years weve had one mea- We have gathered ’round this table a thousand times and more these 17 years—we who have been directors and officers since the beginnings of Paige. The bitterest differences, the severest crises, have found our faith in one another unshaken. And all but two of us have been spared to continue our work. SOLID FOUNDATION These years of working together are the foundation of the success we have made. It has given usa close-knit organization of prompt action and little friction. It has maintained our purposes and policies unchanged — our en- gineering ideals untarnished. And it has accumulated and retained for us vital experiences which are today almost priceless. When you buy a car you buy ex- perience. For what is any motor car but the combmed experience of those who build it? You begin to see why Paige and Jewett are such well-built, dependable cars. For instance — years of expe- rience devoted to developing the six-cylinder motor to the utmost. The results are what you would expect — smoothness, flexibility, silence—a long, efficient life. Yet years alone are not badges of merit or high purpose. The power that put us where we are today was the power of an idea— ‘Always making them finer.”’ Think of the consequences of holding that thought before us these 17 years! Life would be barren of hope indeed if such fine determination could fail of success. So success has come to Always making them 27mer Paige and Jewett in larger meas- ure these recent years. TIME’S REWARDS Hundreds of cars have come and gone; a bare fifty remain today. And among these we stand close to top in volume. But success has not dulled our abilities nor weakened our purpose. You can buy a Paige or Jewett car today secure in the knowledge that it is the perfected product of a substantial, veteran institution. Our watchword is ever ‘“Always making them finer.”’ (598-A) PAIGE“JEWETT Motor 4.

PAIGE-DETROIT MOTOR CAR COMPANY + DETROIT, MICHIGAN

AFG ie

Page 100

er Now!_A new way 10-day Test FREE Mail the Coupon to lighten cloudy teeth —and without bleaching or harsh grit. The way foremost dentists now are urging. ULL TEETH, “off-color” teeth; gums that are softening and lack firmness—modern science has made important, new discoveries in over- coming them. Now, in as little as ten days, you can work a transformation in your mouth, can add immeasurably to your appearance and attractivenes. This offers you a_ test without charge ... the most remarkable, ac- cording to dental authorities, of all dental tests. In fairness to yourself, send the coupon. FILM—your enemy. How it invites tooth and gum troubles Dental science now traces scores of tooth and gum ttroubles, directly or indirectly, to a germ-laden film that forms on your teeth. You can’t see it with your eyes, but run your tongue across your teeth and you will feel it ...a slippery, viscous coating. That film absorbs discolorations from food, smoking, etc. And that is why teeth look “off color,” dingy. It clings to teeth, gets into crevices and stays. Germs by the ~ millions breed in it. ‘And they, with tartar, are a chief cause of pyorrhea. Ordinary dentifrices and cleansing won't fight film successfully. Feel for it now with your tongue. Note how your present cleansing method is failing in its duty. Now new methods are being used. A dentifrice called Pepsodent—dif- ferent in formula, action and _ effect from any other known. Largely on dental advice the world has turned to it. Tooth and gum troubles hence are on the decline. It removes that film. And Firms the Gums It accomplishes two important things at once: Removes that film, then firms the gums. No harsh grit, judged dan- gerous to enamel. A few days’ use will prove its power beyond all doubt. Send the coupon today. Canadian Office and Laboratories: 191 George St., Toronto, Canada FI LM the worst enemy to teeth | _ You can fee] it with your tongue Only one tube to a family. 8 » . PAT. OFF. a EE Mail this for Pp 4 t FR 10-Day Tube epsoden REG. U.S. t THE PEPSODENT COMPANY, is ; ifri 1 Dept. 949, 1104 §. Wabash Ave., Fs me neee vs ‘get ? pos ee i Chicago, Ill, U. S. A. indorsed by World's Dental Authorities. i if Send to: n : Name i : Address J 4 4 i L] £ ! i { { : { } 1870 { - Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 | He no can. they turned to each other, and nodded a casual farewell. Ah Lum looked at the crowd with vacant eye, and then at the shops and the roofs, giving them too farewell. The hj up friend who had brought the papers came forward with them. Ah Lum gave him a bow and one of his wide slow smiles, and said: “It iss very kind of you. Th-ank you.” He took the papers and put them in his pocket. “If you escusse me I will take just a minute to say good-by my friend over there.’ He nodded towards Quong Lee’s, pushed through the crowd, giving a word here and there, and entered the shop. The crowd turned again to talk itself, and Fanny and her dad showed the ney gentlemen the inside of the Tea House, and one or two of the shops on the other gj and expounded commonplaces which were mysterics to them. Then the high-up friend looked at his watch and said: “Look here, he’ll never get that train if he don’t hurry. Fetch him out. I say—tell him, somebody.” Fanny’s father struggled into Quong Lee’s shop and found Quong Lee at the counter, Ah Lum was not there. “Where is he? He'll lose the train if he ain't careful. What’s he up to? He ain’t gone playing fan-tan, has he, the fool?” Quong Lee turned to his inner door. “He hass gone into there.” “What for? Call him out. He’s only gota minute or two.” “T will see.” Quong Lee moved from his stool and floated into the back room. Then he called over his shoulder, “‘He iss still heah.” “What’s he up to?” “Come and see.” The four gentlemen and Fanny were now in the shop, and they pressed forward, wondering what they were to come and see. Over each other’s shoulders they saw Ah Lum flat on the floor. And, sticking up from his middle, like | an arresting finger, they saw the shining haft cf a kris. Quong Lee stooped over him and got up quickly. ‘‘He iss dead.” Five people said ““Dead?”’ “Uh-huh.” Five people began sentences that were never finished. “But what——” “Why should a ‘What on earth——” “Who on earth e “What the devil nS They all turned to Quong Lee then; and the high-up friend got a clear question out. “But what on earth for? After we've done all this for him. What for?” “Tt wass you gentlemen.” ““UsP?’ : “Huh. He hass just told me. You were too kind.” “Told you what? Too kind? How? Gone to all this trouble over him to get him home. And then . . . I don’t understand it.” “Tt iss simple. He got no home. He never seen China. Not know China. Not want to know China. He wass born here—in Step-nee. He love England. He love London. And when he know you send him to foreign country —to China—where he got no friend, no home, and not know their ways—he go afraid. He try to run away, but got no place to §0. He ’fraid you find him. He cannot go China. So he die.” i “But confound it—he was always wantin to go back. He said so. Always singing about it, they said. Always unhappy because he couldn’t go home.” “Always veh happy here.” “Well, I’m hanged! Then all these songs and that—all this talk about his home and his farm and China—all nothing, eh?” ; “Yess—no. He veh happy here, but he like to be same as others, and be sad because he 8 far away from his own country.” “T see. He was just a humbug, then? Quong Lee blinked. ‘No, mister. He wass a poet.”

Page 101

ober, 1925 and nodded g ahs: be: crowd the shops a: vell. The ha le papers came one of his wid, the Papers and OU eSCusse me, ae cola to odde: to th the — e, and entered 0° talk showed the new ea House, and he other side, s which were high-up’ friend _ that train if it. I say—tell 0 Quong Lee’s t the counter, train if he ain't = ain’t gone } eo" er door. “He Te’s only gota oved from his room. Then iss still heah.” 'y were now in ird, wondering e. Over each um flat on the is middle, like e shining haft over him and ‘s that were then; and the on out. After we've > You were How? Gone et him home. rand it.” ie. He never Not want to —in Step-nee. yndon.- And reign country nd, no home, . afraid. He place to go. ot go China. rays wantin’ ‘inging about because he these songs 1ome and his. , but he like ecause he iss then?” or, He wass Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “ABoUT EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO I was a complete wreck: could not eat or sleep, was anemic and my color had faded to a sickly green. My friends began to exchange pitying glances, and one day, an old lady insisted on giving me her seat. That was the crowning humiliation. “I decided to give yeast a trial. I started eating three cakes daily. In about six weeks found I could eat a real meal once more; in two months my natural color began to return. I kept on, and now, thanks to Fleisch- mann’s Yeast, I am a well woman.” Mrs. F. R. Conner, Florence, Ky. cA Story Told by Thousands "he Y How they corrected their ills—regained the vitality of youth—through one simple food OT a “‘cure-ail,’’ not a medicine in any sense— Fleischmann’s Yeast is simply a remarkable fresh focd. The millions of tiny active yeast plants in every cake invig- orate the whole system. They aid digestion—clear the skin— banish the poisons of constipa- tion. Where cathartics give only temporary relief, yeast strengthens the intestinal mus- cles and makes them healthy and active. And day by day it releases new stores of energy. Eat two or three cakes regu- larly every day before meals: on crackers—in fruit juices or milk —or just plain. For constipa- tion especially, dissolve one cake in hot water (not scalding) before breakfast and at bedtime. Buy several cakes at a time—they will keep fresh in a cool dry place for two or three days. All grocers have Fleischmann’s Yeast. Start eating it today! And let us send you a free copy of our latest booklet on Yeast for Health. Health Re- search Dept. K-33, The Fleisch- mann Company, 701 Washing- ton Street, New York. Tuis FAMOUS FOOD tones up the entire sys- tem—banishes constipation, skin troubles, stomach disorders. Eat two or three cakes regularly every day before meals. You will find many delicious ways of eat- ing Fleischmann’s Yeast; spread on crackers, dissolved in fruit juices or milk, with a little salt or just plain. OM WORM Ml “T BEGAN TO EAT Fleischmann’s Yeast to overcome constipation. J ate it with a dash of salt and a cracker—the flavor being not unlike that of fine cheese. My improvement was steady and periianent. To make a long story short, my nervous system is normal and in excellent condition. Overwork does not bother me; my endurance is there. I eat and sleep like a he-man. The remarkable im- provement in my health is a mat¢ez 2f record based on a competent physician’s examination. Constipation? P-nished forever. Fresh air, exercise and a few cakes of yeast a day did it.” Wa rt Marsi, Belleville, Il. “THIS SPRING, just recovering from a serious illness, I asked my physician if Yeast would do me any good. He said that it was very good, so I began eating it. I cer- tainly have never regretted doing so. I am no longer troubled with indigestion, headaches, or stomach troubles of any kind, nor do I any longer wish to hide my face on account of the pimples. Instead of the pale sallow look, I have a good rosy complexion, and indeed, I not only look better, but fee/ better. Before I merely toyed with my food, but now I can eat a hearty meal, and enjoy it. Fleischmann’s Yeast has wrought this wonderful change, for at present I use no other remedies.” Miss Jenny Cuartranp, St. Hyacinthe, Que.

Page 102

HERE’S the place where men’s spirits used to droop— after the shave. Dry preparations and liniments don’t fill the bill. Fine for some things but not for after shaving. No wonder most men dashed on cold water and let it go at that. Then came Aqua Velva—cre- ated expressly for after shaving. Little wonder men seized upon it as a long-lost friend. Because it helps conserve the natural moisture of the skin, Aqua Velva keeps your face like velvet all day long. It keeps the skin pliable and flexible—just as _ For FREE test bottle Williams Aqua Velva for use after shaving Bv the makers of Williams Shaving Cream _—— ae cae dae Gs cam ae ——=-5 Address The J. B. Williams Co., Dept.910 Glastonbury, ! Conn. (If you live in Canada, address The J.B. Williams | Co., Limited, St. Patrick St., Montreal) You rinse off the lather — then what? Williams Shaving Cream leavesit: — it tingles delightfully when applied —it gives first aid to little cuts —it protects the face from cold and wind —it prevents face shine —it delights with its man-style fragrance Tone up your face with Aqua Velva. Keep it in perfect con- dition. A 150-drop test bottle FREE. Use coupon below or send a postcard. The large 5-ounce bottle at your dealer’s is 50c. (60c in Canada). Costs almost nothing a day—only a few drops needed. By mail postpaid on receipt of price if your dealer is out of it. ‘ Trade tans & ia “2 Shin y etd be LR esses — 30SMO 10-25 - ee ee ee ee ee eee ee ee Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 A Kiss on Time (Continued from page 67) cynically, gave that impression. They al] wanted attention. But the world was right in assuming that widows were the worst Deliberate sirens? Lord, no! Tommy knew better than that. He had achieved a philoso. phy about such things. “Life is a funny proposition, of looking at it. Take marriage, for instance. Marriage, as Tommy would have told you, was a legal ar- rangement that sought to put a check on all the forces of nature. Nature has but one end in view. It is her manifest desire to bend all men and women to her will, and she works to achieve it twenty-four hours every day. Looking at life Tommy’s way, people weren’t bad or immoral. They were simply pawns in a great game which strives to circumvent nature with man-made laws and woman-made conventions. “Why on earth,” Tommy would demand— of himself, of course, ‘‘should the fact that I am married be assumed to end my interest in all other women? Jean is first—but why shouldn’t I have other women friends?” He meant, of course, the sort of women friends who put on their prettiest gowns to discuss business with him. And who continued to adorn themselves when the pretext of busi- ness had been abandoned. The sort of women —restless and avid—on whom he dropped in casually when he was in their neighborhood. They were so glad to see him always. And there was a certain kick to such feminine com- panionship. And—here was the crux of the matter, so far as his conscience was concerned —supposing the development was toward what might be called a flirtation, what of it? Tommy had flirted with many pretty girls before he was married. And kissed them too with no great ado being made about that. What was the actual difference if he kissed a pretty woman now? Marriage doesn’t per- manently eradicate the old Adam. Such was Tommy’s large and _ generous philosophy. He had never tried it out on Jean. He had a deep-seated suspicion that there might be limits to Jean’s being reason- able and sensible. Besides, it would be like Jean to demand: “Do you think it works both ways?” As a matter of theory, Tommy would have been forced to answer yes. As a matter of outraged instinct he would have preferred to answer no. Jean was his wife and—he felt a sudden blaze of anger now—what the devil was she doing here, lunching with Ware and so obviously enjoying herself? It is to be feared that Tommy’s philosophy was not puncture-proof. Nevertheless, he had Carlotta Lee on his hands and she was not to be ignored. They had known each other only briefly. They were still, on the surface, business ac- quaintances. But the ancient challenge of sex was between them. They might talk of this house or that with Tommy playing the role of deft sympathetic adviser. But their thoughts traveled beyond, their eyes explored. They were not in love with each other, yet there was between them that which colored their most casual word. q Was she beautiful? Tommy had decided not. Pretty? The adjective seemed fiat, insipid. She was too dark, too suggestive of smoldering fires. Tommy suspected a touch of the Slav in her. The breadth of her face and the contour of her cheek-bones hinted at that. Her eyes, curiously lidded and wide-set, were Stygian pools; her mouth, a shade too large, was none the less fashioned for definite allure. Shading toward the exotic, she was yet © the prevailing mode, casual and assured. “T suppose I ought to make up my mind, she said suddenly. “Which place would you like me to buy?” : “The first one I showed you,” he replied promptly. ” was his way

Page 103

er, 925 ime 67) - They all ld was right » the worst, ‘ommy knew ed a philoso. was his way Marriage, as is a legal ar- check on all ut one end in bend all men he works to y day. eople weren’t oly pawns in circumvent voman-made d demand— > fact that I y interest in t—but why nds?” t of women st gowns to no continued text of busi- rt of women - dropped in »ighborhood. ways. And minine com- crux of the iS concerned yas toward what of it? pretty girls ed them too about that. he kissed a Joesn’t per- d generous | it out on spicion that eing reason- uld be like Lys?” would have 1 matter of preferred to i—he felt a he devil was ‘are and so philosophy Lee on his d nly briefly. yusiness ac- hallenge of ght talk of playing the But their es explored. other, yet ich colored ad decided emed flat, ggestive of ed a touch er face and red at that. le-set, were : too large, nite allure. was yet of ssured. my mind,” would you he replied Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1025 cA new expression of beauty ~ ~ WHEN BETTER AUTOMOBILES In COP FLASH on the highway—a better looking motor car drives by. Your eye is compelled by its beauty. It is one of the Better Buicks. Finished in Duotone in Duco, the Better Buick delights all eyes. It establishes the new vogue in motor car dress as surely as Buick’s new 75 horsepower performance further widens Buick’s margin of road supremacy. And the soft, rich lustre of the Duotone Duco colors is as perma- nent as it is striking—a lasting, long-lived finish that resists time and weather. The Better Buick supersedes all previous standards of appearance, comfort, luxury, usefulness, re. bility and performance. And when you see or drive the Better Buick, you too, will agree that again Buick has built a better automobile. BUICK MOTOR COMPANY Flint - Division of General Motors Corporation + Michigan Janaaian Factories: McLAUGHLI: '-BUICK, Oshawa, Ont. Branches in all Principal Cities—Dealers Everywhere Pioneer Builders of Valve-in- Head Motor Cars 115 ARE BUILT, BUICK WILL BUILD THEM

Page 104

cA Letter to HER— gy could have closed my eyes and believed that we had met under the shadowy dome of some pagan temple—for the room was somehow strangely different. I shall not try to tell you what exquisite mystery it drew around you.”’ FROM HER DIARY. The last wisp of smoke died as he rang the bell. But the fragrance of the temple incense was so faint —I wonder if he noticed d weather WOMEN, centuries ago, en- hanced the appeal of their beauty by making the rooms, which were their back- grounds, rich with subtle fragrance. VANTINE’S TEMPLE INCENSE makes deli- cately luxuriant backgrounds for beauty, of rooms where women of today receive their guests. Six delightful odors, at all drug and department stores. Use the background temple incense can give you. Send 10 cents for six sample fragrances. A.A. VANTINE & CO.,Inc. 71 FIFTH AVE., N.Y. “But it needs so much done to it!”’ she said. “Ts that really a drawback? I can imagine your taking a great joy in doing it over. And in the end you will have something that is your | your own taste.” | | | own creation and that will definitely represent “You are very clever!’ she mocked. “I suspect you have found that all women rise to that bait. We love to be flattered.” Tommy grinned engagingly. “If you were a man I would appeal to your business judg- ment. Men are as flattered by that sugges- tion as women are by my insinuation they have taste.” “Your glimpse behind the scenes is inter- esting. What a successful man you will be some day!” “Some day is right ? Tommy assured her. _ “In the meantime competition may be the life | of trade but it’s darn near the death of the real | estate business. devil for whatever we get na ' We all have to work like the “And caress the feminine ego, wait upon her whims. I pity you.” “Pity me not! There are times when that is not a task but a delightful compensation for the—other times.” “How prettily you say that—and how much practise you must have had!’’ Her eyes met his fairly as she removed a half consumed cigaret from her holder and dabbed it against a saucer. Deliberately she added, “Do many of your clients fall in love with you?” Tommy blushed to his ears. ‘Oh, I say!” he protested. “They do!” she murmured. “I can well imagine it. We lonely, restless women do con- stitute a social problem. I think the Hindus have the right idea—burning all widows on their lord and master’s funeral pyre.” “The idea,’’ he said, “is not. one that appeals to me.” In which, he felt, she could discover as little—or as much—as she chose. ‘‘Nor to me, really,” was all she said. ‘“You’re married, of course,’ she remarked conver- sationally. In spite of himself Tommy’s eyes sought Jean. Ware was holding conference with the waiter; Jean’s glance was roving too. Their eyes met. Jean smiled and gave him a swift, gay wave. “A former client?” suggested Carlotta. “My wife,” explained Tommy, a shade flatly. “Oh!”’ said Carlotta. They were silent again while Carlotta gave Jean that long appraising scrutiny which is so essentially feminine, which disturbs the male at any time and was particularly distressing to Tommy now. “She’s very charming. I’d like to meet her —sometime,”’ she commented. ‘Who is that with her? He looks like an American and yet there is a curious air of distinction about him. He suggests the Continent somehow.” “An old friend of my wife’s—he has just re- turned from abroad, I think.” Again her eyes left him, this time to focus on Ware. Something stirred in Tommy—the old Adam, perhaps. “‘He’s an artist!” he added, without meaning to say it quite so slurringly. Carlotta’s eyes came back to him, amused. ‘And you have the typical attitude of the man of affairs toward him. I wonder why the American businessman so abhors the artist. His wife is very apt to adore him, I find. In, of course, a perfectly pure and platonic fashion.” “They make wonderful tame cats.” “And you detest tame cats?” “T should not care for the réle myself “You—would rather be a wild cat?” Her voice suggested no more than lazy mockery. But her eyes dared him to answer. Dared, that is, without conceding anything. But Tommy was not without resource. “Me?” he protested. “You forget-—I am merely the typical American businessman. Can you imagine me in any other réle?” The ball was back on her side of the net. But she too was adept. “T have been privileged to view your wife,” ? Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 she replied, “and I can well imagine that yoy have no other desire than to be what the typ- ical businessman is at his best—her devoted slave. No other réle would appeal to you, to all other women you are blind. That is 0, isn’t it?” ( Tommy smiled. She was clever—cleverer than he had suspected. “I am flattered,” he murmured meekly, ‘“‘beyond—my deserts.” She smiled and reached for her hat. “Yoy shall have them, none the less,” she promised, “Tf you will run me out to that first place we looked at, I'll give you a definite answer.” In her sables Carlotta looked like a Russian princess. Or a modern edition of Circe, slim and supple, yet compact and competent. As Tommy nosed his car out toward Westchester they talked of many things; everything save that which was in their minds. She had thrown down a gage; he was not the man to let it lie. Yet he had no intention of rushing matters. That he did was Carlotta’s fault. At least he so believed. And perhaps he was right. . They went through the house together, a realtor and his client. A stenographic record of all they said would have revealed not a word that could be criticized. Yet it was not out of a'clear sky that Tommy launched his bolt, Though Carlotta so pretended. “Why—Mr. Weld!” she protested. Tommy’s pulses were racing. She had lain in l:is arms for a moment and he had kissed her, fairly, squarely on her wide provocative mouth, * He had known absolutely that she was daring him to. Almost, indeed, inviting him. Nevertheless he must take his cue. “I am afraid,” he murmured, in just the right tone, “that [have no excuse save one. Perhaps you are right. Young widows—or at least some young widows—should be burned on their lord and master’s funeral pyre!” “But—but you’re married!” she protested anew, like a child trying to comprehend— much too like a child, thought Tommy. “Which,” commented Tommy, with just the proper admixture of remorse and suppressed emotion, “makes my madness that much more inexcusable. I can only say—I’m sorry. And that I crave your pardon.” “Let’s—go back,” she murmured. They drove for a time in silence. “Am I—quite beyond the pale?” he asked. Tommy had the gift: And he had nothing to learn about women from her. Even her answer was what he more than half expected. “Can I trust you to—never again?” “Absolutely!” “T should like to—be friends,” she told him. And added in a rush: “Perhaps you would bring Mrs. Weld out some time to see me—if I take the house. I’d like to be friends with her too!” The same old line, thought Tommy. They reached her hotel. He helped her out and she offered her hand. “T didn’t give you an answer about the house,” she apologized. ‘“But—I feel as if I couldn’t make up my mind at the moment.” “And you'd rather play a cat and mouse game about that too, for a while longer,” thought Tommy, almost viciously. To Car- lotta he said: “I have much to be grateful for none the less. You have—forgiven me.” Then as he jammed in his gears and moved back towards Fifth Avenue he voiced his real emotions aloud. ‘“Confound women anyway!” he snapped. Why had he kissed her? He knew from experience that he always had this same feeling afterwards. Carlotta was a cat. He had suspected so all along. But he had not suspected that she was the sort of a cat who wants to lick the cream and then pretend innocence. He would havg had more respect for her, he assured himse virtuously, if she had been honest with herself and him. He knew that she was bored and out for excitement. He was fashioned to het mood. But not in her mood. She wanted 4 nice tame cat. : There the current of his thoughts shifted abruptly. He remembered that he had applied pS

Page 105

er, 1925 ‘ine that you yhat the typ- -her devoted al to you, to That is $0, vet—cleverer lattered,” he ’ deserts.” ‘hat. “You he promised, irst place we > answer.” ke a Russian f Circe, slim npetent. As Westchester rything save . She had the man to ing matters. At least he right. , together, a aphic record d not a word was not out hed his bolt, ‘ed. She had Jain d kissed her, ative mouth, > was daring im. cue. “I am > right tone, Perhaps you - least some on their lord 1e protested mprehend— mmy. vith just the _ suppressed much more sorry. And d. ” he asked. d nothing to 1 her answer ed. uin?” he told him. you would » see me—if tiends with ny. ped her out about the feel as if I ected so all hat she was - the cream would have red himself vith herself bored and yned to her e wanted a hts shifted had applied Hearst's [nternationci—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 ALaRy | IGCKFORD and the costume that could not be duplicated “T)EFORE making ‘Little Annie Rooney,’ my latest picture, I did two costume plays, and the silks and satins I wore were a continuous source of care. “However, I knew from experience with my own gowns, that there is a remedy when accidents happen —that Lux dissolved in hot water will restore dainty fabrics to their original state of spotlessness. “When a costume is made of the only piece of silk of its kind in Los Angeles and a dozen scenes have been made showing that costume, an accident to it brings a difficult and often costly situation. Such an occasion came to my attention recently. “A costume had been used in a very expensive pic- ture, when a child rubbed a dirty little hand on my dress. Consternation reigned. The director saw vis- ions of retakes costing thousands of dollars if the costume could not be duplicated. “A lady who was standing nearby approached and said: ‘I’m so very, very sorry! Let me take the dress and see what can be done about it.’ She took the , gown and in the course of time returned it as good as new. “She explained that Lux had accomplished the result. ‘But why were you so sorry?’ she was asked. ‘Why, you see it was my little girl that soiled it,’ she explained.” Mary Pickford MIss PICKFORD as “Little Annie Rooney” 117 ~ From a photograph by Strauss- Peyton Studios,Kansas City. Inher newest picture,“‘Little Annie Rooney,” Miss Pickford achieves one of the finest screen characterizations of her career. All of Monday's Laundry treated like fine fabrics now Your hands, too, deserve the utmost kindness NE day “‘ Why not Lux for the hardest job of all—Monday’s laundry?” you said. “‘All my things are so nice and cost so much nowadays—they simply cannot stand the wear and tear of strong soap.” Joyfully you call on Lux to work its wonders. And it does! Your becoming little housedresses, the children’s cheery ginghams, your nice house linens—a// come out of its cleansing suds fresher looking than ever before, colors un- cA little Lux goes so far it’s an economy to use tt faded, whites snowy clean. Everything lasts longer, too. And Lux is such a relief to your hands after harsh laundry soap! Really, they don’t mind Monday any more. Such a little Lux does the whole laundry, too. Gone! those in-the-dishpan hands Three times a day you plunge yourhands - into the dishwater and Lux leaves them soft and white. No tell-tale in-the-dishpan look. Just one teaspoonful is enough. Lever Bros. Co., Cambridge, Mass. New the Big New Package, too

Page 106

C5 a oT Bape pm’ BLOSSOM cA: Notime does one have so splendid an oppor- tunity to display good taste as in the selection of a be- trothal and wedding ring. To choose an Orange Blos- som ring guarantees the pur- chaser not only a lifetime of satisfaction but indicates as well his appreciation of thethings most correct. Fin- ished in special gold, iridio- platinum or jeweled. Every genuine Orange Blossom ring is stamped with the Traub trade mark. Sold exclusively by reliable jewelers. All styles —$12.00 and up. Write for free style booklet giving the interest- ing history of wedding rings. TRAUB MANUFACTURING CO. DETROIT, MICHIGAN New York, 576 Fifth Ave. Windsor, Ont. San Francisco, 704 Market Street Lhe ae GENUINE Orange Blossom RINGS hese Marks aoe ry Resi NGE Al é BLOSSOM J A fa HZ rl . } j | | that epithet to Ware. What was Jean taking luncheon with him for? ZTo Tommy it seemed that that would require a lot of explaining. By the time he reached home he had quite con- vinced himself that Jean was in some way responsible for his having kissed Carlotta. Accordingly it was anything but a penitent, humble husband whom Jean greeted. Tommy, in fact, was surly and ungracious. | He was, he told Jean, dog tired. Jean, after | | | | one swift glance, relapsed into silence. They so proceeded with dinner until Tommy abruptly broke out with: “Where did Ware pop up from?” In his voice was that note that all married women recognize as a storm signal. But Jean had never learned to trim canvas as a married woman should. “You talk as if the man were a jumping- | jack,” she protested. “Why should he ‘pop’?” Tommy gave her a cold glance. “As if I were something the cat brought in,” thought Jean. “Why does God permit men to grow so big physically that they can’t be given the good old-fashioned spanking their childishness clamors for?” There were, however, other forms of pun- ishment she was qualified to administer. “Don’t you love his mustache?”’ she demanded. “Tt makes him look like an affected ass,” Tommy assured her austerely. “T suppose most men would say that,’’ con- ceded Jean. “But I can assure you all women will find it fascinating.” “Are you trying to make me jealous?” “Jealous? Heaven forbid!’ She gave him a swift glance. “You aren’t by any chance?” “Not in the least,” replied Tommy. And added, ‘“‘Good Lord, Jean, is there any reason why I should be asked one night to eat a steak that is raw and the next night one that is cooked to a frizzle? Isn’t there such a thing as a happy medium?” “Tt is quite evident that something has upset you,” she said, ‘‘and that you are taking it out on me. _I know that later you will be sorry and that tomorrow I can expect a floral offering of some kind. But at the moment, Tommy, I feel very much like throwing a plate at you!”’ “And this,’ he commented, “is marriage “One of its deplorable phases,” corrected Jean. “Why stress it? It has its compensa- tions—or at least I fancied we had decided so. If one doesn’t believe so, there is always divorce, you know.” The casual way in which she mentioned the word staggered Tommy. “Divorce?” he echoed. “Anyone would think you had thought it all out.” “T have,” she confessed calmly. ‘Show me the woman who has been married three years and who has never considered it. And of course I am more fortunate than many women —I have my own work, which I like i “And,” cut in Tommy, “your old flame ready to marry you or play the part of tame cat, as you prefer.” That was the last thing he had intended to say, but she had goaded him to it. He was suddenly in the mood for an out-and-out quarrel. Only he preferred to look upon it as a showdown. He’d find out, by George, just what was in Jean’s mind! But as always she maintained her poise. “You have always misjudged Phil,” she said. “Just now you are not only unfair but nasty. He is very much more of a man than you care to admit. I have always been fond of him and always will be. He is a dear and I enjoy him immensely.” “You certainly seemed to be this noon,” Tommy assured her. Again that was some- thing he would rather have left unsaid. “Oh, Tommy!” she protested, exasperated at last. “I might say the same of you. I discovered you lunching with a charming woman “You needn’t drag her into this,’ he ob- jected hastily. “She is a client. I’ve ex- plained again and again Ps ‘“‘And a shade too much!” said Jean. “She’s 99 | young and fascinating. And I know you, Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan jor October, 1925 Tommy, too well to believe that it’s all business.” St. Anthony himself could not have | more outraged than Tommy managed to, jp. stinctively rather than by guile. “What do you mean to insinuate?” he demanded, “That you get what you’d call a ‘kick’ oy of taking a pretty woman to luncheon,” sh replied. “You’d be less than yourself and more than human if you didn’t.” “Aren’t you judging my emotions by your own?” slurred Tommy, taking what he knew to be an unfair line but feeling the need of jt They had been married for three years, He believed he knew Jean like a book. But now she staggered him again. “T suppose I am,” she confessed candidly, “Men and women aren’t so different funda. mentally as the world likes to pretend. They have pretty much the same emotions and— well, I certainly get a kick out of Phil.” “W-what?” stuttered Tommy. And added, “T should think you would at least have the grace to feel shame in admitting it.” “Fiddlesticks! Do you think I’m any les susceptible to admiration than I used to be just because I’m married to you? Can’t you se that the contrary would be more apt to be true? A husband’s compliments are apt to dezenerate into small change, and a woman —any woman—does crave something mor occasionally.” “And that Phil supplied, I suppose!” “He certainly did. You don’t know whata warm, cuddly feeling it gives a woman, Tommy, to see a man’s eyes light with honest joy at the sight of her. And to have him tell her that he likes her hat as if he really meant it—not as if he were escaping from importunity.” “And Phil gave you all that—bunk?” “Tt wasn’t bunk! He was glad to see meand showed it. And I was glad to see him and showed it too, I suppose. Why not? I was interested in other men before I ever met you, Tommy. Do you think the fact I married you means that I am never to have a perfectly normal, healthy interest in another man?” Now here was Tommy’s secret philosophy, stated toa T. He should have been pleased to see that Jean agreed. But he wasn’t. “How long is he back from Paris for?” “Oh, for some time! He’s doing a mural for a chamber of commerce somewhere and he also has commissions to paint several por- traits. He’s really doing awfully well. He mentions fabulous sums in the most casual manner and he’s taken a studio—a princely affair, I suspect—over on 51 “And next I suppose he’ll be giving studio teas again—and you’ll be running off to them, like all the crazy women!” Tommy cut in. Jean started to reply and then changed her mind. ‘Let’s adjourn to the living-room,” she suggested instead. ‘From the clatter that comes from the kitchen I suspect that our de- voted servant has a date at the movies and is registering displeasure at our delay here.” They moved on to the living-room. There Jean, still standing, lighted a cigaret—though she seldom smoked. : “I may as well tell you at once,” she said, “that Phil and I will probably see quite a lot of each other. In the first place, one of his portr ‘its is to be of a Mrs. Nouveau Riche. She has bought a house which she is going t0 do over and as she had already asked his ad- vice about an interior decorator, he feels quite sure that he can get me the commission. “So that’s his little game. Putting you under obligations eg ; “Not at all. He was ever so nice about It He—he says that I can more than repay him by posing for one of the figures in the mural he is to do.” “Posing? You? For an artist? For—for the figure?” gasped Tommy. “Gracious!” gasped Jean in turn. “You don’t think——” She paused and laugh aloud. “I'll be most properly and completely draped, my dear. Iam to be the spirit of Truth, it is true, but the mural is to be wu the chamber of commerce decoration, an sed in d you

Page 107

ober, 1925 > that it’s ay ot have looked nanaged to, ip. ile. “What do manded, ‘all a ‘kick’ oye luncheon,” she urself and more otions by your what be a the need of it, hree years, He ook. But now essed candidly, lifferent funda. pretend. They motions and— of Phil.” y. And added, least have the Pik k Tm any les ‘used to be just Can’t you see 1ore apt to be nts are apt to and a woman ymething more ippose!” 't know what a oman, Tommy, honest j joy at im tell her that eant it—not as unity.” -bunk?” 1 to see me and 0 see him and y not? I was ever met you, I married you ve a perfectly ther man?” et philosophy, »een pleased to asn’t. aris for?” ng a mural for where and he t several por- lly well. He > most casual io—a_ princely giving studio 1g off to them, y cut in. n changed her ng-room,” she > clatter that t that our de- movies and is ay here.” room. There raret—though ” she said, ee cau a lot ce, one of his uveau Riche. he is going to asked his ad- he feels quite mission.” Putting you nice about it. an repay him the mural he st? For—for and ‘laughed 1d completely pirit of Truth, . be used in tion, and you Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 119 ESSEX C Freight and Tax Extra The Finest Essex Ever Built INever Be a Value Like T his The largest sales of 6-cylinder cars simply reflects the general recognition of greatest car value. But it is important to note how this position of leadership gives Essex advantages in continually improving value to the buyer—because of volume economy, and because of the utmost refinement of workmanship through concentration on practically one model—the Coach. Built on the famous Super-Six principle, the patents which account for Hudson’s famous reliability, brilliant performance and long life, are responsible for the same qualities in Essex. It is the easiest riding and steering Essex ever built—the finest in performance, appearance and workmanship. We believe it is the most economical car in the world to own and operate. Now it holds the greatest price advantage with the finest quality Essex ever offered. World’s Largest Selling 6-Cylinder Cars More Than 1200 New Hudson-Essex Buyers Daily

Page 108

t t / FZ Dad’s rule is a good rule... “You listen to Dad,” he always says, “don’t fool with unknowns. There’s got to be a name on merchandise before I’ll even look at it. And it must be a name that hasa reputation.” Dad’s right—as usual. Aname means everything. And that’s true of toi- let-ware. One look at that word, “Pyraiin” is as assuring as the crisp crinkle of a government bond. DU PONT VISCOLOID CO., Inc. 21 E. 40th Street, New York City g Lyralin ' The Titled 3 TJoiletwware , ~ name Pyralin on every piece THE CHICAGO DAILY NEWS School and College Bureau OFFERS YOU ITS SPECIALIZED SERVICES. IN CHOOSING A SCHOOL Last year the School and College Bureau of The Chicago Daily News saved many Busy parents and questioning boys and girls both time and worry by sending them prompt, reliable information about just the kind of school they wanted—personal requirements as to location and tuition charges being considered in each individual case. Again this year many young people will be perplexed by the problem of finding the @right school. Why not let us help you? The Chicago Daily News maintains this service absolutely free of charge to you. No need to hurriedly select a school on mere hearsay when expert advice can be obtained by telephoning, writing, or calling for a personal interview at THE CHICAGO DAILY NEWS School and College Bureau Dept. C. 15 N. Wells St., Chicago, Illinois | know Truth is never permitted to go naked where business is concerned.” “Confound his impudence,” raged Tommy. | “Do you mean he had the nerve to suggest “T rather thought it a compliment myself,” she intervened serenely. “He quite raved about my possibilities. Of course, he said it | would be a tremendous favor.”’ | “You—my wife!—posing for him? | roared. | “My wife!” murmured Jean. | way you feel about it!” “Don’t talk like a fool! You know I’ve never interfered with you in any way. But | when it comes to posing I put my foot down.” “One moment!” commanded Jean. Their |eyes met. “You can’t put your foot down | with me, Tommy! Not that way!” > Tommy “So that’s the “You—you mean you will pose against— | my wishes?” “TI certainly shall do just that unless you stop roaring at me and talk to me like a rea- | sonable human being. I wish one thing, you | wish another. Why can’t we talk it over with- out your going off the handle this way?” | Tommy swallowed something. Then: “You | admit he gives you a thrill!’ he began passion- | ately. “Are you sure that has nothing to do with your desire to go to his studio—to—pose | for him?” | “Tam quite sure that it has a lot to do with | it,” she assured him. “Is there anything wrong in feeling that sort of a thrill?’ The ceiling might have fallen without adding to Tommy’s sense of chaos. “Because,” Jean added, “if there is, I suspect we are all pretty wicked and that the Turks have the right idea—that the only place for women is in a harem where they’ll be reasonably safe from temptation. Is that your idea too?” “You know it isn’t. I trust you. I’m not jealous. I am not afraid you will fall in love with Ware.” “You see,” announced Jean triumphantly. “We talk it over reasonably and the matter settles itself.” “Settles itself!’ shouted Tommy. “Do you mean to say you think I’ve given my per- mission?” “T never asked for that. But you have ad- mitted that there was no danger, which was all there was to admit. We both agreed long ago that the world was bound to be silly on that point—so silly that it wasn’t worth paying any attention to.” Tommy found his voice. ‘In another mo- ment,” he said bitterly, “you'll be trying to convince me that a flirtation with Ware would be entirely justifiable and that I ought to smile and say ‘Bless you, my children, I understand perfectly!’ ” | “No—not a flirtation. A flirtation is— tinsel. A sort of spurious compound of passion, egotism and vanity—but——” She paused and her eyes darkened and seemed to dilate a bit. “But suppose the incredible—to you— happened and I fell in love with Phil. Would it be my fault? I might fight against it. I would, in a worldly sense, remain true to you, I suppose, but I couldn’t help feeling that way. Can’t you understand that?” Tommy stared at her in utter amazement. Jean talking so! It was incredible. He must say something, anything, to bring her to her senses. “T suppose,” he said savagely, “that if I told you that I kissed Carlotta Lee this after- noon you’d understand that!” The words were out. He heard them hang on the air. But though he was amazed and panic-stricken, he knew, in his heart, that he had always known that some day they would escape him. “Carlotta Lee? Was she—the one you were taking luncheon with?” Tommy nodded. His lips had gone dry. “Well?” asked Jean. “Well?”’ echoed Tommy bewilderedly. “There must be something more,” explained Jean. “Are you trying to tell me.that you want a divorce so that you can marry her?” The very thought turned Tommy sick all Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 over. “My Lord, no!” he said. last thing I want!” “What do you want, then?” “T—don’t know,” he confessed miserably, “You must have wanted to kiss her,” she persisted. ‘Please don’t think I’m trying to drag anything out of you, Tommy, but if expected to understand” “Oh, I wanted to kiss her all right,” he said, “T_always do!” “Then—there have been others?” Tommy admitted it with a nod. Jean was silent for a moment. Then: “ suppose I should do one of two things: either strike a high note of tragedy and repudi- ation, or forgive—and try to forget. But honestly, Tommy, all I feel is humiliation and —downright disgust!” “Disgust?’ x vabee startled Tommy. “T know I should be more concerned with the moral phases—or pretend to be. But some- how your confession suggests a girl who was in boarding school at the same time I was. We called her ‘the public drinking fountain’ be- cause she kissed so promiscuously.”’ “I don’t quite do that!’ announced Tommy freezingly. “And if that is the way you feel about it——” “T do,” she maintained steadfastly. “There's no use in pretending otherwise. It’s not be- cause I want to seem ‘holier than thou’ or anything like that. It’s just a matter of fas- tidiousness. It—seems cheap to me.’ “In that case,” said Tommy, with great dignity, “T suppose that all that is left is di- vorce.” Then, forgetting dignity, he added, “That would leave you free to marry Ware!” There spoke the man. He had made the only gesture possible but must cap it with an outburst of jealousy. It was a serious moment and Jean knew it. The fabric of their married life might be irremediably rent within the next few moments and she realized that, yet she was hard put to smother a smile. He looked so absurdly tragic, and yet so boyish. She felt a sudden tug of tenderness, almost maternal. “Divorces are’messy things,” she said. “An acknowledgment of defeat. I have always felt they should only be turned to as a last resort.” “But if you don’t want a divorce and I dis- gust you—what are we going to do about it?” demanded Tommy helplessly. “We?” Jean lifted her eyebrows. “Where do I come in? Oh, I know the ancient fiction —that I might dress better or make myself more attractive. To you—or some other man. But do you think I’ve fallen down there, Tommy?” He looked at her. She had not changed, save perhaps for the better, since he had mar- ried her. She was as smartly groomed; she would always be. And the tilt of her nose and the contour of her pretty chin remained un- changed. “He felt a surge of admiration as she faced him, challenging his comment. “No,” he admitted honestly. “I suppose it’s me. But what can I do?” “You might,” said she deliberately, “try to grow up!” “Grow up?” “And stop having calf love affairs,” she went on. “Can’t you see that they are rather ridic- ulous? And you yourself as well?” Tommy wasn’t prepared to see anything like that. But she was merciless. “It’s just like this, Tommy. If any of those women represented something big, Id f differently. Terribly, in fact. I’d feel that you had found something more than I could give—something bigger than either of us. But you yourself admit that isn’t so. --: No, let me finish, please. I want to speak my mind out. I married you, Tommy, with open eyes. I knew that there would be certain things I’d have to give up. That’s marriage. But I felt that having you made up for the other things—and I assumed you felt that way too.” “T did,” assented Tommy huskily. “T knew your temperament. You are arden and susceptible. Perhaps you always wil 0. The sort of a man the phrase ‘likes to play wi fire’ is supposed to describe.” “That’s the

Page 109

ber, 1925 “That's the -d_ miserably, iss her,” she 'm trying to Ly, but if I’m ght,” he said, 5?” t. Then: “{ things: either and repudi- forget. But miliation and my. ; rned with the But some- rl who was in > I was. We fountain’ be- nced Tommy way you feel tly. “There's It’s not be- 1an thou’ or natter of fas- me.” , with great is left is di- y, he added, arry Ware!” id made the ip it with an 10uS moment their married thin the next hat, yet she He looked so 1. She felt a maternal. e said. “An e always felt last resort.” ce and I dis- lo about it?” ws. “Where cient fiction nake myself e other man. down there, ot changed, he had mar- roomed; she her nose and mained un- ation as she nt. “T suppose ely, “try to s,” she went rather ridic- ] nything like any of those ig, I’d feel ’d feel that han I could ther of us. ’t SO sam to speak my , with open ° be certain ’s marriage. or the other it way too.” y. 1 are arcea* ays Wil 0”. to play with Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 192: THINK there must be a whiff of tobacco in my blood. Fact is, I’m sure of it. My great-grandfather, a Vermont Irishman, went South in a wagon after the Revolution and he raised the first tobacco that was raised for export in what is now called The Black Patch of West Kentucky and West Ten- nessee. Wise old Yank, he cured and treated the heavy dark weed after crude processes of his own devising, loaded it on keelboats, floated it down the Cumberland to the Ohio, down the Ohio to the Missis- sippi and down the Mississippi to the Gulf, where he trans-shipped to sailing vessels and sent his cargoes out to the Gold Coast of Africa to be bartered off for ivory and gold dust. I understand that, dealing with black tribesmen, he rarely got the worst ofa deal. Forifhe was an Irishman, he also was a New Englander. He laid the sills for a substantial fortune. His son, my grandfather, was a planter, a factor, a re-handler of tobacco; and on the side a merchant and a banker and a steam-boatman. His small fleet of stern- wheelers, manned by crews of his slaves and mostly captained by his own kinsmen, carried tobacco of his growing and his neighbors’ growing to the city markets of the Southwest. For his day he was a rich man until the Civil War came along and smashed him up. For he had bought Confederate bonds and had financed a battery of Con- federate artillery. 12, ASK DaD- HE KNOps ! _ aPRETEN No. 1 of a series of talks on Sweet Caporal Cigarettes W Irvin S. Cobb His son, my father, followed in the foot- steps of his people. He was a warehouse- man. Later he was a buyer for foreign governments and for domestic contractors too. He was accounted one of the best judges of types and grades in the district. He smoked incessantly and he chewed frequently. His son, meaning me, grew up with the smell of tobacco leaf in his young nose, with the jargon of its business in his ears. We lived on a tobacco street in a tobacco town. There was a stemmery on the cor- ner above us, a snuff factory and a cigar- maker’s shop down the road and a whole row of warehouses farther along. In the season, the fat hogsheads blocked the nar- row sidewalks. I absorbed the romance of the industry—for it is one of the most romantic of industries—along with my hot biscuits and New Orleans molasses. In four generations, I was the first of the ask Grandad -he knows4, The best Bi he ever had were “Sweet Caps” smeonronaras first-born males of my breed to stray from the ancestral pathway. And now, in a way of speaking, I’m back again in the family line. I have taken on the job of doing a series of signed advertisements of which this is the introductory one. I have declined propo- sitions to turn out advertisements for various manufactured products because I feel I merely would be a hired hand, ex- ploiting this, that or the other thing for so much a word. But I reached for this opportunity. I knew I could put my heart in it—could with sincerity endorse the article I was praising. From time to time in this space, I’m go- ing to write about Sweet Caporal Ciga- rettes. The first cigarette I ever smoked was a Sweet Caporal. That must be all of thirty-five years ago. Even that far back Sweet Caporals had been on the market a good long while. Commercially speaking, the Sweet Caporal Cigarette. was born in November 1878 —roughly forty- seven years ago. Any product-—cig- arette or what ““/~ you pleasc— which stands thetests of time and competition and shifting popu!l:r taste for nearly half a century and ho!cs its own and steadily grows in favor is bound to have merits. It just naturally has to have ’em. It shall be my task to try to explain a few facts about these merits. Thank you. pee 2 2 P S I write one of these articles every cnce oO. and awhile. Watch for the next.

Page 110

One-thirty and the Day’s Work done! “GETTING DINNER’”’ is the bugaboo that keeps countless thou- sands of women from enjoying to the full the glorious sunshine of a summer’s afternoon. But—there are other thousands of women that “get dinner” without in- terfering with the health or happi- ness of themselves or their families. These are the women who own Gas Ranges equipped with the Lorain Oven Heat Regulator. LORAIN OVEN HEAT REGULATOR In the oven of a Lorain-equipped Gas Range you can cook a Whole Meal at one time. By setting the Lorain Red Wheel at a very low temperature, you can go miles away for several hours, supremely confident that a delicious, hot dinner will be ready to serve when you return. A Lorain Self-regulating Oven insures perfect baking results. And you can do all your fruit-canning in this magic oven, too— better, easier, cheaper, quicker. Gas Companies, Department Stores, Hard- ware, Furniture and Stove Dealers, wherever gas is available, sell Gas Ranges equipped with the Red Temperature Wheel of Lorain—the ORIG/NAL Oven Heat Regulator. AMERICAN STOVE COMPANY Largest Makers of Gas Ranges in the World 1122 Chouteau Ave. St. Louis, Mo. One easy turn of the Lorain Red Wheel gives youa choice ofanymeas- ured and control- led oven heat for any kind of oven cooking or baking. Unless the Regula- tor has a Red Wheel it is NOT a LORAIN. “T suppose,” admitted Tommy, “that that does describe me.” “Except that it doesn’t,” she retorted dryly. “To me you seem more like a child who wants to see if he can start a fire and then, when he finds he can, gets scared and runs off. You don’t play with fire, Tommy, you merely maximate your ego by starting them. You con’t even fall in love—you just philander.” “You have a high opinion of me!” he said bitterly. “i'd have a higher opinion if you’d try to see vourself objectively instead of subjectively just now. Won't you make the effort, Tommy?” Tommy was silent for a moment. “I—I think I do—see what you mean.” he confessed in a rush. And then he felt an overwhelming surge of that humility which always walks hand in hand with real love. “You should have married Ware, Jean,” he said, in all sincerity. “IT see it—now. He’s your own kind, he talks your language. He’s worth three of me. I wouldn't blame you if you let me out, took this chance for a divorce and——” There he bogged. He simply couldn't finish the sen- tence. “And married Phil?” suggested Jean. “What makes you think he’d want to?” “Because I saw him and the way he looked at you this noon. It was in his eyes. And he has been true to the memory of you all these years.” Jean’s dimple flashed out. “You are very flattering, but you take altogether too much for granted,” she said. “Phil has been married for almost a year now.” “What?” gasped looked Ke “As even a married man will when he takes a pretty woman to luncheon,” Jean re- minded him. “I am pretty, am I not?” Tommy took an impulsive step toward her, then paused. He remembered what she had said about his kissing and was now suddenly afraid to kiss his own wife. “You'’re—adorable!’ he Tommy. “But .-.he said, with great Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 sincerity. And added anxiously, “You—you realize, Jean, that I have always known that there was no woman who could compare with you even when I acted like—like the devil!” “Like a spoiled child,” she corrected. “A spoiled ‘I want’ child!” Tommy shied at that. But he knew that he must swallow the dose and—he managed jt. “Well, I’ve been soundly spanked, anyway,” he reminded her pleadingly. ‘‘I—hang ‘it Jean—can’t you see I couldn’t go on the old way now even if I wanted to? I’d feel too much like a silly ass. Can’t you see that ridicule is as deadly to romance as—as halitosis?”’ ‘“I—rather suspected as much,” Jean con- fessed—and smiled. They stood so, man and wife, with no more than two feet separating them. But still Tommy dared not take her in his arms. “Tf you want to pose for Ware,” he began, “why——” “If you mind so very much, I won't,” she said at once. “It really isn’t important—to me. Although he’ll be disappointed.” “Of course,’ agreed Tommy. “‘And there’s no real reason why you shouldn’t. He's married.”’ “You forget,’ Jean flashed, “that married men have been known to kiss—and run. They aren’t immune, you know!” The same old irresistible Jean! Tommy could stand it no longer. He snatched her to him and kissed her. He must have done so even had he known he would be struck dead the next moment. He had found the answer to that question he had never asked himself—would he marry Jean on the morrow if he were free and under no compulsion to marry anybody? Just give him the chance! And he knew, as Jean’s lips surrendered to his, that he was to have his chance. “This married man is immune—take it from me,” he assurec her, unsteadily yet with great finality. Jean’s dimple flashed. said she. “He’d better be!” Cappy Bells the remember her, although she says I promised to marry her and failed to keep my promise. Well, I suppose I'll have to be nice to the boy. Show him in, Miss Martin.” Percival Annersley Kent was accordingly ad- mitted to the Presence. Cappy took one look. “Shades of my ancestors,”” he murmured, “how the old stock has run to seed!” What Cappy had expected to see was a fine, big, raw-boned, hearty Dovn-Eazster, built along the same generous lines as his son-in-law, Captain Matt Peasley. What he saw was a dapper youth who might have aspired to the championship of the bantam division had he but possessed the soul of a warrior, which Cappy shrewdly judged he did not. He had pale blue eyes, slightly popping, white eye- lashes and eyebrows, scant, thin, very blond hair and prominent teeth. His chin was weak and receding, and he carried himself with a false air of assurance as he came straight across the room to Cappy and shook the latter’s hand with unnecessary heartiness. “Well, son,” said Cappy dismally, “how do you do? I don’t seem to remember your excel- lent grandmother, but it appears she remem- bers me, so we'll call it a bet. Sit down, my boy. So you're figuring on settling in Cali- fornia and growing up with the country, are you?” Percival Annersley Kent flushed like a school girl and modestly admitted that such was his intention, provided he could find a suitable position with a desirable firm. Cappy nodded kindly and at once began a vigorous inquisition of his youthful visitor. At the end of fifteen minutes he decided that the young man was a highly intelligent ass; whereupon, acting under the stimulus of a sudden brilliant inspiration, he propounded to his visitor this .ishly cryptic question: Oo) Cay (Continued from page 33) “Percy, Co you think you can see through a ladder?” “T am quite certain of it, sir.” “You ought to, at least—you’re a Yankee. How are you fixed financially after your trip across the continent?” “Not very well, sir, I fear.” Cappy grunted. “I thought so. Well, do not worry about it. You are on the Ricks pay-roll at a hundred and fifty dollars a month, and for the present all you have to do is keep away from this office. If I even see you in the neighborhood until I send for you, I’! amputate you from said pay-roll.”’ He turned his back on Percival and sum- moned his secretary. “Write a letter to my tailor and instruct him to give this young man half a dozen suits of clothes and charge them to me. Write a letter to my haberdasher and tell him to fut- ° nish this same young man with whatever he wants in the way of youthful adornment.” He swung round on his swivel chair and glowered at the amazed Percival. ‘You order some more clothing like that you’re wearing, son, only more so,”’ he commanded. “I want you to be the glass of fashion and the mold of form. Where are you living?” ‘Nowhere as yet sir.” “Take up your suit-case and go to the Palace Hotel. Engage a bedroom, parlor and bath. You will not have to pay for it for a week, and when they send up your bill, telephone my secretary here and she'll send you up the to pay for it. Meanwhile, you must have some ready money. Miss Martin, go out to the cashier and get me five hundred dollars. Have it charged to my personal account.” “You're extraordinarily kind, Mr. Ricks, young Mr. Kent murmured, “but what aml to do for all this?” ee ee ee) a ee oe et age ae ASL ee

Page 111

er, 1925 “You—yoy known that ompare with - the devil!” rected, “4 ‘new that he managed it. 1, anyway,” I—hang it, ) on the old eel too much ridicule is as aie ” Jean con- ith no more But still arms. ” he began, won't,” she portant—to ted.” And there's In’t. He's vat married run. They ommy could her to him ne so even sad the next ver to that '—would he re free and ody? Just v, as Jean’s to have his ake it from _ with great better be!” > through a a Yankee. r your trp Well, do the Ricks rs a month, do is keep you in the | amputate and sum- id instruct lozen suits Write a ‘im to fur- * hatever he nent.” chair and ‘You order e wearing, “T want he mold of the Palace and bath. week, and phone my D the cash have some ut to the irs. Have + Ricks,” ‘hat am I “You're to shut up, to begin with, and never, never admit that you have even so much as heard of Alden P. Ricks or anything with his name attached to it. I have a special job materializing for you, young man, and at the proper time I'll put you to work. Behave ourself, son, and mind what I tell you.” Young Mr. Kent said he would and departed resently, the richer by two letters and five hundred dollars. He decided that Cappy Ricks was violently insane. No sooner had he gone than Cappy sum- moned Mr. Skinner. ‘‘Skinner,” he ordered, “have a man look up all of the real estate holdings of the Humboldt Mill Company, in Humboldt and Mendocino Counties, and make a map of the sections. I have an idea old Millbank’s timber runs over the line. Then get half a dozen of the best timber cruisers in the country and have them make a secret cruise of Millbank’s timber. They can pretend to be hunters. Each of these men is to make an independent cruise and none of them must know the other fellow is working for us also. You will find means to do this. “When you get their reports, consolidate them, average the stand of timber and bring the result to me. You will also select a good man from our employ and instruct him to get some kind of a job in Millbank’s mill. At the end of a month he will make us a detailed re- port on the plant—whether it is strictly modern or antiquated, their method of handling logs, the organization, everything.” Mr. Skinner nodded soberly. ‘‘So you’re going to buy Millbank out, are you?” “Well, I’m going to proposition the old buzzard at any rate, and you know me. I buy nothing until I know mighty blamed well what I’m going to buy. Never talk business, Skinner, until you’re in position to talk it; then have your contract all ready and when the customer weakens, out with your fountain pen and make him sign on the dotted line.” Within a month Cappy had a meticulous and detailed report on the Humboldt Mill Com- pany’s plant, but three months passed before Mr. Skinner presented him with the consoli- dated report of his cruisers’ estimates of the stumpage owned by the company. The varia- tion in the six estimates was in detail only; the grand total was so close that Cappy knew he could afford to proceed on that basis, since his cruisers, after the fashion of their craft, had underestimated rather than overestimated the timber stand. Following a day of close application to an analysis of the figures before him, Cappy called in Mr. Skinner, who from the statistics kept in the Ricks Logging & Lumber Company offices furnished him with the average selling price of every grade of redwood lumber for the past fifteen years. Both Cappy and Mr. Skinner knew that with the growing scarcity of red- wood timber the price had been advancing at a faster pace than the cost of manufacture, but they desired to prove it. Mr. Skinner then carefully checked Cappy’s conservative esti- mates of value and approved them. “Well?” said Mr. Skinner, at the conclusion of their labors. “Skinner, Millbank’s plant, logging railroad, stock of logs and manufactured timber on land, equipment and standing timber are worth fifteen million dollars of any man’s money. In ten years it will be worth a little more—despite ten years’ logging.” Mr. Skinner nodded. “Even if Millbank could be induced to sell, I doubt if you could induce fifteen redwood manufacturers to put up a million dollars each merely to get a dis- turbing influence out of the market. He doesn t disturb the trade that much.” I agree with you. I never did think the asociation’s talk of buying him out was any- ing more than hot air. Personally, I wouldn’t put lead dollars into the stock of a corporation organized to buy him out, because any time I Put a million dollars into something I just naturally hanker to control it.” Then it appears to me, Mr. Ricks, you’ve fone to considerable expense to demonstrate = | if auc By Keepi radiators; the interior of p on sk thoroughly c tools. Concealed in their deep, soft nay dislodge. (You can prove this’ ¥ A Po ° \ beaten out and swept up. Quickly, Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 1elves—all these, and S| Anott leaned with The | your house cl “behind the ears” \ Me : : , esses that “don’t showX; hard-to-reach I inder beds ass furniture; behind anc ia os; upholstered furniture; behi rer “don’t show” Hiding place for dirt is in ean lope ? sages aha 1 beneath nd book: eir like may he easily reached and oover and its newly designed dusting our rugs. is the dirt which needs beating to .» \) The Hoover wiil keep dustlessly, it will perform your ) this dirt every cleaning task, including your“dusting.” The leisure hours you've always wanted will be yours. is clean! Choose now, between dirt anc you'll know that yeur home a Hoover. You can’t have both! And remember! All you need pay, ee a Hoover, — down. THE The HOO Let your Authorized Hoover Dealer “The HOOVER It BEATS .--- as it Sweeps asit Cleans *TO PROVE RUGS NEED BEATING: Turn over a corner of a rug; with the handle of an ordinary table-knife, or something of equal weight, give the under or warp side 15 to 25 sharp taps and watch the dirt dance out from the nap depths onto a piece of paper. Feel the destructive character of this grit. This is the dirt your pres- ent cleaning methods have missed, and that beating has dislodged. Correct use of The Hoover causes this embedded dirt to be vibrated to the surface by the rapid, gentle beating of the Hoover brush, as powerful suction lifts the rug from the floor and draws all the beaten-out, swept-up dirt into the dust-tight bag mal ~~ \ \ \ VER COMPANY. WORD H CANTON, ake delivery today. OHIO The oldest and largest maker of electric cleaners Hoover is also made in Canada, at Hamilton, Ontario

Page 112

ee — _— “Plan Your Home Now! ET the most attractive book published on building a home —“The Story of Brick.” It tells you the things you want toknow. It is read in the. schools. Send for your copy today. No charge. “Bungalow and Small House Plans.” Four booklets showing 3 to 4-room, 5-room, 6- room and 7to8roomhouses. Each, 25 cents. Entire set, $1.00. “The Home of Beauty” with 50 charming designs of 6 room houses. Sent for 50 cents. Complete plans on all these houses available at nominal prices. “The Home Fires” tells how to build a real fireplace and shows many attractive fireplace designs. Sent for 25 cents. American Face Brick Assn. 1744 Peoples Life Building Chicago, Illinois Only One to a Person In order to introduce to the American public “‘Fleur de Nuit’? Perfume we will send this dainty one dollar bottle (same size as shown) with gold-finished screw-cap, ground glass rod and stopper, filled with this new, most wonderful and fragrant Perfume — equal to the finest importations. Send Us This Adv. and twenty-five cents silver, to cover postage, packing, etc., and we will send promptly, securely pecked and all charges paid. Foreign Countries and Canada, send 10c. extra. NOTE: If more than one bottle is desired, kindly send One Dollar for each additional bottle. Complete satisfaction guaranteed or money refunded in full. Order NOW! Babbitt, Inc. THE | ABBITT CO. | PHILADELPHIA J Bf cower T | | 1s meen © Cpe ‘ ——_— = Perfumers, Dept. 159 | ACTUAL SIZE 4049 Market St., Philadelphia, Pa. * Hearst's International—C osmopolitcn for October, 192s | the truth of something you were already aware of. The expense of cruising and investigating amounts to ten thousand dollars, in round figures, and the way that Kent boy is living up at the Palace Hotel is a shame and a disgrace. He gave a dinner party in his suite last week that cost you two hundred dollars.” “Is he buying wine?” Cappy cemanded, horrified. “At a hu dred and fifty dollars a cese. | ‘The ornery young pup! Well, I hove he’ll | be worth it. If you want a crop, Sxinner, you’ve got to plant the seed, you know.” “T know where Id like to plant that oird,” ”» | Mr. Skinner growled. “T was reminded, during the meeting of che executive committee of the Redwood Lumber Manufacturers’ Association, of a fable of sop’s,”’ Cappy rambled on. “The mice hela a convention to see how they could get rid of the cat, and one bright mouse suggested that they buy a bell and tie it around the cat’s neck, in order to give timely warning of Tom’s ap- proach. The proposition fell through because no mouse present had a safe, comprehensive plan for belling the cat.” “Am I to understand,” queried Mr. Skinner, “that you regard yourself as a sort of super- mouse?” “Well, I have a plan for tying a can to old | man Millbank’s tail, and I’m just super-mouse | interest on are two different things. enough to try it out. However, let us get cown to serious business. Would you consider it advisable for the Ricks Logging and Lum- bering Company to buy out the Millbank | plant and holdings?” “No, sir-ee!””, Mr. Skinner was very emphatic. “What a property is worth intrinsically and what it can be made to pay a reasonable rate of Let the | markt go off for a year and we’ll have to shut | the Millbank plant down. | that vear. Figure interest on fifteen million dollars at eight percent, then add your taxes and you’re out a million dollars Mr. Ricks, it’s too big a bite.” “Tt wouldn’t be too big a bite if we could get it for ten millions.” “Admitted. We could shut it down for five | years and still have a good thing.” trust company blank. “Well, [ll try to buy it for that, Skinner. Meanwhile, see to it that a first-class title in- surance company runs down the title to every foot of land owned by the Humboldt Mill Company and have them all set and standing by to insure us a clear title. How much cash money can we dig up in a hurry?” “At least five million dollars.” “Good. We can put a bond issue on the property for the remaining five millions. Skinner, have our attorneys proceed to draw up a trust agreement, leaving the name of the I can get half a dozen banks and trust companies to act as trustee for the bond-holders and take over those bonds at ninety-nine. While you’re at it, have the bonds printed. Get everything set so that the minute we have old Millbank’s deeds in escrow we can go through without a hitch. “Oh, by the way, before you get too deeply immersed in this gigantic job, cable our Shanghai manager, Bill Peck, to come home on the first steamer for a conference with me. During the Great War, Private Bill Peck was a sharpshooter. I want him to snipe old man Millbank for me. I'll see that he doesn’t lose anything by it. Old man Millbank will pay Bill’s fee.” Thirty days later, when Bill Peck reported in from Shanghai, Cappy met the veteran at the dock and carried him in his automobile directly to the Palace Hotel and up to the suite occupied by young Mr. Percival Anners- ley Kent. In the sitting-room a luncheon was set for three and on an adjacent tabouret a | | quart of vintage wine stood chilling in a silver bucket. : “Meet the shock troops, Bill,’ said Cappy | affably and introduced Mr. Peck to Mr. Kent. | “While we’re lunching I'll outline my plan of operations, and you, Bill, as my chief of staff, will then be asked to kick holes in it. Percy here has already been thoroughly drilled” Two hours later, when Cappy returned to his office, Bill Peck shook his employer solemnly by the hand and gave Cappy the as- surance the latter yearned to receive. That assurance had been the motto of Bill Peck’s brigade during the Great War and it had been drilled into his soul so thoroughly that nothing in civil life could ever eradicate it. When re- quested to perform a task tremendously diff. cult, if not impossible of fulfilment, Mr. Peck always smiled and said: ‘Sir, it shall be done!” He said it now to Cappy—and because Cappy knew that nothing but paralysis would prevent Bill Peck from keeping his word, the old gen- tleman went out, figuratively floating on air, A week passed; then one morning a clerk brought into old man Millbank a card: Wituram E. Peck Timber Investments Cruising Reports General Brokerage 1410 Dollar Building San Francisco Phone Sutter 1415 “Yell him that if he wants to talk to me about selling out, I’m too busy to see him,” Millbank ordered the clerk. The latter departed but returned almost in- stantly. “He says he hasn’t any proposition to submit to you for the sale of the company. He just wants to explain a proposition to make both of you some easy money.” “Wants to sing me a rhapsody in do-re-mi, eh? Show the gentleman in.” Mr. Peck limped in. He would always limp, due to the fact that he had left a portion of his left tibia in France. He extended his left hand in greeting to Millbank, who noticed that Bill Peck’s right sleeve hung limp in his side coat pocket. But his smile was very compelling. “T have a plan to make you one hundred thousand dollars, Mr. Millbank,’’ he began. “Tf I make you that hundred thousand, ¢an I have ten thousand of it for myself?” “Ten percent is a mighty high commission,” said old man Millbank guardedly. “Ninety thcusand percent on nothing in- vested for thirty days isn’t a profit to be sneezed at, Mr. Millbank.” ° “There ain’t no such animal, Mr. Peck.” “Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, Mr. Millbank! Let us say that he is as rare as the eggs of a dinosaur. Still, a man found a num- ber of dinosaur eggs in the Gobi Desert a couple of years age.” “T’ll give you five percent,” old man Mill- bank countered. He couldn’t help it. In all his life he had never accepted any proposition at first blush. “Good afternoon, sir,’’ said William E. Peck and rose to go. Old man Millbank let him get as far as the door before calling him back. “Well, unfold your proposition and if I like it I’ll give you ten percent,” he urged. “Is there any element of risk?” “T do not think so. However, that is for you to decide. I'll spread my hand and you take a look. Then if you do not think you can take the pot, I'll try dealing four aces to some other lumberman. I will admit the pos- sibility but not the probability of a royal flush beating four aces in the same deal.” “Have you tried anybody else, Mr. Peck?” “J have not. The only reason why I haven't is a secret. However, I might remind you that | I moved into my office two days ago and your — office is just across the hall. I couldn’t help © seeing the sign on your door.” es “Let us hope it pays to advertise,” old mam ~ Millbank replied dryly. “Shoot!” & “T have in tow a prospect who thinks—te — member, I said thinks—he wants to buy a™ wood sawmill and a big patch of timber.” “What gives him that funny idea, Mn™ Peck?” ee “In all probability he got it from a psycho- ~~ pathic ancestor. He looks nutty to me, and T am thoroughly convinced that he hasn’t much | more than enough money to put down on am — option or to make a first payment. His plans — have been confided to me and as a businessman I am of the opinion that they aren’t feasible,

Page 113

4 1925 ly drilled” returned to > employer PPy the as- eive. That Bill Peck’s it had been hat nothing When re- lously diffi- , Mr. Peck ll be done!” ause Cappy uld prevent he old gen- 1g ON air. ing a clerk ard: ar Building cisco tter 1415 talk to me » see him,” almost in- proposition > company, on to make n do-re-mi, lways limp, rtion of his is left hand d that Bill s side coat npelling. e hundred he began. and, ¢an I mmission,” othing in- ofit to be . Peck.” , that, Mr. rare as the nd a num- Desert a man Mill- it. In all yroposition m E. Peck et him get him back. 1 if I like reed. “Is hat is for 1 and you think you ur aces to it the pos- ‘oyal flush ir. Peck?” I haven't 1 you that and your — Idn’t help ~ ’ old man iinks—re- ber a psycho- me, and sn’t much wn on an His plans inessman feasible. d ea, Mr. : Hearst’s International—-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 4 FRANKLIN Heavy Demand Forces a Doubled Production Clearly, Franklin has developed another outstanding success in this New Coupé. For those who want an extra Car, Of one more compact than a Sedan, it is the feature car of the year. There have been good personal closed cars before this, but never one with so much style and dash, so many custom features, such generous space for trappings, or such zestful, tireless perform- ance. A three-passenger, leather-trimmed, clear-vision cat with power and comfort which make the longest tours a pleasure. Styled by de Causse in the finest Continental manner, and priced only $50 above the Touring model. Its popularity continues to set new records. Demand has pushed production this month to double the number originally scheduled. Also SEDAN + TOURING + SPORT SEDAN - CABRIOLET SPORT RUNABOUT - ENCLOSED-DRIVE LIMOUSINE Franklin Series 11 comes ready for the road—fully equipped with appropriate accessories, spare tire and cover—at the catalog price. Only tax and freight are extra,

Page 114

Hot whole wheat! Add golden years! The fragrance of hot whole wheat! Delicious golden Wheatena! An irresistible temptation to your appetite. Children just “eat it up” and ask for more. Give them all they want. It’s so good for them and so easily digested. Just the plump golden kernels of choicest winter wheat are selected for Wheatena—roasted and toasted, delicious golden heart, bran and all, to give that distinctive flavor and perfect nourishment. The Wheatena Company, Wheatenaville, Rahway, N. J. Nature’s perfect food—on your table in 3 minutes at less than 2c a pound et —— & Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 | “The proprietor of this tremendous am. | bition is a small-town youth from the East. He might be twenty-two years old and he looks like something the cat might drag in. He has some money but just how much I do not knoy although my investigations have convinced me that if he has more than a hundred thousand dollars [’m not afraid to roll him the bones, one | flop, for the excess. He has some rich friends— _ brash youths of his own age, college chums an fraternity brothers of his. “He is now at an age when he wears q halo around the memory of his college days He believes that the vow of fraternity, once given, can never be revoked, and he and bis | fraternity brothers are all het up with a notion that they are not going to be wasters. They're going to amount to something in the world— going to take the money their fathers died in slavery to leave to them and prove to mother | that they are businessmen—chips off the old block. They are going to demonstrate that the third generation isn’t headed for the shirt. sleeves of the first generation. They’re going to get into something and treble their bank. rolls—and by some hocus-pocus they’ve de. cided on the lumber business. “A retail yard in a village would be too much for them—so they have decided on a big manu- facturing proposition and little Lord Fauntle. roy has come out of the East to tie up for them whatever he finds that looks good to him, After he has tied it up he’s going back East to raise the money to make the other pay- ments. He plans to incorporate a new com- pany and sell stock in it to his rich fraternity brothers, and he’s been asking me how he can work it so he can get a big block of the stock for himself without having to put up any money. Of course I’ve explained the pro- motion idea to him and he’s all afire to prove himself a captain of industry.” “Hum-m-m!” old man Millbank grunted. “This boy has an idea he can go back, with a mere description of this property, and raise the money in thirty days. He doesn’t seem to know that he ought to cruise the timber, get an expert’s report on the manufacturing plant, lelp himself to a lot of statistics and vital in- fermation respecting the market and the poten- tial rofits, and run down the titles to the preperty. He just thinks he’s old man Wise, so it occurred to me not to make him any wiser, but to cast about for somebody who would arrange to sell him the sort of property he’s looking for, declare a quick dividend and get out. “T am strongly of the opinion that you and I can tie this infant up on a deal that Henry lord couldn’t consummate in sixty days, but | this bird will try to put it over in thirty. Well cet him to put up, say, a hundred thousand | dollars for a thirty-day option. At the end | of the thirty days he must put up, say, a mil- | lion more, and thirty days later he must put | up all of the remainder of the purchase price, | against your deeds in escrow in some bank. He won't be able to put up the second pay- ment, because even if his friends are as nutty as he is, it stands to reason they must have guardians or parents or lawyers or some to make them look before they leap. “Of course there will be necessary delays this boob cannot see now, so when the optio? has expired you will merely draw down you hundred thousand dollars’ forfeit, take bac. your deeds, give me ten thousand dollar and forget it. How does the idea appeal « you?” “Tt sounds too good to be true. There mu- be a catch in it somewhere.” ‘ “Perhaps. But you must decide that for yourself, and the best way to decide 1s to meet the young man and size him up. If you cant tie him up like little Baby Bunting I miss mY guess a mile.” “Well, bring him around and let’s have @ look at the good thing.” Mr. Peck reached for the telephone of Millbank’s desk and called his victim at Palace Hotel. In Millbank’s presence | proceeded to make a fast, clever selling

Page 115

ober, 1925 ‘emendous am. m the East. He d and he looks rag in. He has I do not know. € Convinced me adred thousand 1 the bones, one e rich friends— lege chums and en he wears q S college days, raternity, once and he and his P with a notion isters. They're in the world— fathers died in rove to mother ips off the old monstrate that d for the shirt. They’re going dle their bank. us they’ve de. Id be too much on a big manu- Lord Fauntle- t to tie up for ks good to him, ‘ing back East the other pay- te a new com- rich fraternity me how he can -k of the stock > put up any ined the pro- _afire to prove nk grunted. . go back, with erty, and raise loesn’t seem to he timber, get acturing plant, 's and vital in- and the poten- » titles to the old man Wise, nake him any omebody who ort of property - dividend and . that you and al that Henry ixty days, but 1 thirty. We'll dred thousand At the end up, say, a mil- r he must put yurchase price, n some bank. e second pay- s are as nutty ey must have or somethi leap. cessary delays 1en the optiv’ iw down yout! it, take bac usand dollar: dea appeal « . There mu cide that for ide is to meet If you can't ing I miss my 1 let’s have 4 telephone 08 victim at presence selling talk. } Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 127 n size~-beauty--luxury- power--price*-in sheer excellence at low cost-/his Jine six easily leads tts eld cating system . . . Oil-tight universal joints... Heavier crown fenders... Two-tone polished lacquer finish . . . Genuine carpet floor-coverings . . . Very latest finger-type spark and throttle levers . . . Unusual room and comfort. From any viewpoint you may regard it, this fine new Overland Six is a remarkable motor-car . . . character- ful in style, delightful in performance ... richly finished, masterfully en- gineered . . . handling at all speeds with an ease restful to men and a 2 ee See this fine, powerful Overland Six . a car you will delight to drive . a car that you and yours will be proud to go about in. Easy terms. A small amount down. 52 weeks for the balance. Take along your present car to apply as part payment. Within many, many dollars of its price, there is nothing that can compare with this automobile, for guality.. . a 38-horsepower engine. . . 11234 inch wheelbase. . . Larger main bear- ing surface . . . Pressure feed lubri- Willys-Overland, Inc., Toledo, Ohio : . Willys-Overland Sales Co. Ltd., Toronto, Canada Standard Sedan MiLLys- DeLuxe Sedan $1095 vices f.0.b.Toledo MOTOR: CARS | FINz - OVERLAND:

Page 116

128 “Says he can’t come down,”’ Peck reported, after hanging up the receiver. ‘‘Wants me to bring you up to his suite for luncheon and talk things over. Says you might bring a map of your holdings and any useful information you happen to have lying around loose. Shall we go up?” Old man Millbank, who was notoriously thrifty, decided that he might as well have a free luncheon, so he agreed at once. As he and Peck approached the door of Percival’s suite, three gay young flappers emerged and paused at the threshold to look back and throw kisses to Mr. Kent, the while their ecstatic cries of ““Good-by, Percy darling,’? quite filled the corridor. “The boy’s a high stepper, it seems,”’ said Mr. Peck. ‘“‘A fool and his money are soon parted,” old man Millbank replied grimly. ‘‘Let me at him.” For half the afternoon Mr: Peck let old man Millbank at him, and when a telephone call, apparently froma young lady, tore the apologetic Percival from them, he tempered the rudeness of his abrupt departure by re- questing that they make themselves com- fortable where they were. As an added assur- ance of their comfort he set out a quart of very old Scotch and a bottle of mineral water. “Well,” said Bill Peck as the door closed behind Percival Annersley Kent, “can you beat it?” “Tmpossible!’”’ old man Millbank agreed and helped himself to the Scotch. ‘The boy’s as mad as a hatter. Mr. Peck, if I had a son as soft in the head as that boy I’d drown him.” “The fool’s half sold on your property now.” “But my property’s not for sale, Mr. Peck.” “You sent me word to that effect before I was admitted to your office. However, just for the sake of argument, if you were selling, what price would you ask?” “I'd ought to get close around millions.” “Tf you name that figure you'll scare him off. Five million dollars appears to be the limit of his financing in hard cash. He seems to think he can get that inside thirty days. But I can sell him the idea that he can handle a ten- million dollar property by getting out a bond issue of five million and paying five million in cash. Or the seller might accept a first mort- gage to guarantee the balance due on the property. Why not set your price at ten mil- lion, draw up an iron-clad contract and see if we can rush this idiot into signing it? I imagine he hasn’t sense enough to consult a good lawyer before signing.” Old man Millbank bowed his head on his breast and thoughtfully sipped his Scotch. “TI admit he’s a temptation,” he said presently. “T’ll think it over.” For an hour they chatted over the deal, Peck adroitly pointing out to old man Millbank every point he thought the old wretch might have missed. However, there were few points old man Millbank ever missed in any man.: He was as wise as a treeful of owls—and knew it; and any chief of police will tell you that it is the wiseacres and not the suckers who come dashing up to the desk sergeants at head- quarters screaming that they have been robbed. At parting, what with the mellow Scotch and the refining influence of Mr. Peck, old man Millbank promised to take up the matter further on Monday morning. fifteen All day Sunday old man Millbank’s lawyer worked over an agreement of sale between the Humboldt Mill Company and Percival Anners- ley Kent which ordinarily would have taken him less than an hour to dictate. But old man Millbank sat at his elbow, thinking up jokers, inserting tortuous clauses, whereases and uncomfortable provisions. He provided for a payment of one hundred thousand dollars upon the signing of the agree- ment and the placing of his deeds in escrow; thirty days thereafter a further payment of four million, nine hundred thousand dollars; and thirty days later the balance of five mil- Jion must be paid in. If not later than three Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 o’clock P. M., standard time, thirty days from the signing of the instrument, the second pay- ment should not be made, then the agreement was null and void and the first payment of a hundred thousand dollars was to be retained by the seller as and for liquidated damages. When the final draft of this document was made, it was a work of art. At ten o’clock on Monday Bill Peck drifted into old man Millbank’s office with Percival Annersley Kent in tow, and the negotiations were resumed. At twelve o’clock they were closed and the agreement of sale, duly signed and witnessed before a notary public, had been deposited, together with Percival’s certified check for $100,000, in escrow in the Marine National Bank. Three weeks passed. Then to old man Millbank’s office came William E. Peck, in his hand a telegram and on his face the satisfied smile of one who merits well of this world. “Well, what do you think of this old cripple for a prophet?” he demanded and handed, Millbank the telegram. It was from Percival Annersley Kent, back in Thomaston, Maine, and fran- tically Percival besought Mr. Peck to see Mr Millbank and induce him to extend the date of the second payment two weeks. Old man Millbank smiled grimly. ‘Wire him. it’s o. k.,’’ he suggested. “I’m not bound by anything you wire the sucker.” “T have already wired him to that effect,” said Mr. Peck and produced a carbon copy of his telegram—whereupon old man Millbank stood up, smote Mr. Peck heavily and affec- tionately between the shoulder-blades, and called him ‘‘a bird!” From his overcoat pocket Mr. Peck pro- duced a quart of the rich, mellow old Scotch to which Percival Annersley Kent had ap- peared to be partial. “Our victim sent me all he had left of this when he started East,” he explained. ‘‘Here’s your share.’ He did not think it necessary to add that Percy had sent it under orders from Cappy Ricks, the liquor in question having come from Cappy’s well- stocked cellar in the first place. Came the day, as the motion picture title- writers have it, when, not later than three o’clock p. M., at the escrow department of the Marine National Bank there was due from Percival Annersley Kent the sum of $4,900,000. At twelve o’clock old man Millbank telephoned the manager of the escrow department to ask if the sum in question had been paid in to the bank. A reply in the negative set his mean old heart to thumping madly. “That boy Peck is a whirlwind,” he de- clared, ‘‘and if he hasn’t earned his ten thousand dollars I’m crazy.” Thinking thus, he ordered his cashier to bring him a check for ten thousand drawn to the order of William E. Peck, and with this check in his pocket he appeared in the lobby of the Marine National. Bill Peck was already there. Old man Millbank rushed up to him with outstretched hand. “Anything doing, Peck?” he gasped excitedly. “Nothing has been deposited,” Peck replied guardedly. “Looks like we win in a walk. However, the boy still has until three o’clock. Did you bring my check, Mr. Millbank?” “Got it right here, Peck.” They strolled down the lobby together and sat down on a customers’ bench to wait the longest thirty minutes old man Millbank had ever waited. Every two minutes he compared his watch and Bill Peck’s with the bank clock; at five minutes of three he went to the escrow window and again asked if the money had been received. The reply was in the negative. Old man Millbank smiled a swordfish smile and handed Bill Peck his check for ten thousand. “We win,” he whispered as he crushed the check into Mr. Peck’s hand. “That contract stipulated that the four million nine hundred thousand dollars must be paid in United States gold coin, and even if that fool gets here in time with a certified check I can refuse it and insist on the cash and be perfectly within my rights. Id like to see the photograph of the man who can dig up four million nine hundred thousand dollars in gold within the next five minutes and have it ready for me at th window.” Mr. Peck thanked old man Millbank and hastened down to the paying teller’s window “Certify that, please,” he said and tossed the check in to the paying teller. At one minute of three he was back at the escrow window with the check certified. : “Well, young feller,” said old man Millbank to the manager of the escrow department, “t looks as if that young feller had fell down on his contract, so I guess you’d better hand me out that check and my deeds and the contract of sale. We only got a minute more to go,” “That’s time enough, Millbank,” somebody piped at his elbow, and turning, he beheld no less a person than Cappy Ricks. “What interest have you got in this deal?” he demanded. “One hundred percent,” Cappy answered cheerfully. “I’m the boy that’s bought your Humboldt Mill Company.” ; “Great news!’ Millbank almost yelled. “Hand me over the money—in United States gold coin!” “There it is—just outside my cage, Mr, Millbank,” the manager of the escrow depart- ment interrupted soothingly, and pointed toa string of low money trucks, piled high with box upon box of new twenty-dollar gold pieces fresh from the Mint. “If you care to step around in back here you can count the boxes. There are twenty thousand dollars to a box, fifty boxes to a truck and five trucks. Of course the fifth truck is one hundred thousand dollars shy, but you have my word for it that your payment has been made into this bank—and it still lacks fifteen seconds of three o’clock!” For perhaps five seconds old man Millbank stared unbelievingly at the line of trucks, Slowly he turned an apple-green. Suddenly he shrieked: “I’ve sold my company! Oh, I’ve sold it—and I never meant to! Oh, I’m ruined!’ He commenced to sniffle. Suddenly. his tear-berimmed eyes rested on Bill Peck. “You—you!” he raved. ‘You put this swindle over! Tl fix your clock!” and he scurried down to the paying teller’s window, intent upon stopping payment on the check he had just given Peck. “It pays to certify them first and argue about them afterward, Bill, old son,” said Cappy soothingly. ‘Come, boy. Let us leave this arena of grief. Our business is complete for the present, so why linger and be a witness to this old scoundrel’s suffering? Your ten thousand is safe, Percy has had a generous fee for his work and I own the Humboldt Mill Company. Yes, Bill, I’ve belled the cat—and a rough old Tom-cat he was! But it wasn’t s0 hard, Bill. I knew his character down to the last comma, so all I had to do was to roll a ball to fit it and get you and Percy to fire the ball. He wrote his own ticket and named his own price and he wasn’t on the square for a holy second. “Bill, remember this: The only proposition that ever appeals to a crook is a crooked propo- sition. By the holy pink-toed prophet, listen to that man scream! Hurry, Bill! The sac- rosanct atmosphere of this bank is getting sulphurous—and old man Millbank has put over his last job of price-cutting. It’s a habit, Bill. Never indulge in it. Old man Millbank did it so long he forgot how to do anything else, so he cut the price on his heart's desire five million dollars and sold it to me! Together they walked out of the bank and left old man Millbank mourning and cursing. “That boy Percy’s face is his fortune, Cappy said presently, as they jogged down California Street. “I had a notion he couldn't sell whisky to an Indian, but after I’d talked to him fifteen minutes he began to impress me. It seems he left Thomaston, Maine, to come to the Far West, earn a fortune and then g0 back and marry the one and only girl. Well, he’s done all three, and when he comes back I think you’d better take him out to Shanghal with you, Bill. He’s the only white male I have ever met with a personality that can deceive a Chinaman!” Lr xae.lUre cess Grae =a eS Baesw = a er re ene ae ee ee. a es a oe ed =e mes eo oe gust Ged Gee Gt nen 1m ee ee at ee oo = eC ater ESE Ae ale soot

Page 117

ober, 1925 n the next fiye for me at this Millbank anq teller’s window, and tossed the At one minute ‘SCTOW window, | man Millbank lepartment, “it fell down on his or hand me out the contract of ore to go,” nk,” somebody t, he beheld no in this deal?” iPpy answered s bought your most yelled. | United States my cage, Mr. escrow depart. d pointed toa | high with box old pieces fresh step around in ces. There are ox, fifty boxes ‘ourse the fifth ollars shy, but your payment nd it still lacks man Millbank ne of trucks, on. Suddenly ympany! Oh, to! Oh, I’m fle. Suddenly. on Bill Peck. it this swindle d he scurried indow, intent check he had ‘st and. argue id son,” said Let us leave s is complete 1 be a witness: x? Your ten 1 generous fee umboldt Mill the cat—and it it wasn’t so - down to the s to roll a ball » fire the ball. 1 his own price . holy second. y proposition rooked propo- rophet, listen ill! The sac- ik is getting ank has put . It’s a bad t. Old man »t how to do on his heart's ld it to mel” he bank and and cursing. his fortune,” jogged down n he couldn't er I'd talked ) impress me. ine, to come and then go y girl. Well, » comes / to Shanghai e male I have can deceive Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 131 The Black Hunter by James Oliver Curwood (Continued from page 55) r—and it doesn’t belong to anyone Sea seigneurie of St. Denis! It is a rifle— all black. That is why I didn’t see it, Every- thing about it is black.” . For a space they were both silent. Then he whispered close to her ear, ‘‘Mother, has he come again? Is the Black Hunter here?” “Yes, he is here, David. He came this afternoon while you were with Anne on Sunset pr And he saw the turkey-wing trembling in his mother’s hand. ; Ina room which they had built up together and which was like no other room in all the wilderness of New France, Marie Rock seated herself in a great armchair and talked with her son. ; It was a room almost as large as the one in which a few minutes before they had sat at supper, and in it was a fireplace in which a slow oak fire was burning. The room, in short, was Marie Rock herself, and one entering it knew that its mistress was a lady of gentle thought and mind and breeding. There were here more books than could’ be found in the great house of the Seigneur St. Denis, and pictures on the walls that were unlike any others up and down the Richelieu, and a spinnet whose polished keys gave forth their music to the soft touch of Marie Rock’s fingers each day. - The room was not only a part of David and his mother, but also of Anne; it was here ‘that she, along with David, had first learned the mysteries of reading and writing .and many other things. When she was a little tot David had reveled in showing her the precious pictures in the books, and little by little the treasures of the room had increased as the years went by, and in the end, before Anne went away to the Ursulines, she could read and talk English as well as David and could play her harpsichord as well as Marie Rock could play her spinnet. - It.was a softly comfortable room and every- where bore evidences of what had passed in their lives. But strange whispers seemed to be creeping about its walls tonight, and the air David breathed was heavy with portentous mystery as he stared into the face of his mother sitting in the big chair. ‘Did Anne tell you she was here this morn- ing?” she asked. “No,” said David. Marie Rock smiled, and something was behind the smile which touched strangely at David’s heart. “Of course not. I asked her to keep the visit a secret between us. She came when you and Kill-Buck were down the river, and she was very much upset, David, and I think a bit angry at me. It was about the Black Hunter and you. She loves you devotedly, so truly that I thanked God for it when she was gone. But she is afraid. She fears the Black Hunter will in the end take you away from her, and she begged me to do what she been unable to do—estrange you from David’s eyes clouded. “She need fear him no more than I fear Quebec,” he said a little y. “And I could confide in her no more than I have in you,” continued his mother. ‘Then le came, and this afternoon we talked together while you were with Anne on Sunset Hill, and Itold him that your child’s love had come at last to be the love of man and woman—and he freed me from my promise. I am going to tell you who the Black Hunter is, and tomorrow you may tell Anne.” bowed her head a little, as if searching for a place to begin, and in the silence David held his breath, and then said, “It cannot be ‘0 terrible. Anne will understand.” A long time ago,” said Marie Rock as if she had not heard him, and was looking far back into the past, ‘I met your father, who was an » in Louisebourg, and in spite of the enmity which had long existed between our countries I ran away with him down into the colonies where we were married. Of course you know all that, David, and that I turned English for his sake, and went with him from frontier to frontier in his adventurous wander- ings, and that at last we settled for good in the beautiful valley of the Juanita in Pennsylvania. There you were born. One other family was with us, and we prospered and were happy and became friendly with the Indians. The other man was Peter Joel. I loved Betsy Joel, his wife. She was older than I and as sweet to look at as she was good, and she had two little daughters who were pictures of herself, and a son just your age, David, lacking seven days.” David saw a shimmer of tears in his mother’s eyes, but she did not brush them away or look aside. “Peter Joel worshiped his wife and children, David. It was pretty to see, and I have always been a better woman because of Betsy Joel. She was mother as well as sister and friend to me. And Peter—Peter Joel—he is the man you know as the Black Hunter!” She waited a moment, looking straight into David’s staring eyes. “Then came that terrible night,’’ and Marie Rock shivered in the big chair. “I have always lied to you a little about it, David, for I have thought it best for you not to know that the dream you have is not a dream at all, but a horrible thing that actually happened and which burned itself so terribly in your childish mind that you recall it now and then in that way. It was night and you were four years old when the Huron war-party came. They were returning empty-handed from a raid on the Senecas and angels could not have stayed their hands. “Your father was sick and Peter Joel was watching in the light of the moon at a salt-lick two miles away for a piece of young venison. I cannot seem to remember just how it all happened, except that I saw your father killed in his bed, and it all seemed to be over very quickly and the cabins in flame. It was what happened outside that I shall never forget— what I saw in the light of our burning homes. I have tried to bury it deep—I have fought to wipe it from my memory—and now I am bring- ing it all to life again for you, because the hour has come when it seems necessary. “You were in my arms, so close it is a wonder I did not smother you, and it happened we were not killed because we had become the personal captives of the leader of the party. It was not a large party, but all the warriors except this chief were quarreling for possession of Betsy Joel and her children. And then I saw Betsy, so near that I cried out to her and tried to reach her. She was naked and her long beauti- ful hair flamed like gold in the firelight as it streamed about her. “T saw her boy, your age, snatched from her and killed with a tomahawk. I heard the dying screams of the two little girls. And then the monster who stood beside us leaped toward Betsy. I couldn’t close my eyes. I couldn’t move. He caught her hair as she ran toward her children. I saw her twisted backward, saw his hatchet rise and fall—and then she was on the ground with that monster kneeling on her naked white body, and as I looked he rose with a screech that was like an animal's and I saw Betsy’s long hair streaming from his bloody hand between me and the flames.” Marie Rock’s eyes no longer shone with the glimmer of tears. They were wide and staring and a consuming fire seemed suddenly to fill their depths, as if David himself had died out of her vision and in his place had come again the horrible spectacle of a night years ago. “You saw it all, too, David,” she went on. “You were screaming, and never has that night died out of your dreams. It is a wonder I did not kill you, for I was crushing you close to me in my effort to hide you against my breast. I think in another moment I would have had strength to turn and run, and then the red beasts would have killed us as they had killed Betsy and her children. But something happened. “Out of the night into that pit of murder and fire came Peter Joel, a raving, shrieking mad- man, coatless and hatless and with a great club in his hands in place of his gun, and the chief who was waving Betsy’s hair in the firelight scarcely moved before his head was knocked from his shoulders like a pumpkin from the top of a post. Oh, it was terrible, and I smoth- ered your face then, for Peter Joel was mad, stark mad, and his shrieks were more terrible than any sound I had ever heard come from an Indian’s throat! And the Indians knew he was mad, and fled for their lives, making no effort to harm him, which is the Indian way in the face of disordered reason. “But even had they stood to fight him others would have died than fell under his club in their flight, for nothing could have stopped Peter Joel in his hour of vengeance. With the ter- rible club he killed three, and after that until day came and the cabins were only smoldering piles of embers he sat with his wife and children in his arms, rocking back and forth and croon- ing to them, until I thought that I, too, would go mad. And during those hours he took not the slightest notice of us nor seemed to know who we were. “‘But with dawn he let me dress Betsy in a part of my clothes, and that morning we buried her and the children in one grave near the burned cabins; and when it was over and the earth covered them a strange, quiet look came into his face and he picked you up in his arms and called you his boy, his boy, his boy—and repeating that over and over he walked straight into the forest with you, and I followed him. “That was the beginning of a wild and un- believable journey which continued for many days. Peter was no longer the Peter I had known, but each day his madness was tempered more and more by a strange, returning sanity, for he found us food, and picked our way with caution, yet in all those days that it took us to come from the valley of the Juanita to the lower waters of the Richelieu not once did he talk with me, nor could I get answer even to the questions that I asked. ‘“‘And every step of those wearisome miles he carried you, David, and not once would let you out of his arms into mine when we were on the trail; and at night you slept in his arms, though mine ached for you—and during those fourteen days and fourteen nights of our flight, I know that Peter Joel’s eyes did not entirely close in slumber. ; “So we came at last to a French camp on the Richelieu, and ‘Peter Joel left us when it was in sight and despite my efforts to hold him turned back into the deep forests alone. The French hunting party belonged to the Seigneur St. Denis, and in it also were Kill-Buck and his little daughter, both of whom I nursed back to life when all had given them up as dead from the plague that struck us three months later. But Peter—Peter Joel—seemed to have gone out of our lives forever.” Marie Rock drew herself back out of the horror of a grim and buried tragedy with a convulsive shudder. ‘“‘So—it was the Black Hunter who carried you all that distance, and saved our lives, David, though he was not the Black Hunter then, but only poor, mad Peter Joel. And that is why you love him; and that, too, is why Peter Joel loves you.”’ During his mother’s recital of the Black Hunter’s relationship to himself it had seemed to David that every drop of blood was throb- bing in his heart. Now it was an effort for him to speak. “But he was mad, you say? And I did not see him again for so many years! And the Black Hunter—why that?” Marie Rock drew a hand over her eyes as if to wipe away a shadow. “Yes, he was mad—but strangely mad,” she

Page 118

132 “Cant hardly’ Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 | answered him. “It was five years before I saw | him again, or even knew that he was alive. During those years I saw to the welfare of the Seigneur’s household and little Anne, and it was in those years that all the wilderness be- tween Pennsylvania and the Canadas began to hear of the Black Hunter, and then more and more of him, until the mere whisper of his name brought with it a strange and terrible thrill. He roamed the forests and the valleys like an uncaged tiger, the most formidable foe that ever crossed the red man’s path. “Yet he was not a murderer, and soon it came to be known that it was not vengeance that inspired his deeds almost unbelievable, but a desire to save white women and children from the tomahawk and the scalping knife of the savage. He came and went like a weird black ghost in the winds—armed with a black rifle and dressed in black deerskin and some- times with his face painted black, and the winds themselves seemed to give him knowl- edge of the Indians’ plots and secret doings, for a hundred times he brought mysterious warning to the border settlements and a hun- dred times his rifle and his alarm saved the What Are YOUR Mistakes in English They. may offend others as much -as these offend you the:*mistakes in “English: Shown above, what qwotdd - you: think of him? Would he inspire | your respect? “Would yon. be inclined to make a friend of Mim? Would -you cate to introduce him to others’ “és a close friend of yours? These “errors are easy,for.you to see. Per- haps, however, you make: other mistakes. which offend other people 4s much as these would offend you. How do you know that you do not |} mispronounce certain words; are you always | sure that the things you say and write are | grammatically perfect? To you they may seem | correct; but others may know they are wrong: Unfortunately people will not correct you when you make mistakes; all they do is to | make a mental reservation about you. “He is ignorant and uncultured,” they think. So you really have no way of telling when your Eng- | lish offends others. Book on English FRE and 15-Minute Test Sherwin Cody, perhaps the foremost teacher of English in the country, has prepared a sim- ple 15-minute English test which you can take in your own home This test, with the answers | which will also be sent, tells you at once just where you stand. You can discover at a glance whether you make even slight errors. Give ,; yourself this test. If you are efficient in Eng- lish, it will give you greater confidence; if you are deficient, you surely want to know it, so that you can correct your mistakes. Mr. Cody’s remarkable new invention, the 100% Self-Correcting Method, has already im- proved the English of more than 41,000 people. No useless rules, no tedious copying, no hard study. Only 15 minutes a day required. You learr. by creating the HABIT of using correct English. Nothing like Mr. Cody’s method has ever been used before! le Somneone you met -for the first time made You do not want others to judge you un- fairly. Write today for this test—it is free. We wll also gladly mail you our new free book, “How to Speak and Write Masterly English.” Merely mail the coupon or a postal card. Sherwin Cody School of English 1410 Searle Building Rochester, N. Y. Sherwin Cody School of English 1410 Searle Building, Rochester, N. Y. _Please send me your Free Book,’ “How to Speak and Write Masterly English,” and also Mr. Cody’s 15-minute Test of my English. FIRMS sonic sdae call aeee spies bap MRO OURORS * a snnciensecpenentnes sub le ieee cece eso cai Or KE ea ee aed, Seg a ee homes and lives of lonely settlers. ‘Various were the plans and stratagems re- sorted to by the Indians to capture or kill him, but they all proved unavailing, and in the end the savages came to look upon him as possessed of a spirit of death that was not of flesh and blood and that could not be killed or put in bonds. Among the white people he was known as the Black Rifle, the Black Protector and the Black Hunter, yet only now and then was there man or woman or child who could say they had laid eyes on him or heard his voice. “Fear and love—a fear that was terrible and a love that twined itself closely in the hearts of men and women and children—went with his name and his presence up and down the borders. And it was this man, David, who found ‘you lost in the woods years ago and brought -you home. Peter Joel was the Black Hunter!’ Marie Rock’s eyes were shining. Where tragedy had dwelt a few moments be- fore lay now the glowing fire of a splendid pride: “But you said he was mad—and never have I heard a twisted thought come out of his head from that day I first knew him until this! I have never known a man like the Black Hunter, either for wisdom or courage or gentle- ness that at times makes me think of a woman. Yet what else could have made him pledge you | to secrecy in the simple matter of his name or | filled him with the strange desire to come and | go like a phantom of the woods—even here where there are no savage enemies to fear and all are his friends?” * “Not madness, but—a strangeness which perhaps you and I cannot understand,” said his mother. ‘Peter Joel buried himself with | his wife and children that morning in the Juanita, and for five years he remained buried | heart and body and soul while he haunted the | borderlands. Then he came to see you, and found you in the woods; and after that he came again, and still again, aad more frequently as the years went, but it was not always that you saw him or even knew that he was here. That much we kept a secret between us because he wanted it so. And today my hopes and my prayers have seen their fulfilment, for the Black Hunter is no longer the Black Hunter. He is Peter Joel—to you, to all the world.” Still there was a matter in David’s mind which was not clear. “But why do people fear and dread him?” he asked. “If he has been so faithfully the friend of women and children and of settlers on both borders, why is it that Anne has this horror of him? Why do they not love him, and watch for him, instead of dreaming and think- ing and talking about him as if he were a monster?” A wistful smile softened Marie Rock’s face. ‘Because, David, even we who have all our * For fifteen years Peter Joel, the mystery-man of the borders and the terror of the Indians, was known By no other name than those of the Black Hunter, the Black Rifle andthe Black Protector. ° lives been sane are at times more darkly yp. reasonable than Peter Joel ever was in his madness. The Black Hunter, through all these years, has known no breed or creed but'one— to protect and warn his own blood, ‘whe English, French or Dutch, against the savages who so cruelly robbed him. He. hag’ x raised a hand for the English against ‘th, French, nor for the French against the Engl and never will. In a hundred French homes, as well as in a hundred English, his name blessed even as the little children shiver there when it is mentioned. a “And you ask me why these, his very friends should have this fear and dread of him? ‘This is an age of deceptions and superstitions in which you and I do not believe, David— demons and spirits and restless ghosts like those which are said to wander in Grondin’s Wood and the Red Open. And Peter Joel, even ip his early madness, seized on these weaknesses of the human mind to make his work dimong the Indians surer and more deadly. So swift and sudden were his comings and goings, » strange his dress, so unbelievable the thing he did that even those He saved or warned, both English and French, came to regard hin as unearthly and spectral, and possessed of powers which made them afraid. “So it was that talk and rumors began. And the more terrible these stories of his super human power, the more was the Black Hunter achieving his ends. Such stories as these Anne has heard, David, and though she is’ not superstitious like so many of the others, | understand her fear and horror when she knows that Peter Joel is so close to you.” David bent over his mother and touched his lips tenderly to her shining hair where it was drawn back smooth as velvet from her white brow. “T understand now,’ .he said. “And Peter Joel—he is coming back soon?” “Ves.--He has gone to look for you at Grondin Manor.” ‘ “And you are glad he is here, mother—as glad as I?” bgt. “Tt may be, David. I have known no-other friendship like his—even ‘though*‘it bé*the great Seigneur’s.” “Yet you have seen him so little, counting time in days and weeks and months.” “Those fourteen days and nights in the forests were so many years. Every day of my life I have lived over again how tenderly he cared for you and for me in those terrible day- years of what I thought was his madness. My heart holds a warm place for him, David, next to your place there.” re Softly David stroked her hair with his lips. Then he said: “Little mother, something strange has happened to me since morning. I understand more than I did. I think this day has been a year for me just as each of those fourteen days and nights was a year for you. I understand more about Anne, and myself, and you, and the Black Hunter—who is Peter Joel. And I am sure I understand now why he wanted me to carve a second ang kneeling at the shrine on my powder-horn! Until the door closed behind him and he was gone in search of Peter Joel, Marie Rock sat with her eyes upon the fire. A little later she heard the sound of the doot opening again and thought it was David te- turning until her ears caught the strangeness of a step she knew did not belong to her boy. She turned then, with the red glow of the oak fire behind her, and a voice spoke her name softly from the outer room. : ta saiothiet moment a man stood with bared head in the light of the fire and the burning candles. One would first have shuddered a the stark somberness of him. He was like 4 from a pit part of the night that had come in of its deepest shadows, and among shadows.he could have stood or moved or run unseen even where the moonbeams plyet for out of that night he was built am except for the tanned whiteness of his face all hands. From throat to toe he was clo soft deerskin-dyed a sooty, velvety black. ae | “N34 2e"9, SG PE eS YR EOS a RNA JO eee aD ae

Page 119

‘tober, 1925 more darkly yp. ever was in his , through al] these r creed but'one~ n blood, ‘whether zainst the Savages - He: has sieve, slish against ‘the ainst the English -d French homes, slish, his name js dren shiver there >, his very fri ad of hin? ne | superstitions in lieve, David—of s ghosts like those Grondin’s Wood ‘ter Joel, even in these weaknesses his work 4% deadly. So swift S and going: vable the this d or warned, both o regard him’ as ssessed of powers nors i And ies of his he Black ase ‘ies as these Anne ugh she is’ not of the others, | r when she knows you’? * her and touched ng hair where it velvet from her id. “And Peter 9 ook for you at 1ere, mother—as ‘known no other ough*“it ‘bé*the ) little, counting onths.” 1 nights in the Every day of my how tenderly he ose terrible day- is madness. My rim, David, next air with his lips. ther, something - since morning. d. I think this just as each of s was a year for yout Anne, and -k Hunter—who understand now a second angel yowder-horn!” nd him and he oel, Marie Rock ound of the door _ was David te the strangeness ng to her boy. 1 glow of the oak spoke her name tood with bared ind the burning -e shuddered at He was like 4 ne in from a pit | among yr moved or run nbeams pave built an ; of his face and . was clothed @ vety black. ‘

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925

AMERICANS SHOULD PRODUCE THEIR OWN RUBBER Vy Pith Peters ae ; = z el os eS are \ é f : Z ae Lz —— : K Z J Le S Ze, ——-_— 7 BE2ZSSSS 2, YX N17 LF Gum-Dipped — for Extra Service mile record of 101.13 miles an hour. At Altoona, Pa., Gum-Dipped Cords won with an average of 115.15. Then at Laurel, Mary- land, Gum-Dipped Cords won again —with 123.33 miles an hour for 250 miles—with- out tire change. Gum-Dipping—the extra process that im- pregnates every fiber of every cord with rub- ber—gives Firestone Full-Size Balloons the extra strength and endurance under flex- ing that insures the extra mileage, safety and comfort enjoyed by hundreds of thousands of car owners. See your Firestone Dealer today. He will change over your car promptly to Full-Size Gum-Dipped Balloons. His generous allow- ance for your old tires makes the cost very In racing, which is the most strenuous test for tires, Firestone Cords—Gum-Dipped —have won every important event for years. At Indianapolis, in May, Firestone Gum- Dipped Balloons set a new world’s 500- reasonable. MOST FACTORIES: AKRON, OHIO. . Hamilton, Ontario Tone ALLOONS MILES PER DOLLAR — Fire: FULL-SIZE GUM-DIPPED 8

Page 120

~ AMERICAN RADIATOR COMPANY 4” 1804 Elmwood: Ave., Buffalo, NvY. NY. © Send mea trial Airid ( ; nS yeees. ~ (This will re: ony) ee Be = lose check or money order for 3 .60.) 4

Spare Time : and itthite 50 to'80 a month ed es OLOR our Christmas Greeting - - Cards—all exclusive designs. Remarkable process makes them look like artist’s work. Instructions FREE. — cards, colored in three hours, bring you $6 to $12 Send $1 NOW for Big Trial Box of Chvictines Cards Make $3.00 at Once Send name, ote and $1 for Trial Box assorted cards to color. Sell for $3 $4 when color asy coloring instructions, brush, colors. hando colored card for guide and information on how to sell included. Or send for FREE ILLUSTRATED BOOK “Pleasant Pages” ahowing full line of cards, all instructions and pr roof. Fou ye drop everything for this amazing money others have done.

| WITH AN ACCREDITED SCHOOL 7 At Home By S iplete Conservatory Course Wonderful home study music lessons under great eo geg and pean. teachers, By M by Paderewski. Master teachers and coach you. Lessons a marvel of ceplicioaes com An Instrument oasrejntarestsd am y¥Vei ee Guitar, Banjo, or Reed O: Ongun—paa we wi our Free Catalog with details of course you want.Send now. ERSITY. EXTENSION CONSERVATORY Chicago, Hiinois

190 Siegei-myers Bidg.

thread or mark of other: color broke the swart sameness of a form that had a panther’s lithe- ness and seemed tallér than it was. Powder- korn and bullet pouch, knife-sheath and belt and the cap in his hand were the same, until, if one looked no further than his raiment, the man seemed a figure of death in the door: But above this ominous darkness rose a head and countenance which held the eye last and longest. The head was set like a stag’s, as if years of playing at odds with death had trained it to alertness every hour of night and day, and in strange contrast with this was a face in which there was no single line of suspicion or unrest, but filled with a nobility of thought and mind that.spoke the soul of the man. His hair at first appeared to. be gray, but this impression was given chiefly by a streak of silvery white that ran like a widow’s-cap from the middle of his forehead’ back. This silvery strand, which was no wider than’ two of Marie Rock’s slim fingers, together with the clear and steady gray of the eyes beneath:gave to the thin, strong face a character which no man or woman could forget who. had’ ever looked on the Black Hunter as Marie Rock was looking at him now. Such was the man, no-taller than David but with thews and sinews like tempered steel, in his forty-ninth year this Septe aber of 1754 but bearing no mark of age with the exception of the streak in his hair—the man of mystery, of heroism and of strange and tragic deeds along the borders into whose soul only- Marie Rock and David had looked since the day fifteen years before when Peter Joel the pioneer’ had begun the winning of another and more terrible name—that of the Black Hunter. ‘ Out of her window Anne St. Denis looked upon a world flooded with moonlight:*. Her cheeks were still hot from her experiences be- low, and her eyes were brighter than the gold and silver radiance which transformed a wilder- ness night into soft paradise. Floating up the stair came laughter and-song* and the clinking of glasses, for the Seigneur, her father, had dug down into his cellar for the oldest and ripest of his wines. ; The feasting was over, and the: drinking, Anne knew, would continue into the night. Yet both hunger and the overflowing flesh- pots which came to satisfy it had not dulled the eyes or the senses or the ready tongues of the gay and martial company below, : and Anne’s ears had not ceased to tingle with the hundred pretty things that had filled them or her blood to run more warmly at the low- spoken words which had come to her alone in soft and secret whispers, and the glances which she had been powerless to avoid. Now, looking from the window into her mirror, she saw reflected the amazing beauty which had stirred the hearts and brought to her feet the strongest and most powerful gentlemen of New France. It would have frightened‘ David, and a little bit it startled Anne. Never had she seen herself like that. It was no longer a girl, but a woman of flushed and palpitating loveliness, with a crown of sudden years and knowledge set upon her head, who was gazing back at her from the glass in her dressing-table. Thought of David turned her to the window again. Until now she had had little time in which to think of David alone, or of the courage and skill it must have taken to plunge both the Intendant of New France and his prime minis- ter into the pool. And he had done it because of her! For Bigot had told her frankly and with friendly humor of the bantering remarks which had-brought about the affair at the pool, though he told it in such a way that de Pean did not suffer much. ‘‘A foolish lad but a brave one,” he had said of David: ‘De Pean meant no harm and his words were a compliment to ” 4 She liked Bigot. His courtly way, his in- terest in David and the good-humored chagrin with which he-had accepted the ridiculous-mis—. adventure-to hiniself gave her-an immense and satisfying confidence. Somehow words which Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 France himself. stood .before- them; bowed low as the miller drew-slowly |

had come from his lips had not seemed like | the compliments of the others.» When he told her that her hair was the most beautiful in all New France, and she had replied’ that: Davids mother had still prettier, she had felt a tingling thrill of pleasure. For Bigot had :axwayes saying things that stripped his words:ofame possible harm or effrontery and-filled*hersaey the sense of listening to one.who, by.a ‘wonde ful turn of fortune, had become her friend: Dé David's. oo Eee Tomorrow, Bigot had promised ° hes] would see David’s: mother, and, ae David, and'urge him to come.to Qu No wonder her cheeks were flushed’q eyes ‘so ‘wide and bright they ~had~sta her. For not even the King of Frances do for a man in ‘the Canadas: what: i Bigot could do! Sa : Out in the moonlight Anne’s in

saw the marvelous city of Quehec:o: pregnable rock—and she saw David: the longer i in homespun and deerskin but a's a'sple

caught up a shawl and flung it.over hep ho ders, and did not look at herself in the ag again as she passed to the deor. ~ te » Quietly, and she thought unseen, “she na her way to the cool, crisp air of the» shadgws behind the chateau, where . there..was? leas chance of discovery from any guests who'n be strolling in the moonlight. .:-Fraggance’of. fresh-baked bread came from the big ovep, © In his door, a pale and ghosthke fig against’ a setting of black, ‘stood! e~-old. Fontbleu the miller.: Lag Like a sylph made out of the olsen al of moonbeams Anae stood suddenly’ befo c : Fontbleu rubbed his eyes. ti “Ts it you, little lady?” che - g thought at first it was——” = -

the sepulchral gloom of his door.

Page 121

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 15 cents a roll and Canada tent now There’s a refinement, an exquisite, soothing texture in ScotTissue, which women ap- Quebec!” preciate instinctively. not look Nicety in personal hygiene and pride in home appoint- ments inevitably dictate the choice of Scot’V issue, with its soothing softness, its dainty whiteness and purity and quick absorbency, which only Thirsty Fibre can impart. If your dealer cannot sup- ply you, send us 15 cents with your dealer’s name and we will send you a full-size roll of ScotTissue, prepaid. Scott Paper Company Chester, Pa. ai a. New York Philadelphia s 2 Fr Another Thirsty Chicago San Francisco i thre Fibre Product ©S. P. Co, DRIES 3 rolls for 25¢ Syaame mami REC WS MAT OFF AWD Pomeic ConmeTRIE, B ome wester Pp ts and C ad

Page 122

Comfory morning N THOSE zero days that are com- ing, you will be mighty glad you have Hoffman Vacuum Valves on your radiators. It’s great to get up in a snug, warm house after a blizzard has howled all night. Hoffman Vacuum Valves not only let air out of steam radiators but they keep it out. That means that you are not constantly wasting steam to push out the air that has sneaked back into radiators, and made them cold. You will be amazed how much less coal you burn and at the same time won- derfully improve the comfort you get from your steam heat. The Thirty Day Challenge Test Make it yourself PUT a Hoffman Vacuum Valve on one ra- diator or equip all of them. Hours after you have banked your fires you will find that the radiators you are testing are still hot. In the morning they will be the first to heat. That is because air has been kept out. That is the magic of a vacuum. Send us the coupon below for a little book “Locking the Door Against the Heat Thief” which explains in simple words just why the magic vacuum created by Hoffman Vacuum Valves transforms the operation of steam heat. We will also send you a “Thirty-Day Trial Certificate’ which lets you test these valves at our risk. Your local plumbing and heating shops sell Hoff- man Vacuum Valves HOFFMAN VACUUM VALVES more heat from less coal The Hoffman Specialty Co., Inc, Dept. N-1, 25 West 45th Street, New York City obligation your Door Against the Please send me without “Locking the Heat Thief’? and the §§ ‘30-day Trial Cer- tificate.”” err rere ee ee eeeceereeees CG os 5b 0btenS 558 G cE eee hee Ee ee ee ee _ RR ar ge are eae At Your Fingertips Millions draw, develop your talent,—turn your spare hours into money through the practical, result-getting Federal home- are spent annually for advertising de- signs and illustrations. If you like to study course. It has exclusive lessons from nationally known artists, and gives you individual, personal criti- cisms of lessons. Send 6c in stamps for ‘YOUR FUTURE,” a beautiful 56-page book with full information and showing students’ work. State age and present occupation. Federal School of Com’! Designing 23feders! Sebo Be Hearst’s International-—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 In spite of herself again Anne’s face flushed suddenly hot. “Monsieur!” she gasped. “I thought I was alone with pére Fontbleu!” “TI love the moonlight, and I came away from that clatter of tongues to get my fill of it,” lied Bigot with gentle softness. “And when I saw you, Anne, like a beautiful fairy passing through it, I could not resist the temptation to follow. I overheard what you said about David and I am glad you feel that way. And I like the old miller’s name for you! Will you walk a few minutes upon the green, little lady?” It seemed to Anne that before she had made a movement of her own Bigot had found her hand and put it in his arm, and with a heart that jumped fiercely, and a wild thought of David, she was walking closely at his side out into the moonlight. The little old miller peered like a fierce-eyed gnome from the darkness of his door. “The monster!” he cried chokingly, a breath- less note of hatred and despair in his, voice. “The monster!”—and high up over his head the ancient tower wheel moaned and wailed. Bigot was saying, still holding the warm tips of Anne’s small fingers as they walked, “Your love for this David-lad must be very great, Anne?” “Tt is,” said Anne. “Greater even than wealth and glory and the queenly honors which some other man might give to you?” “So much greater that I have never thought of those things at all,” replied Anne. Over her head she did not see the flame which burned for an instant like an evil fire in the Intendant’s eyes. But with that flame his voice was filled with a deep and musical sympathy. “Today when we came upon you down there among the flowers I envied him,” he said, ‘‘and if the God we love and are fighting for in this glorious New France of ours should sometime reward me with the love of a woman I hope she will be one like you, Anne. For such a love I would gladly barter all I have!” A note of unutterable loneliness came into his voice, and Anne did not withdraw the fingers which in another moment or two. she had meant to free. A few steps they walked in silence. “Honor—honor and love—those two things can lift a soul to Heaven,” mused Bigot. “They must go together,” said Anne. ‘‘With- out honor love will die.” “And David is honorable—that is sure.” “His heart and soul are as clean as this bright night, Monsieur.” “And you are proud of him?” ‘More than words can fitly tell!’’ “T think,” said Bigot, and his soul was like a creeping serpent stealing on its prey—‘I think your love for David is too beautiful for even dishonor to destroy. Forgive me, Anne, if I have looked too deeply into your heart. But I want to see you happy, and David, too, and no power I have shall rest as long as it can make your happiness greater. So much a part of you is this love of yours, I am sure, that no dishonor David could ever bring upon him- self would change your heart. Is that not true, little lady?” “My heart, possibly—but my will it would change,” said Anne, and if she had looked up quickly she would have seen a flash of triumph in Bigot’s eyes. “But such a thing with David is impossible. He would sooner die than see himself dishonored—and so would I, Monsieur!” Bigot sighed as he gently released the fingers that were withdrawing from his own. “T shall make David one of the first gentle- men in Quebec,” he said. He felt a little quiver run through Anne. “J shall take him under my personal care, and give him soon a lieutenancy and a com- mission as aide-de-camp to the Governor.” An amazed and joyous cry broke from Anne. “You will do that—all that?” “Why not?” smiled Bigot. “Horrible things have been said of me, chérie, the bitter and jealous lies that always follow in the paths of great achievement and success—but ip my heart, if even my enemies would fairly look, is the desire to bring happiness and p i to this land and its people.* And why not tp you and David, most of all? For when I say you two down there among the flowers, you in all your glorious beauty and David in his proud young manhood, you crept into my heart and filled a big and empty place that was there, ]t is not all for you, little lady. I am selfish, too, In your happiness I shall find some happj even though it be but a dream reflection of your own. And it may be that out of the fulness of your life and David’s you will love me a little for what I have done.” “We will love you for your goodness,” she whispered. ‘Both David and I. In all ou dreams we have never pictured such good fortune coming to us!” “And it may be,” meditated Bigot, “that a little later we shall have some favor conferred upon him by the King.” “Oh!” gasped Anne. “You would like that, sweet little lady?” “Next to our Dear Mother I love this country,” replied Anne devoutly. “And the King is France!” Bigot’s lips trembled a little in the moonlight, “Then your words imply you have a love even greater than your love for David,” he made hazard. “But so widely different there can be no comparison, Monsieur.” “Country first! I honor you for it, Anne, Mother, father, love for man or woman—all must be sacrificed if necessary to the loyalty and love which New France demands of us. It is strange that I should confide secrets of state in you, little lady, but I know you will hold them close in your heart and no other ears will ever hear. Even now I am quietly fighting black treachery in our midst.” “Treachery!” breathed Anne, aghast. “You mean——” “That the English in some way learn of every move we plan before it is made,” said Bigot. And then he added, as if the thought had come to him by chance, “David’s father was English, was he not?” “Yes,” said Anne. “He was killed by the Indians when David was a little child. But David’s mother is a Frenchwoman, and they both love New France as much as I.” “And this man they call the Black Hunter, and with whom I hear David is so close—he, too, is English, and spends much time among them I understand?” “Yes,” nodded Anne, and it was difficult for her to speak the word. They had turned, and the lights of the chateau shone dimly through the moonlight. Bigot looked down at the beautiful head so near his shoulder, and bent without Anne’s consciousness so that his lips faintly touched her shining hair. “Treachery—that is why I need glorious young strength and integrity close at my side, and David has these, and you to urge him on,” he said. ‘He is one who will not sell his soul or barter his country’s life, and because he is as you believe him to be he shall have confidences entrusted to him which will mean his honor— and also yours, little lady, for it is because of you that I have unbounded faith in him.” “We will not betray it but will make it stronger, Monsieur.” Bigot smiled at her, and Anne smiled back from the sheer joy of what was in her heart, for in Bigot’s face she saw nothing but truth and gentleness and that honor of which he had so reverently spoken. “You are the most beautiful flower I have ever seen in this world,” he said, and reverence was even then in his voice. “David must prouder of you than Louis of his kingdom! He drew a step away from her and they walked. a little apart until Anne said g00 night to him and Bigot bowed like a courtier m the edge of the shadows back of the chateau: * At this time Frangois Bigot was already deep in the treacherous plottings which in 1759 lost to France forever her splendid empire in the New World. He \\\ al

Page 123

as there, Jt | Selfish, too, e happiness “tion of your he fulness of e me a little »dness,” she In all our such good ot, “that a or conferred e lady?” [ love this “And the > moonlight, lave a love David,” he can be no or it, Anne. woman—all the loyalty ands of us. e secrets of Ww you will o other ears tly fighting hast. “You ty learn of nade,” said he thought vid’s father led by the child. But , and they ck Hunter, | Close—he, ime among difficult for hts of the moonlight. ul head so yut Anne’s ly touched d glorious it my side, e him on,” ell his soul 1se he is as onfidences is honor— because of him.” 1 make it niled back her heart, but truth which he er I have reverence 1 must be gdom!” and they said good -ourtier in » chateau. deep in the ance forevef Hearst’s s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 AVEN’T you often wished for some really practical and pleasant way to express your personality in art—in cre- ating the beautiful—and perhaps to turn your spare time into dollars? Wouldn’t it be a bless- ing to you to earn enough money of your own to make you free from worry—able to in- dulge yourself in some of the comforts and luxuries you have so often longed for and at the same time develop your artistic instinct ? A wonderful new opportun- ity is open to you right now. Fireside Industries—the _ big national organization that teaches men and women how to decorate Art Novelties—is seeking new members. All over the country—in big Cities as well as the smallest towns—people are seeking and gladly paying high prices for the very articles that Fireside Industries teaches you how to make— unique hand-decorated novelties such as candlesticks, picture frames, wall plaques, book shelves, gaily painted wooden toys; copper and brass novel- ties; table runners, pillow tops, piano scarfs and other textile pieces decorated in Batik; hand-painted furniture such as gate-leg tables, sewing cabinets and Windsor chairs; enameled lamp bases, parchment lamp shades, hand-colored greeting cards, and many other artistic home decorations too numerous to men- tion here. Splendid Earnings Many members of Fireside Industries conduct little “studios” in their own homes in some room cr corner of a room, while others have onened pic- turesque and profitable Gift Shops. A Virginia member of Fireside Industries wrote, after her first experience with 2 little ‘gift shop, “I sold nearly every- thing I had. My sales were $500 for five weeks. This is my first year.” And another member in Massachusetts says, “I started to make things to sell before I finished my second lesson. Since I Started my course in October, I’ve soid about $150 worth of novelties.” There is no way to tell how much you can earn. It depends upon the time you spend and the _iergy you put into the work. No woman need want for extra money now. our students have earned $3.00 to $10.00 a day at this new kind of work that is fascinating and easy to do, in your own home—in either spare hours or full time. now making a wonderful! success at it. handsome profits—some are doing it purely for pleasure. Its Easy Io karn Money At Home This New Way What do you do with your spare time? A Charming Accomplishment On the other hand, hundreds of women have joined Fireside Industries for the pure pleasure of beautifying their own homes with the artistic things they can learn how to make. Scores of letters have come to us from these women tell- ing of their utter de- light in the work, the new beauty and air of culture the articles add to their homes, and most of all, the substantial sums of money they save by making these things themselves instead of having to buy them for their homes or for gift pur- poses. No Special Ability or Experience Required Many people have the impression that some spe- cial artistic ability is re- quired for decorating Art Novelties. This may be true with ordinary methods, but the Fireside way is new and entirely different. Most of the members of Fireside Industries had never had any artistic training whatever. The complete plan of oneration that this organi- zation gives to its members, its wonderfully simple and fascinating course of in- Many otf Thousands are Many are earning The work is made so simple by the new method of our Art Director, Mr. Petit. that anyone can do it, for it is merely a question of transferring the de- signs which are furnished. In addition, each member receives a complete Outfit, without extra cost, which contains all the supplies and materials needed. Another important element in the success of the men and women of Fire- side Industries is the co-operative buy- ing privilege that enables them to secure merchandise for decorating at mem- bers’ rates. It is impossible to describe here, however, the complete plan of operation and all the helpful features. As many tell us, they had not dreamed that such a wonderful way of earning money at home existed. Now—An Opportunity to Join The membership of Fireside Indus- tries is now to be increased. This will be good news to the many who have been eager to join. No special qualifications are required. It makes no difference where you live or how much time you may have to spare. If you think you might be in- terested in decorating Art Novel- ties at home, either for pleasure or for profit, you are invited to send for the beautiful book of Fireside Industries, which explains in de- tail the pian that guarantees your success. Mail the coupon at once, as time is limited, enclos- ing a two-cent stamp. Address: : Fireside Industries Dept. 2310 Adrian. Michigan struction, the _ personal guidance of Mr. Gabriel Andre Petit, Director of the Art Department, and the help ff of the members of the staff, as well as the many co-operative ad- vantages, all combine to make suc- cess easy. Anyone who is willing to make a conscientious effort can- not fail to realize a good income from the work. ree FIRESIDE INDUSTRIES, | Dept. 2310, Adrian, Mich. please send me, tries, Decorating Art Novelties; Guarantee and the special services. Without obligation on my _ part, FREE. the book of Fireside Indus- which tells how I may earn money at home by also particulars of your | co-operative privileges and I enclose two-cent stamp. | Gentlemen:

Page 124

“Easiest—and Quickest!” ““T CAN keep my floors spotless easier and quicker with my Bissell than in any other way. And it saves me much dusting.” This is the verdict of scores of women who take the trouble to write to us praising the Bissell for its efficiency. housekeepers: who pride them- selves on the immaculacy of their homes prefer the Bissell. It is always ready for instantuse. Easy tohandle. Sweeps thor- oughly without causing fatigue. And it is durable. 10 to 15 years is the average. Many last longer. Any woman who owns one will tell you that it is indispensable. The“‘Cyco’’ball bearings in the Bissell add toitslonglifeand makeit runlightly. “‘Cyco”’ Ball Bearing Bissells at around $6. Other grades for less. Play-size (toy) Bissells for a few dimes. At furniture, hardware, housefurnishing and depart- ment stores. Booklet on request. BISSELL Carpet Sweeper hl > ch Empties with a] SAAR cs 3> thumb pressure TEACH YOUR CHILD at Home and give him practically the same educational advantages he would have at the best private school. A father writes: ‘‘Most parents want their children to have the best education and are even willing to make sacri- fiees to give it to-them. If you could only show them what Calvert children learn and do, it would be a revela- tion, Their children are being trained for mediocrity— they are not having a fair chance—they may ‘be capable of great things, but they are not given the opportunity.’’ Vv. M. HILLYER—Headmaster.. Author of ‘‘Child Training,’”” “A Child’s History of: the ‘World,”’ Write for information to CALVERT SCHOOL, etc. 2 West 40th St., Baltimore, Md. Scarcely was he turned toward the green again, alone, when his countenance changed: All he had held back, all he had fought to con- trol in moments when his blood was racing like a current of fire through his veins revealed itself swiftly in his face, and where in Anne’s presence there had been an almost noble gentleness and restraint now leaped a passion and triumph which transformed him. Never had beauty and purity so roused the evil desires of a soul that had already plumbed the lowest depths of lust and seduction, and with these desires came for the first time in his life the amazing truth that at last fate had caught him in an uncontrollable maelstrom— and that for Anne St. Denis he would not only give favor and. fortune but would sacrifice everything that unlimited power and the in- dulgence of Pompadour and the King had placed in his hands. His face still bore its exultation when Vaudreuil saw him approaching through the moonlight and came forth to join him. . “What have you to say now of my eyes and wat¢chfulness?” he demanded in his smooth and oily way, wheezing with good-humor as he spoke. “Moonlight, a beauteous maid— and opportunity! What more could one ask, even you, Bigot?” The Intendant seized Vaudreuil’s arm and his fingers hurt the other’s soft flesh. “T thank God you saw her stealing down the stair,” he cried in a low voice. “Vaudreuil, I promise you this night that the governorship is yours just as surely as Anne St. Denis is mine!” Vaudreuil’s fat and inscrutable smile did not change. “It happened, then?” “Yes, just as you said it would happen! She was so close to me, with her hand in mine, that I had to make a tiger’s fight to keep from taking her in my arms out there! If I had done that I would have lost. But now she is mine! She is afire with the pictures I have painted for her. She trusts me. She believes. All that is necessary now is to get this young savage to Quebec, exalt him, and then x “Of course,” nodded Vaudreuil. “There is no other way. And it must be done thoroughly, by a man of cleverness and skill,” and he bowed complacently at the compliment to himself. “Yes, more thoroughly than anything like it has ever been done before,” agreed Bigot. ‘‘As long as this forest clown holds her love all the powers on earth cannot win her. That love must be destroyed and its demolishment made so utter that contempt and hatred will fill its place. If I can hold myself against her beauty and restrain my madness for her until that time—why, this treasure you so aptly called a lily of Artois will come to me, if not willingly then in another way!” “She will come willingly, only too gladly when all is over, Frangois,’”’ assured Vaudreuil. “She is young, almost a child. Her pretty head is ripe for the seed you planted tonight. It is not so much the lad as her father whom I see standing in our way.” ‘“‘The father will be cared for,” assured Bigot with a cryptic hardening of his lips. ‘David Rock is the mountain to be moved, and no such simple thing as death can be employed in doing it. The other way is the enly way.” ‘‘And far more interesting,’ added Vaudreuil, turning to look at the moon. ‘“Frangois, did you ever see a night of greater splendor?” Anne had made only a pretense of entering the chateau when Bigot left her. Every nerve in her was demanding that she see David even if she had to call on Peter Gagnon to escort her through the forest to Marie Rock’s home. That David might not see with her eyes and that the spirit of his beloved forests might still be stronger than anything greater the world could offer him did not occur to her in these first wild moments of her happiness. Next to David she wanted to see Marie Rock, and the thought came to her thrillingly that there was always a place for her in Marie Rock’s own room where she had slept many times, and that this was the night of all nights Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1¢ 25 when it would most fittingly welcome her, An adventurous resolution began to possess her. The forest did not frighten her. A hun. dred times she had followed the trail through the Red Open, and its blackness would be scattered by the moonlight now. She would not need Peter Gagnon. She could go alone. Some one came out of the kitchen door, and in a moment she had made her decision. “Chloe!” she called softly. “Chloe!” The black slave stared at her. “Chloe, it is | Mistress Anne,” she called, scarcely above 3 whisper. ‘Go to my room and bring my red cape to me, and let no one see you.” When Chloe returned with the cape Anne flung it over her shoulders. “Now find my father and tell him I have gone to Marie Rock’s to sleep tonight. Tell him I am tired and do not wish to be kept awake by noise and song, and that David will bring me back early in the morning.” She waited until:Chloe and her inquisitive eyes were gone before she darted out from the shadow of the chateau and into the shelter of the first great oaks of Grondin’s Wood. Her breath came tensely as she plunged into the forest and her eyes grew wider as they strained to penetrate the mysteries of the deep shadows and pools of moonlight which gathered like living things about her. She came to the little open where the path from Sunset Hill met the trail leading to David’s home, and where David had kissed her in parting that evening. The open was flooded with moonlight and Anne was about to cross it when she stopped with a startled catching of her breath. In the middle of the open a lone figure was standing. With a glad cry she ran out, for she saw it was David. He dropped his gun and took off his cap and waited for her, amazement in his eyes. “You knew Iwas coming, David?”’ she asked. “T know only that you were walking a long time with Monsieur Bigot, and though he is the Intendant, I do not like it after what happened in the bottomland this afternoon.” “You saw us, David?” “T was so near when you passed me, in the shadow of the big elm tree, that I could see your hand in his arm and heard him asking you something about the queenly honors which some other man might give you.” She dropped her head for an instant as if he had caught her in something of which she was ashamed, and then looking up at him witha mischievous smile and the moonlight dancing in her eyes, she said, “Were you not pleased with my answer, David?” “T heard no answer.” “But there was one—so straight from my heart that I remember each word of it.” “T did not hear it.” “David, dear, I am so glad you feel that way toward me!”’ she cried softly. “If you were not a little jealous of me I would be unhappy.” Then she pulled him to what she had so often called their drumming-log in the edge of the open, and seated him, and herself beside him, and told him all that had happened that night from the time he left the manor hall, and re- peated word for word what had passed between herself and the Intendant. Not once did he interrupt her, but a flush gathered slowly in his face and a look came into his eyes which turned them at last away from Anne. “David—it means all the world for us,” she whispered tremblingly when she had finished. “What do you think of it?” “I am thinking—most of all—how small and shameful I am for the thoughts I had when! saw you with Bigot,” he said. “T am glad,” said Anne. “It is proof you love me——” ts “More than all that Bigot and the King of France can give me, and because of that I see no reason for these other things which Bigot holds out so temptingly—for a reason whic I cannot clearly understand.” Rea “Because he has taken an interest in US. “Yes, an interest.” .—t-2- >

Page 125

Ry IG 25 come her, to possess A hun. il through would be She would gO alone, door, and on, oe!”” The py itis T y above a 1g my red ape Anne m I have ight. Tell 0 be kept David will nquisitive t from the shelter of ood. Her 1 into the y Strained D shadows nered like - the path eading to kissed her light and : stopped igure was it, for she ; gun and mazement she asked. ng a long ugh he is ‘ter what ternoon.” ne, in the d see your king you rs which it as if he h she was m with a t dancing t pleased from my iG that way you were nhappy.” 1 so often pe of the side him, hat night |, and re- | between t a flush ~ame into vay from us,” she finished. mall and 1 when I roof you . King of hat I see ch Bigot yn which t in us.” Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “He needs you, David, because New France needs you. You have not forgotten what we talked about on Sunset Hill this afternoon—of the men who have made this land out of its wilderness?” ; “But they were a part of the wilderness, Anne, and so am I.” “They came, most of them, straight from the court of the King,” said Anne. She pressed his hand against her breast and he could feel her heart beating under it like a prisoned bird. “David, the times have changed. Quebec and not the wilderness is now the heart of all this world. It is from there New France will van- | quish all her enemies—or there New France will die. And sometime, David, when there is no longer the menace you have pictured on my powder-horn, we can come back to all this which is so close and dear to us.” “You are not ashamed of me, Anne?” “Never! It is because I have been in Quebec and know that men like you are needed there.” “You would leave the forest doors open?” “There are others who will watch those doors. When the time comes, if fight you must, I would see you at the head of men and not simply one among them.” “You are painting a pretty picture, Anne. ‘You would have me leave my mother?” “She will come a little later and will be as proud of you as I. David, you will go?” “T have no heart for it. It frightens me to change our lives as you are planning.” Her soft palm pressed against his cheek. “J will bargain with you. Go for my sake, and if you do not like it by the time my year of school is ended I will come back with you— and remain here always.” “You promise that, Anne?” “J promise it.” “Then you leave me not an inch to stand on. I will go!” With a glad cry Anne sprang to her feet and stood before him in the moonlight. ‘David, I love you more than ever in my life!” she cried. Before the words were out he had her in his arms. “And always will?” he demanded. “Always.” “Even if I fail to become what you have dreamed?” “Yes, even if you fail.” David laughed as he had laughed once before that day on Sunset Hill, and held her away from him, then drew her quickly back. “You are no longer a boy,” she whispered. “You are a man!” She held up her mouth and David kissed her. Then she drew herself out of his arms and told him of her desperate resolution to go to his mother’s home alone. “T think angels must have put the thought into your head, Anne, and then made me stop | here in the open until you came. She has some- | thing of importance to tell you—and I want | you to meet the Black Hunter.” “The Black Hunter!”’ “Yes. He came again this afternoon while | we were on Sunset Hill.” He could see the old fear leaping suddenly where happiness had filled her eyes, and he took one of her hands and held it closely. “Anne, I have granted all you say about Quebec, which deep in my heart I dread. And now I ask you to grant a little to me in the matter of Peter Joel, whom you have always heard me speak of as the Black Hunter. And I, too, will bargain with you. If at the end of that same year you do not love this man you have such fear of now I will never adventure with him again.” Anne, tense-faced, saw for herself—as David seen—no inch of ground for her to stand upon. “Yet I fear him—for some reason which I | cannot explain I fear him more than anything in the world,” she said, as hand in hand v they left the open and went into the forest. And I love him,” said David, “as you will | before that year we have pledged is gone. If | It had not been fer the Black Hunter——” Then his whisper died into nothing and he | 139 S092 0200 01 010 QQ BD 1-D 1-S-1-S-- ]S oo 3O1-S1-S1-S | aan S21-S1-S 1S 1-SO By SSS: 5-0-1 S11 S11 SSI Ot O14 Have you ever served Candy in this new way? A telephone, a knife and a bon- bon dish! That is the newest way to serve candy! You ’phone your grocery, drug or cancy store for a few bars of Oh Henry! You slice them thinly... 8 slices to the bar! You serve them just as you always serve chocolates and bonbons! And you have one of the most delicious, sure-to-be-appreciated candies you ever served at a bridge or Mah-Jongg game, afternoon tea, or any other gathering. Oh Henry! SLICED Imagine a rich old-fashion butter cream, dipped in a luscious, chewy caramel, rolled in crispy, crunchy nutmeats and then thickly coated with the smooth est, mellowest of milk chocolate! Doesn’t that sound good? Williamson Candy Company Chicago, Ill, A fine candy, too! And inex. pensive! At 10c a bar, Oh Henry! costs you only 45c a pound. Yet at this price, it gives you a quality unexcelled by any candy for the simple reason that people eat more Oh Henry! than any other quality candy in America! : The wonderful popularity of this new way of serving Oh Henry! ... Slicing it! ... a Chicago woman’s invention ...is a glowing tribute to the quality and the convenience of having a fine candy in the pantry ready to slice and serve at a minute’s notice. Phone for a few bars now! Then, writefor a littleleaflet,“A Woman’s Inspiration.” ©) 1925, by W. C. Co. ll rights reserved under international conventions. D+ 4S -0|

Page 126

140 The demand for Fyr- Fyters is growing fast. Five hundred million dollars annual fire loss, 17,000 lives and the mor- tal dread of fire that’s in everybody are reasons why we must get men in our open territory to a month take orders and supervise installations of Fyr-Fyters. Selling Fyr-Fyters is comparatively easy, so powerful and convincing is the story of fire losses. Previous selling experience although desirable is unnecessary. Without charge we train our men to become high-powered sales- men in a short time, and they also become real fire-prevention experts. Earnings start imme- diately, no investment in stock or territorial rights asked. Big Earnings Possible It is nothing unusual for Fyr-Fyter men to earn $100 to $150 a week. Gill, a new man, now earning $600 a month. Trantum, $167 in one week. Robey, Depries and hundreds of others are now earning BIG money. Earnings are increasing monthly on account of the enlarged line of Fyr-Fyters. An Amazing Story for You to Tell Read your d&ily paper, listen to the fire alarms, ask your local fire chief, notice the inflammable material everywhere and judge for yourself the need of Fyr- Fyters and why we are able to make this offer. Let us tell you the sensational story which sells Fyr- Fyters so rapidly and puts men in the high-earning class so quickly. Fyr-Fyters have the approval of the (Fire) Under- writers Laboratories, are used by Standard Oil, International Harvester and many other of the largest concerns 1n the world. Factories, stores, garages, auto owners, warehouses, schools, hospitals, farmers, private homes and other places use thousands of Fyr-Fyters. Thousands more await their installation. The market is vast, un- limited, and your earnings as a Fyr-Fyter Representa- —— only limited by your ambition and desire to work, This Opportunity Is for You Among Fyr-Fyter men are former clerks, mechanics and others who saw in Fyr-Fyter their real opportunity. , Now we are ready to appo'nt 100 # more. t is your opportani:7. your chance for $5000 or more, easily and quickly, from the Fyr- your first year’s effort— Fyter, $100 a week to start. Fill F omy eran out the coupon below ¥¢ tiv Reet and mail immediately ances. Made by for full details of our f offer. the Fyr-Fyter Co. 836 Fuyr - Fyter Bldg., Dayton, Ohio THIS COUPON GETS DETAILS: ‘The Fyr-Fyter Co., 836 Fyr-Fyter Bldg., Dayton, Ohio. 1 would like to know more about a position on the Fyr-Fyter Sales Foree. Kindly send details. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 held her hand more closely as the endless aisles |and moonlit caverns of the deeper woods | opened mysteriously and in silence on all sides | of them. They came to the Red Open and her hand caught his arm in sudden agitation. ‘There is a figure in the Open! See—near the first great rock—standing out clear in the moonlight where we have never seen anything stand before!”’ “T saw it, and so stopped in the shadow here where we are unseen,” replied David very quietly. _ “It moved!” whispered Anne, a breaking catch in her voice as she clung closer to him. “It is alive—and blacker than night—and taller than any living thing I have ever seen!” “Tt is black,” said David, and he was smiling. “David, what is it?” He answered with a soft bird-cry which was not much more than a chirping note in the air, and in a moment the note came back like a drifting echo, and Anne could hear the thump, thump, thump of her heart in her breast. With the smile in David’s face was a sudden flash of joy and understanding. “Tt is the Black Hunter waiting for us,” he said. “Twice we have missed each other tonight!” He felt Anne’s fingers stiffen in his hand, but even he could not guess the coldness of | fear that ran through her as they stepped forth | into the Red Open. She sensed the thrill of eagerness in David even as she struggled against her own fore- boding. She could feel it running through his body and into her finger-tips, and saw it when she looked up quickly at his face. His eyes were afire with gladness while her own were hiding their fear—a prophetic warning of im- pending menace and misfortune to her and David through the black art of this weird wanderer of the borders, of whom she had heard such frightful whisperings and tales. The trickeries of the moonlight vanished as they advanced, and a few steps more Anne saw a man where the tall specter had been—a man bareheaded and with his hands reaching out— a man whose face was filled with the gladness she had seen in David’s, and with a silvery streak of white in his hair. She clutched at the throat of her cape while the two stood a long moment with their hands clasped tightly with not a word between them. And then, over David’s shoulder, the Black Hunter looked at her. David turned. ‘This is Anne,” he said. “My Anne—of the powder-horn!” “Our Anne of the powder-horn,” corrected Peter Joel, and he bowed until Anne could see the white, smooth streak in his hair from end toend. Bigot himself could not have made the act more chivalrous or filled it with greater dignity, yet Anne felt still greater dread as she remembered her pledge to David and held out both her hands. The Black Hunter took them for a moment, with almost a reverent gentleness. “J have heard so much about you that it seems as though I know you almost as well as I know David,” he said, and from his voice Anne knew that her pallid face and the tremble of her hands had revealed to him some of the chill that was in her heart. “T am glad of that,” she said bravely, though a consciousness bore heavily on her that the words were a shallow lie. “Your friendship is an honor to me if I can believe a half of what David has told me.” A whimsical smile played for an instant about the corners of Peter Joel’s mouth. “Tf you can think kindly of me, only a little, I am more than satisfied,” he said, and the feeling that he was reading her thoughts made her shiver. But Peter Joel did not wait to see, for he had turned his head toward David. “Meeting you here is an accident, lad. I stopped in this open to view the moon.” ? He nodded, and smiled at Anne again, and this time she was sure the whimsical, half saq light was in the eyes that for a moment or two looked at her steadily. “I love the moon,” he said, ‘and a moon like that fills me with the thick-coming fancies of an Alnaschar and strengthens my faith in God. I am afraid ] have lost many minutes here staring at it, David must hurry on with you.” “This happens to be a night where time has little meaning for us,” replied Anne, scarcely knowing how she spoke. ‘Won’t you retum to Marie Rock’s with us?” “T must see the Intendant,” answered the Black Hunter. ‘Only a duty well impressed upon me could make me forego a pleasure such as your invitation holds, Mademoiselle Anne,” She went a little ahead and for a few mo- ments David and Peter Joel were alone. Then taking his long black gun from the side of the rock and covering his head with a close-fitting cap he said good night, and bowed again to Anne, and walked away toward Grondin Manor, his somber, death’s-color figure growing strangely taller as he went. Now Anne shuddered. “I am cold—cold as ice inside,” she said. “I did not expect to see a man like that, David, one who acts and talks so fine—yet the dread in me is greater than before.” “You were sweet and good to him, Anne.” “And he talks of God! That is sacrilege in one whose hands are drenched with blood.” “T have seen him pull a stick from a fire be- cause there were living ants on it, and I have known him to go hungry that he might feed a dog,” countered David. “And he speaks like one who has lived in books, and not in deep forests where only witchcraft could give him such words and thoughts!” “T have often told you that in his pack is always a book, Anne, and such as only the finest scholars read.” “And he dresses like that—like one whose soul is so dark it must be hidden in a devil’s hood!” “T have seen your fine gentlemen dressed in black. What difference should the forests make?” “Ugh!”’ shuddered Anne again. “Tt is strange. Why should you dislike him? No act of his was ever a dishonorable one.” “Even believing that, as I must and shall, the thought grows stronger in me that he is a shadow between us and happiness. Don’t ask me why, or even wonder why, for it is a mystery even to myself. Long before our year is gone I have no doubt the foolish fancy will have worn itself away.” “Yes, even before the night is gone,” said David mysteriously, and hurried her faster along the trail until she saw the mellow glow of candle-light in Marie Rock’s windows ahead of them. “You are anxious to run back to him,” Anne accused him. “Tf it will not displease you, Anne——” “Displease me! Isn’t it also a part of my bargain to send you back to him?’—and she tilted her chin and walked straight away, and David saw his mother’s door op2n. That night a cancl> turned late in Marie Rock’s room. It was ourning when the | lack Hunter and David returned and stcle with the quietness of thieves to their beds in the loft. And when the candle at last went out, Mare Rock and Anne St. Denis till lay wide-eyed and awake. In the heart of one was wonder, and hap- piness, and rear—a fear that persisted like a grim and ugly shadow though she hal heard irom beginning to end the story of Feter Joel the Hunter. : In the heart of the other was despait that grew darker through hours of ye=rning sleeplessness. Bigot takes the next step in his diabolical plan—and Davia foclows Anne to the city, and learns a thing thai strs him to the heart—1n the Next Instalment of James Oliver Curwood’s glorious nov! of Quebec.

Page 127

1925 ain, and half sad it or two moon,” me with char and afraid J ig at it, time has scarcely u return ered the npressed ke him? yne.”” d shall, heisa on’. ask nystery is gone ill have 2,” said r faster glow of ; ahead ” Anne ” of my and she ay, and . Marie e I lack vith the loft. , Marie de-eyed 1d hap- | like a 1 keard ter Joel despait corning ne > 4 20s Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 1) | eautiful OT, Waxed Floors this new easy way T is no longer necessary to get down ] on your knees to wax your floors and linoleum. Try the Johnson Liquid Wax treatment on them. It eliminates all stooping—there’s no mess—no rags or pails—no soiled hands—and it’s as easy as running a carpet sweeper! Just pour a little Johnson's Liquid Waxona Lamb’s-wool Mop andapply a thin even coat to the Y floor. Allow five or ten minutes for the Wax to harden—then a few easy strokes of the Weighted Brush will quickly bring up a beau- tiful, durable lustre. This Johnson Liquid Wax treat- ment takes but a few minutes—it cleans and polishes your floors in one operation—and afterwards they will require only half the care. Ordinary dry dusting will keep them immacu- late. And “traffic spots” in doorways can easily be re-waxed as they show wear without going over the entire floor. ‘ A Johnson Floor Polishing Outfit is all you need to put and keep your floors and linoleum in beautiful condi- tion. It includes Johnson’s Liquid Wax —a Lamb’s-wool Mop for apply- ing the Wax and a Weighted Brush for polishing. 141 BEAUTIFIES YOUR AND LINOLEUM The New Electric Way For those who prefer to “do it elec- trically”’ we have perfected the John- son's Wax Electric Floor Polisher. This marvelous little machine instantly, and without labor, brings floors and linoleum to a perfect gloss. Simple! Compact! Light in weight. Easy to operate. Nothing to get out of order. Runs from any light socket for less than 2c an hour. It polishes under buffets, davenports, beds, etc., without moving the fur- niture. Sturdily built to last a lifetime and guaran- teed absolutely. $.C. JOHNSON & SON, “‘The Wood Finishing Authorities; Racine, Wisconsin JOHNSON'S LIQUID WAX You can rent a Johnson's Wax Electric Floor Polisher by the day for anominal sum from any store maintaining a Johnson Service Department. Theyarealsofor sale at leading stores— priced surpris- ingly low. Send for Free Folder. fo $0.05 Floor Polishing Outfit for $5.00 This Outfit consists of: 1 Qt. of Johnson's Liquid Wax . $1.40 1 Johnson Lamb's-woolWax Mop 1.50 1 Johnson Weighted Floor Polishing Brush......- 3.50 1 Johnson Book on Home Beautifying .....-,.: ~_.25 36.65 A Saving of $1.65! i This offer is good at dept., drug, furni- ture, grocery, hdwe. and paint stores.

Page 128

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 A Woman Tried to Steal My Husband (Continued from page 25) wandering ladies to “cull like a wayside flower.”’ “‘Awfully sorry; can’t accept for this or that picnic, luncheon, tea party, or dinner; you must go without me,” was the unvarying answer when my husband suggested taking me out. He was essentially a man of the world, a good many years older than I, with great charm oi manner. Pretty women were en- chanted that he was avaijlable for parties, with- out that boring incumbrance, a wife. And before long there was inevitably One Woman in Particular. She was a young divorcée, the ex-wife of a British officer who had had his own reasons for sending his sweet Consuelo home from India. I'll call her Mrs. Brandon, though only the initial is right. She had come with a worldly old hawk of a mother to stay at a big hotel near us, and equally near Monte Carlo. The hawk spent most of her time playing a silly system at roulette in the Casino.at Monte. The daughter spent all hers on a far more successful system, playing with men. Some one in Paris had given Consuelo Brandon a letter of introduction to me, men- tioning that her mother was Spanish and that her father, now dead, had been a distinguished Polish diplomat. That was all I knew about the pair. when I invited them with a few other people to tea, begging my husband to stay at hiome.and help entertain them. I wasn’t worrying much about my clothes. I; (thought I) was too busy for shops and fit- tings. I think I had on a last year’s frock that day. I didn’t realize then that it mattered. *Mrs. Brandon and Madame la Mére were the last to arrive, and therefore made a dramatic entrance. - Mama and daughter were ait amazing contrast to each other—the old idly enameled, painted, and wearing two veils, ae pinkore: indér white, yet looking a hawk and nothing but a hawk; Mrs. Brandon a lovely picture of fragile, snow-flower youth. She was perhaps a year or two older than I; but she was just convalescing from an “‘op”’ for appendicitis. Her dark eyes were large and wistful. In her simple white dress and quaint, babyish white hat, she looked almost a child, a pathetic, beautiful child who needed to be loved and protected instead of divorced by a cruel brute.of a husband. I fell in love with her at first sight as she floated in. By a quaint coin- cidence my husband experienced the same emotion. And I was charmed to see how nice my husband was to her, and I didn’t mind one bit when he took her out on the loggia to see the view, and forgot to hand tea and cakes to our other guests. The two had come from their hotel in a taxi, and when it was time to go explained that, stupiily, they had discharged it instead of asking the chauffeur to wait. Could we telephone somewhere for another? Everyone else had departed, so my husband offered to run them home in his car. Mrs. randon was so surprised and touched by his kindness! Her mother was quite apologetic, but.£ consoled her by saying what a pleasure it would-be for my husband. My husband didn’t come back to dinner that evening. .He telephoned that Madame and Mrs. Brandon had begged him to teach them a new system at roulette, and it had seemed un- gracious to refuse. “T know you won’t mind,” he said, “‘because you practically cease to exist directly after dinner every night.” As it happened, I had been meaning to ask his advice about a very elaborate murder in one of the seven serials; but I got on without help; and certainly my husband didn’t miss much in not returning to a wife who slipped hastily into the same everlasting little black chiffon dinner- frock she’d worn every night for weeks on end. Next morning at breakfast on the awninged balcony I asked how the system went. He was absent-minded about it, but remarked that Mrs. Brandon, though she looked a child, was as clever as she was pretty. “Will you invite them both to luncheon soon?” he asked. ‘I promised to show Mrs. Brandon a few fu.st editions. It seems she’s awfully interested in books.” It turned out that this very day had been suggested, and the ladies were keeping them- selves free till I phoned. I called them up at once. They came, Mrs. Brandon more enchant- ing than ever. To make conversation with mama after luncheon, I talked about daughter, and said how much my husband admired her. He hap- pened to hear me being expansive about him, and later good-naturedly reproached me. “You’ve queered my pitch with that little girl,” he laughed, “making my ‘admiration’ a kind of domestic affair. You oughtn’t to have butted in like that!” I had enough sense of humor to see his point at once. I laughed too, and said I was sorry. I'd know better next time. And I really was sorry. All the same, I suffered the first tiny stab. He was joking; but he did want to have a small, innocent flirtation without any help from the other mem- ber of his family. Men ought to flirt, even husbands. It was good for them, and there was nothing init. But There was only one vague little “but” in my mind that day. Presently, however, it simply rained “buts”? and mental interrogations. I knew I ought to be glad that my husband could amuse himself while I was too busy to go anywhere. And I was glad—on principle—at first, for he “understood” how things were with my work this season, and we were devoted to each other. I knew that we were devoted. Everyone who knew us knew that we were. My husband always asked me to come to picnics, to tennis, to tea-dances, the Casino, the Sporting Club. But there were those serials that had to be finished. He didn’t hide it from me that Mrs. Brandon was generally with him; and besides, she came often to the house. I had never seen my husband more gay, more happy, and by and by I began dimly to feel that it was hard to be forever working, working, while one was young; other people had time for so much fun. At last I decided for once to cram two days’ work into one day so that I could join one of those charming picnics into the mountains which Riviera dwellers love. My husband looked surprised when I told him I would go. “That’s good. But I’m afraid there won’t be any men this time whom you like particularly,” he warned me. I replied that I didn’t care, because I should have him. He said “Ye-es”; and explained that, as he was bringing Mrs. Brandon, he would have to devote himself to her part of the time. “Of course!” I told him. A faint feeling of fear stole over me, but I little guessed what an experience I was in for, on that picnic. My husband had been right. There wasn’t a man that I cared a snap of the fingers about, and none of them cared a snap for me. Each man was paired with a woman or girl. I was an extra, introduced at the last minute. No- body wanted me, least of all my own husband. I soon realized that, with a new and sickening sensation. I rode alone. Each other woman had her own man walking beside her smartly capari- soned “donk.” And I brooded; because I had seen a look exchanged between my husband and Consuelo. It was an unmistakable look. She had got him. I had lost him. I didn’t blame him one bit. Who could, with a grain of common sense or a flash of enlightenment? I saw what I had done, and how it was all my own fault. But I believed I had found out too late. I saw nothing I could do now to make the thing better. I was ready to give up—to “abdicate.” All the same, I thought violently about a few men who had wanted to make love to me, when I “couldn’t be bothered” with them, It would have been a different story if one had turned up today. . My husband and Mrs. Brandon were to- gether constantly. I scarcely saw him. When I saw her, she put on airs of possession over her “Big Man,” as she openly called my husband, At last I made up my mind that I couldn’t stand any more, so I resolved to bow myself off the stage and vanish to London. I had busi- ness that I could do there; more serials had to be discussed. Besides, the nicest of the men who wanted to flirt with me was a soldier stationed at Aldershot. I decided that this time I would let him flirt. At least it would take my mind off my troubles. Not that even then I had entirely lost hope. I thought that, just possibly, when I was gone, my husband might discover that he missed me and after all liked me better in the long run than Consuelo. He didn’t object to my going. No doubt he must have been delighted. I’m sureI should have been in his place, considering that, as a companion, I had been a “‘total loss” —a ‘“‘wash- out” during the whole season. His air of kind consent made me feel sick, but I didn’t show it. I left; and the nice soldier man met me at Victoria Station. He took me to my hotel, and invited me to dine that night at a very smart military club of which he was a member. There were lovely flowers for me, and alto- gether an atmosphere of adoration that would have satisfied the most inveterate vamp, like Consuelo. I wouldn’t have been human if I hadn’t been pleased that somebody loved me. Alas and alas, however, it was all of no use. I was too miserable to flirt. Nothing mattered. I talked with editors about those new serials, though my brain felt like cotton wool, but before I had had quite time to arrange for six or seven new ones to follow those which I had just—thank- fully!—finished, I received a letter from a great friend—a woman—at Monte Carlo. “Silly, silly girl,” she scolded me, “to tum your back and leave that cat a free claw with your perfectly good husband! Just because you and he were supposed to be so devoted, she has been bent on ‘getting’ him. It has now become a matter of gossip, because she has gone about boasting that she’s taken your husband away from you. If you’ve really got any brains, come back.” This news set me on fire with rage. That the woman should dare to boast! I forgot to be broken-hearted. Instead I was furious. I wired my husband that I was returning and took the morning train next day. I stopped in Paris long enough, however, to collect some divine dresses, hats and other things; for be- tween Paris and Calais I had mentally ar- ranged a plan of campaign. Even my traveling costume was calculated to dazzle a man whose wife had imagined her- ‘self too busy to care about her looks. I had refused all the new serial offers and left myself nothing to do but make mischief between my husband and his Consuelo. The plan of attack was, to be my sweetest and gayest self, above all to dear Mrs. Brandon. I cooed over her like a dove, but especially purred over her like a cat. For I intended to outcat the cat. “Mama” had lost so much on the system that she was about to flee from temptation, and Consuelo found herself obliged to remain—if she did remain—at her own expense. I in- vited her to visit at our house. She must come when her mother left, and stay as long as she . liked! : I could see in her eyes, as she accepted, just how much of a fool she thought me. She al- most laughed; but I cheered myself by wonder ing who would be the one to laugh last. Well, worms and luck are both said to tum. I had been a worm; and luck and I seemed, by coincidence, to turn at the same time. ad prayed that Consuelo wouldn’t be 2— “good visitor”; and she wasn’t. She was a lazy

Page 129

1925 one had vere to- When over her usband, ‘ouldn’t yself off id busi- ; had to he men soldier lat this t would st hope. AS gone, ssed me yng run oubt he should at, asa “wash- of kind show it. me at tel, and y smart rember. d alto- t would np, like ’t been as and vas too talked ugh my 1ad had ‘n new -thank- from a 0. to turn w with yecause evoted, jas now he has n your lly got That rgot to ous. I ng and oped in t some for be- lly ar- ulated od her- ind left etween veetest andon. vecially ded to system yn, and ain—if I in- ¢ come as she d, just She al- onder- » turn. d, bya Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 143 Are your gums suffering from a lifelong slumber? Wake them up with Ipana and massage! You can do it when you brush your teeth! out of twenty-four. And during that time, nature restores your vitality by clearing the poisons of fatigue from your body. You REST, perhaps, eight hours But, if you were to sleep, like some story book princess, for years and ears and years, could nature possi- ly clear those poisons every day? Decidedly not! Sleep is necessary, but so is exercise—work—stimulation. And yet, people wonder why the = are so subject to disease. Far om the heart, fed only by tiny blood vessels, they get only a faint impulse from the blood stream. Under a diet too soft—too creamy—they are cheated of the natural stimulation which coarse, fibrous food once gave them. IPAN WHERE. - fj YE; y i i —made by the makers of Sal Hepatica MM i utd | Pe | po fh Hi i ; | Mh Ty me Ph f We cannot control our diet. Modern existence has settled that almost be- yond our control. What’s to be done in caring for the gums? But we can stimulate our gums when we brush our teeth, and thus achieve the good effect which rougher food would deliver to our gums. Brush your gums with Ipana every time you brush your teeth. It will help to combat gum troubles, because it will induce a lively, health-giving circulation of blood and impart a healing effect to tender, and even to bleeding gums. Why dentists approve of Ipana Five years ago we presented Ipana to the dentists of America. They tried it—on them- selves and in their practice. Ipana was a suc- TOOTH PASTE cess. Its active agent is ziratol, an antiseptic and hemostatic, known by the dentists and used by them to allay bleeding and to heal infected gum tissue. Now Ipana is well known, widely adver- tised. But still we urge you to ask your dentist about Ipana and the method we recommend. He’ll tell you the value of this treatment. Try Ipana for 1 month Your gums may bother you seldom or never. Your toothbrush may never “show pink.” But even then, as a prevent- ive measure, get a large tube at your drug store and brush your teeth and your gums for at least one monthwith Ipana. You'll be delighted with its flavor and its cleaning power as well as its strengthening effect. BRISTOL-MYERS CO., Dept. H105 42 Rector Street, New York, N. Y. Kindly send me a trial tube of IPANA TOOTH PASTE without charge or obligation on my part. Name. Address © Bristol-Myers Co., 1925

Page 130

BEAUTY...in a gunmetal petticoat | great majority of requests for a child are for a little girl with yellow hair and blue eyes?” “Well, it’s the kind we wanted,” insisted IS T’S orange in its slim little gunmetal petticoat—but changes to youth’s own blend of rose and coral on your lips. It’s real color magic—the kind that is natural—that is waterproof—that is smear- proof—that is kissproof—that doesn’t come off for anything except soap and water. It’s Tangee lipstick. And it has a little sister, Tangee Rouge. And another little sister, Tangee Créme Rouge. All three equally talented and wonderful. But the best thing about these little friends of beauty is that you can be sure they are absolutely harmless — for they are consist- ently pure in composition, and, instead ofa harmful wax or grease base, they contain cold cream that is softening and soothing to the skin. Get Tangee today. . . Tomor- row you will be more beautiful. Tangee Lipstick, $1. Tangee Rouge Compact, $.75. Tangee Creme Rouge (excellent fordry skins), $1. JANGSE Be Beautiful with Tangee If your dealer cannot sup- ply you, send direct to Gerorce W. Lurr Com- pany, New York. Your dealer’s name will be ap- preciated. | | | | | | | | little thing, and by ths time she was so sure of her man that she didn’t, every minute, take trouble to hold him. When she had been at a distance, at her own hotel, she had seemed mysterious, desirable, adorable. But always in the house, never out of sight, began to be another story. The wonderful golden hair developed a dark line round the parting and at the nape of the neck. She ought to have had it bleached at the roots every day or two, when she was con- stantly to be seen without a hat. She came to breakfast on the balcony in a dressing-gown —an exquisite dressing-gown it had been, but was now less fresh than she realized. All sorts of little incidents happened, and evidently Mrs. Brandon was one of those women who wanted to be made love to every minute. She couldn’t leave a man alone, and was hurt if he read a book or a newspaper in her presence. Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 Slowly, but oh how surely, as I forced the pair to live in each other’s pockets, Consuelo’s “Big Man” grew bored. By and by he sought transparent excuses to avoid the little darling and at last—after some weeks of visit—the glorious day came when he appealed to me, “For heaven’s sake, can’t you get rid of this woman? I’m sick to death of her.”’ “Why.” I exclaimed, all eyes and innocence, “T thought. you liked her so much? I invited her entirely to please you, dear thing.” “TI did like her. I was quite fascinated,” the nice man confessed. “But I’m tired to ex tinction of her now. All I want is to take her to a train, never see her again, and have you and this house to myself.” The battle was won—that “silent battle.” All women who can keep their heads know that such a battle must be silent, if it’s not to be lost forever and ever. Would You Adopt a Child? (Continued from page 69) wanted to beguile him into undertaking one of the most difficult jobs presented in child placing work: that of adopting a half grown boy. I wanted him to take Evan and Giles. “How far did you go toward adopting,” I asked, “when you looked into the matter?” “Well, about five years ago, when the doctor | told Mary she never could have children, she | | | | | | | | was so broken up that I suggested we adopt a nice little girl, say about three years old, with blue eyes and yellow hair. She was keen about it and we went to one of these child placing agencies and told them what we wanted. they ever did was to have us investigated.” “Didn’t they tell you,” I asked, “that the Warder. “I suppose the supply is limited. Anyhow, it’s just as well, for we heard of other people who had adopted children and we got discouraged.” . “The risk is no greater than having a child of your own, if you get him under proper conditions.” “And what are proper conditions?” asked John. This was the opportunity for which I was waiting. I began at the beginning of the history of the Marshall boys. About eighteen months before, the care of the two children had been put into the hands of one of the best of the child placing agencies. A field worker at once investigated their case and made a written report. The father had been a railroad switchman in a small town. He was industrious but a drinker, and while drunk was run over by a car he was trying to couple. The mother had been a waitress in the local hotel, was without education, and before her marriage to Marshall was reported to have been rather promiscuous. But after her marriage, she settled down and except that she drank sometimes when Marshall brought liquor home, she was a model wife and mother. After Marshall’s death, she tried to keep the home going by day’s work and laundry, but she couldn’t manage, got to drinking to keep up her courage and her strength and was said to have taken help, at an illicit price, from a man roomer she took in. At any rate, after a year’s struggle, she died of pneumonia and the children became state wards. Of the living relatives, Mrs. Marshall’s only brother was a farmer, with five children and a sickly wife. He objected strenuously to adding two boys to his poverty-stricken ménage. Marshall’s old father and mother were living in another town, the old mother paralyzed. They were respectable people, the old man having been pensioned by a bank for which he had been janitor for nearly forty years. Too old and too poor to take on two little boys. A daughter, sister to the children’s father, had run away from home years before and never came back. Thus was set down vsee the family background for Evan and Giles, When the two boys reached the agency head- quarters in New York they were sent tempo- rarily to the home of a boarding mother. There ought to be a special high place in Heaven for the boarding mother. She is a woman, usually in less.than moderate circum- stances, whose pet charity consists in taking homeless children, for less than a pittance a week, and grooming them into shape for adoption. No child is too terrible for her to take into her home. She takes the little derelict in, cleans it physically, then sets herself the daily, hourly task of teaching it decent habits of body and mind . . . The most exquisite charity in the world! It was to Mrs. Kelly, the wife of a night watchman, that Evan and Giles were rele- gated after the agency doctor had examined them. Both boys had adenoids and bad tonsils. Evan’s teeth needed care, and Giles’ heart required watching. Mrs. Kelly was directed to take Evan to the dentist and later both boys to a clinic to have their tonsils out. She was directed to watch both boys for signs of bad sex habits. The Wasserman test for venereal disease was given both. When, in the course of a few weeks, they were pronounced physically fit, they were taken to a psychologist for mental tests. Both were precocious, Giles testing five years old at three. Evan tested two years older than his actual years. For six months the boys remained with Mrs. Kelly. She taught them manners. She taught Giles to make a cunning bow and to repeat Mother Goose ad lib. She broke Evan of the worst of his swearing. And then the boys were sent to Mrs. Jameson. When I had finished this rapid account of the work of the agency, John Warder gave me a curious look. “T’d no idea they took so much trouble. But, heavens, do you mean to tell me you think those kids have a promising future with that background?”’ “Tt’s a fair background, as human life goes.” “I’m disappointed in you!” groaned John. “You are a sentimentalist after all.” Now there is no work in the world where sentimentality is more of a curse than it is in child placing. One dare not risk not knowing all that is knowable about the child. I said nothing of this, however, to John Warder. His is a practical mind to which one feeds facts, not philosophy. “You recall our mutual friends the Chantlers?” I asked. “Yes, they’ve just had a new baby.” “If both Molly and Bill Chantler died,” I queried, “would you and Mary be willing to adopt the two Chantler children? Billy six now and the new baby is a girl.” “You bet! I’d be crazy about it.” “Very well! Let’s do a little investigating first. I’ve known Molly since she was & little girl. Her father was a lawyer who died m

Page 131

1925 ced the nsuelo’s sought darling, -_ ‘of this locence, invited -d,” the to ex- e her to you and battle.” ow that ) be lost € 69) d Giles. cy head- _ tempo- or, place in he is a circum- 1 taking [tance a ape for r her to 1e little len sets ching it . The a night re rele- xamined nd_ bad id. Giles’ lly was nd later isils out. for signs test for ks, they 2y were s. Both rs old at than his ith Mrs. e taught 9 repeat n. of the oys were count of gave me le. But, yu think ‘ith that fe goes.” ‘d John. d where 1 it is in knowing to John hich one died,” I illing to Billy is stigating 5a little died in

Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 ~<a!) One" : Do You Carry Throughout the ages smart women, in one way or another, have insured their beauty. Today, at trifling cost, you can insure the one thing which, if it is beautiful, makes you beautiful, and which, if it is not beautiful, makes you plain and unattractive. That one thing is—your hair. Since history began, mankind has realized that beautiful hair makes a woman beautiful, and that she cannot be beautiful without it. If she has it, men are drawn to her; if a man has it, women are drawn to him. It is the first thing that snares a woman’s fancy. If her hair is beautiful his hand yearns to touch it, just as her hand yearns to stroke his. There is real magic in the hair. Its silken strands trap hearts. Every woman is an enchantress, and her hair is the first and most potent of her charms. In all books of beauty of all races, the first More than a Shamp it’s “BE AUTY. INSURANCE”

“HE R, ©. W. CO. “Beauty Insurance” Is your beauty protected — are you insuring your attractiveness and charm? formulas and recipes are for the care of the hair. Most important of all is proper shampoo- ing. Nothing else has such real effect on the health and beauty of the hair. Proper shampooing brings out all the life and lustre, all the natural wave and color, and leaves it fresh looking, glossy and bright. Proper shampooing, however, means more than just washing the hair—it means thor- ough, scientific cleansing. The hair and scalp are constantly secreting oily, gummy substances, which catch the dust and dirt and cause the hair to become coated. This coating dulls the hair and destroys its life and lustre. It covers, hides and prevents the natural color and beauty of the hair from showing. To have beautiful hair you must prevent this coating from accumulating. This cannot be done with ordinary soaps not adapted for the purpose. Besides, the hair cannot stand the harsh effect of free alkali which is common in ordinary soaps. The free alkali soon dries the scalp, makes the hair brittle and ruins it. That is why millions of women are insuring the beauty of their hair by using Mulsified Cocoanut Oil Shampoo. This clear, pure and entirely greaseless product cannot possibly injure, and it cannot dry the scalp or make the hair brittle, no matter how often you use it. Results Are Amazing A booklet containing full instructions comes with each bottle of Mulsified. It tells how to overcome dry hair, oily hair, dull or dead-looking hair, and many other distressing conditions. There is a special treatment for each hair need, aspecial way to bring out all the beauty, and the results are instant and amazing. By following the particular treatment especially suited for their individual needs, thousands of women have transformed the entire appearance of their hair with the very first shampoo. Get a bottleof Mulsified from your druggist today (it costs but a trifle) and see the differ- ence you can make in the appearance of your hair. You will notice the difference instantly. Your hair will be brighter, softer, silkier and more fluffy, and you will be delighted to see it sparkle and glow with new life, lustre and loveliness. You will have real hair insurance, and hair insurance is beauty insurance. Try It FREE You can try Mulsified without a cent of expense. You can see for yourself just what it will do. Then you will know. When you see how it brings out all the beauty of your hair—then you will realize that proper sham- pooing is real ‘“‘beauty insurance.”’ Send no money, just mail the coupon today. SEND NO MONEY THE R. L. WATKINS COMPANY M-2 1276 West 3rd Street, Cleveland, Ohio

Please send me a trial supp!y of ‘“Mulsified’” FREE, all charges paid. Also vour booklet entitled “Why Proper Shampooing is BEAUTY INSURANCE.”

In Canada address THE R. L. WATKINS CO.., 463 Wellinzton. St.. West Toronto, Cat.

Page 132

146 delirium tremens. Her mother took up dress- making and gave Molly a high school educa- tion. When Molly was twenty, the mother died in an epileptic seizure. It was common knowledge that she had been the mistress of a well-known editor, though I don’t think Molly knew it. Molly was a beauty and very clever. She came to New York and became the private secretary to a banker and was on the way to real business success when Bill Chantler met her and married her. “Bill has made a great deal of money in cotton and if he doesn’t drink himself to death, he’ll make still more. He was dropped from Princeton for some soft of a girl scrape. His father was one of the most unscrupulous and notorious Tammany politicians that long- suffering New York has ever known. The Chantlers have a wonderful apartment on Park Avenue. I had dinner there about two months before this baby girl was born. Molly and Bill both drank too much, as did several other of the guests, and some very loose re- marks were passed about the paternity of the coming baby.” “Good Lord!’ shouted John. “Don’t say such ghastly things!” “You didn’t shriek with pain over my report on the Marshalls, though,” I said dryly. “I’m trying to make you see that you’re the senti- mentalist and not I. What I’m begging you to do, before you condemn the child open to adoption, is to look about at the parents whose own children you know and love. Immorality isn’t confined to the poor, nor is a bad nervous heritage peculiar to the foster-child.” It is astounding how well they turn out, these children whom fate has touched with hostile intent. I am not guessing. I know. In 1924 the Child Placing Bureau of the State Charities Aid Association of New York com- pleted a book of 239 pages, entitled, “How Foster Children Turn Out.” It is on the in- formation contained in this remarkable book that I base that emphatic “I know.” The State Charities Aid Association has in the past twenty-six years found homes for 3,754 children. The study, made under the direction of Sophie van Senden Theis, a dis- tinguished student and authority in the prob- lem of child placing, deals with the gro of these children who by January 1, 1922, had reached the age of eighteen or over. The study does not compare adopted chil- dren with children reared in institutions, for there is no available data as to any comparable group reared in institutions. It is not a study of adopted children 2s compared with children generally. There cc Id be found no unselected group as to which co nparable data was avail- able. It is a study, from the social worker’s point of view, as to the community value of this particular group of 910 grown-up foster- children. It asked for one conclusion concern- ing them. Are they capable of managing themselves and their affairs with ordinary prudence? It seems to me that no more suggestive in- quiry into human endeavor could have been made than is contained between the unostenta- tious gray covers of this little book. The placing out of dependent children has been increasing rapidly in America, particu- larly during the past twenty-five years. America leads the world in the liberality of her adoption laws. Under French and German law, only those may adopt who are over fifty years of age, and at the time of adoption have neither children nor legitimate descendants. England has no law by which one may adopt achild. In America, any decent man or woman capable of giving proper care to a dependent child may bind a child to them by legal ties as strong as those of blood. Yet, with all our liberality and interest in the great work, even those who were giving their lives to it had no authentic information as to whether or not the prejudice against the adopted child was based on fact until this little gray book was published. For two years, sixteen trained investigators searched out the records of these 910 people. Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 Every precaution known to scientific observa- tion and deduction was used to guard against misconception, and results were given only after long deliberation. Yet even all this scientific caution would not destroy the opti- mism of the findings, for it was found that nearly eighty percent of all these foster-chil- dren were decent, law-abiding citizens, self- supporting in all cases where self-support was necessary. More than this, it was found that of the foster-children who had been legally adopted, nearly ninety percent were successful human beings according to the standard set. Something to ponder on in these two state- ments, is there not? And as if these two facts were not suf- ficiently overwhelming, auxiliary facts, star- tling in their implications, appeared during the investigations. For example, comparing children who had had no orphan asylum life with children who had had five years of asylum life, it was found that the children who had stayed in their own homes before placement, in spite of the fact that most of those homes provided an ex- tremely bad environment for children, de- veloped better than those who had stayed fo1 five years or more in an orphan asylum. There are in the United States today 138,000 children in orphan asylums and allied institutions. There are 210,000 dependent children alto- gether in the United States today. The investigation found that foundlings measured up to the average of children of known family background. It is estimated that 50,000 children are born out of wedlock in the United States every year. Is there any relationship between the im- morality of parents and of their children? The study showed that eighty percent of the children of parents known to have been im- moral are adults of good moral character. It was found that, to those children who were happy and well adjusted to their foster homes, their own relatives meant nothing. So complete had been the substitution of foster for natural parents, that they wished to know nothing of their antecedents or connections. One could go on for pages quoting. the extraordinary findings of the study. It is a permanent document, thank heaven, that some day must come into its own, for in pellucid English it tells us new truths about the mystery of environment, of heredity, of im- morality, and of that not to be known quality in human beings that causes our roots, deep plunged in blackest muck, to send forever toward the blue heavens an efflorescence of beauty and fragrance. I sent John Warder a copy of the book. A few weeks later I laid a trap for him and Mary —Mary, a gentle soul whom John bullied and adored. The Warders bought a house next door to the Archers, close friends of mine, living in the country. I sent Evan and Giles up to the Archers for a week-end. My idea was that if the Warders came upon the chil- dren accidentally, they’d—well, I wasn’t quite sure what, but I hoped. It was a risky ven- ture and almost ended disastrously. When I went up to the Archers’ place on Sunday afternoon to bring the two boys back to Mrs. Kelly in New York, I found Mrs. Archer on the lawn berating Evan, with Giles clinging to her hand. Evan had broken five windows in the Warders’ house, throwing stones. “Fortunately or unfortunately, I don’t know which, the Warders are not at home,’ she explained to me. “Yes, they are,’”’ said Evan sulkily. ‘TI just saw ’em drive into the garage.” “Then I think we’ll go over and tell Mr. Warder that you’ll earn: money and pay him back,” I said, my heart sinking. It was not thus that I had planned the meeting. Evan squirmed, but a moment later, Evan dragging on one hand and Giles on the other, we crossed the road to the Warders’ yard. John and Mary were standing before the side porch gazing at the broken glass that littered it. John was purple with anger. “Mr. and Mrs. Warder,” I said as non- chalantly as I could, “may I introduce my friends Evan and Giles Marshall?” Giles made his funny little bow. Evan, trembling visibly, walked over and shook hands with Mary, then held out a grimy, uncertain little paw to John. “How do you do, Mr. Warder,”’ said Evan. “T’m—TI’m awful sorry I broke your. windows, I guess my hand must have slipped.” “Did you do that?” roared Warder. “John,” exclaimed Mary irrelevantly, “he has the funniest look of you, freckles and all.” “Me!” shouted John. “Don’t be a fool, Mary! Look here, young man, how’d you come to break those windows?” “T was pegging rocks,” explained Evan, “Pegging rocks! Didn’t you know it was wrong?” “J—I didn’t think,” gulped Evan. “I’m —I’m just naturally bad, you know. She” —jerking his head backward toward me— - “thought I could earn the money. But I don’t see how. Would it do any good if you licked me? I can stand a lot of licking.” He looked up into John’s eyes with an ex- pression on his freckled face of such anxiety, of such shame, that Mary cried: “John, don’t you put a finger on him!” Warder ignored this. ‘Would a licking re- place that glass?”’ he demanded of Evan. “No, sir! But it always made Mr. Jameson feel better.” John gasped, looking curiously down into the boy’s face. Evan, returning the look, sud- denly grinned. He has a delightful grin. “T bet you were some rock pegger when you was a boy,” he ventured. “Was I!” grunted Warder. “Say, when I was your age I rode over two miles of boule- vard on a trotting pony and broke every arc light in the two miles without stopping my horse.” “John!” shrieked Mary. “I certainly did!’’ declared Warder, sud- denly returning Evan’s grin; then, looking at me: “Why didn’t you give me some idea of what this kid is like? That’s the cherub brother, eh? He has Evan’s devil in his in- nocent eye! Mary, you remember my telling you about these boys?” “You haven’t talked about much else for weeks, have you?” asked his wife. “Evan, you go get a broom and sweep up that mess of rocks and glass,” ordered John. Then, as the boy sped away, he said: “That boy’s a thoroughbred. You women can’t appreciate the kind of nerve and manliness he’s just shown. He’s a sportsman of the first water.’”’ He stooped to pick up Giles. “Well, Buster, are you going to be as good a shot as your brother?” “T frowed five rocks,’’ replied Giles sturdily. John laughed and plumped the baby into his wife’s arm. “Well, Mary?” She clasped the child to her and -leaned toward her husband with an agony of pleading and eagerness in her eyes. “Oh John, will you?” “We'll try it on, if you say so. How about it, Evan?” as the boy came up with a broom. “Would you like to visit us here for a while, to see if we all suit each other?” Evan turned white about the lips. He looked at me. “Do they know all about us, especially about me?” I nodded. Evan stared for a long time at John, then at Mary. “You'll like Giles,” he said, “and get sick of me. It’s the women that turn on me.” John put his hand on Evan’s shoulder. “How about that, Mary?” he asked huskily. ; “Do you think Evan can be any more diffi- cult than you are?” returned his wife, with her gentle smile. “And have I ever failed in love for you?” “Evan,” said John, with a smile, “go get your and Giles’ suitcase or whatever it 1. There’s no doubt in the world but that she'll never lose patience with you.” : Thus it was that Evan and Giles found their father and mother.

Page 133

1925 littered 4S non- uce mhy Evan, k hands certain 1 Evan. indows, ly, “he nd all.” a fool, ’d you an, lt was ‘T’'m She” | me— I don’t 1 licked an ex- inxlety, 1 fe cing re- van. ameson into the k, sud- rin. len you when I boule- ery arc ing my r, sud- king at idea of cherub his in- telling Ise for eep up | John. “That . can’t nliness of the Giles. good a urdily. yy into leaned leading | you?” - about broom. hile, to ee about Evan Mary. sick of ‘How e diff- ith her in love go get it is. she'll d their Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1025 Madonna of the Pueblos (Continued from page 77) I think, will tell you that the only sensible thing is to leave her.”’ “There are many who would call it emi- nently sensible, madam,” I replied. “And what do you call it?” “Pye long since ceased thinking in those ” rms. “Stuff!” She said it rather good-naturedly. Ithink she regarded me from now on asa harm- less moron. She spoke to her son again. ‘Tad, are to come home with me—you are to jeave this girl and this country and become what you were reared to become.” Tad’s answer never came, for framed in the doorway with all the glory of the setting sun behind her Paquita stood. They faced each other silently, these women of different worlds, different gods, and different generations. In- stinctively the girl knew that she stood before an antagonist. Instinctively too, I think, she knew why the woman of the cities had come. I tried to send her a little gesture of assurance, but Paquita needed none. I noticed with a little thrill of satisfaction the bearing of the Indian girl. I think, too, that for a moment a fugitive gleam of admiration passed over the features of the General. Her next words were softer than before. “Come here, child. You are Paquita?” “ 4.” “And you love Tad, of course.” “Love Tad? Yes.” The older woman looked up—how shall I say?—almost wistfully into the radiance of the gitl’s face. “Yes, you would.” I think she sighed. “And you know that I want Tad to come away with me—alone with me?” The girl’s slender. figure seemed to stiffen ever so little, but her voice was quiet as before. “Well?” she asked. “Are you going to make it hard for me?” “And me, seviora madre? Do you make it easy for me? For I do not think that without TadI can live. No, without Tad I do not want to live, seiora.”” She said it simply, as a child might. Except for a little tremor, her voice was without emotion. ‘Surely, sefora madre,” the quiet voice went on, “‘surely you would not take him away! For see, all my life, back as far as I can remember I have carried in my heart a dream—until Tad came and my dream was real. And since that day life has been like —oh, like the Paradise our padres tell! Sefora, you wouldn’t take Tad away!” But the face of the older woman was im- mobile and the girl, with a little gesture of desperation, came to my side. “Anciano, I know so little of the world back there. What is this duty that Tad should go away? Does the world of cities need him more than I who love him more than life? Once you told me that the cities are without heart or soul, and I think now this must be true.” Out of the questioning silence no answer came, and suddenly Paquita had regained the habitual stoicism of her mother’s people. She taised her head. ‘It is not well that I should plead—even for love. Tad’s will is Paquita’s , Senora madre. A daughter of chiefs need not be taught loyalty.” Tad hadn’t spoken. I knew, and I think Paquita knew, his struggle. You see, family Meant much more to Tad than it does to most of us. But as Paquita ceased she looked at Tad with all the love the heart of a woman Ids, and Tad knew and came over to her. Then he put his arm about her and drew her head down to his shoulder. ‘ “It isn’t a bit of use, mother,” he said at last. Let’s talk no more of my going away. I couldn’t leave Paquita now—not even if she Wanted me to go.”’ Then I saw the dark cheeks of Paquita flush, and her eyes grew starry with happy tears. Steady voice of the General came again persuasive now. “My dear, wanting Tad to waste his life out here isn’t loving him— isn’t loyalty to him.” ght here my philosophic calm weakened. I rose and bowed to the General. “If you don’t mind, I'll leave,” I said in a voice intended to be suave. “Otherwise I might be tempted to venture opinion of what seem to me some- what soiled and unfair tactics.” The General smiled genially. explain?” “Well, you know it’s rather an amazing ap- peal to Paquita’s love that she break her own heart in order that your son may become a Lord-knows-what back Fast.” She was imperturbable, that woman, for as I turned away she called after me, ‘‘You are a likable old fool. I shall see you again.” The General joined me in a cigarct at break- fast. Apparently she chose to ignore my bad manners of the night before. For a moment or two she blew smoke at the coffee things. ‘So you think my methods a little in need of cleansing, my friend? Don’t you know yet that if the cause be right, the method is justified?” “Tt certainly is not a new argument, madam. I believe it was used by the Roman Pilate to some effect.” But she smiled tolerantly. Then after a pause, still smiling: “You know it is you and those like you who make life difficult. You are soft intellectually, soft like those paint tubes.” A moment passed in silence. ‘You, of course, look on me as a me‘dlesome, rather cruel, rather unimaginative and entirely conventional mother, don’t you? Conventional, I mean, in the sense of wanting only my own way—want- ing my own dreams to come true, and not car- ing a hang how many dreams of these young people I smash.” “Something like that,”’ I agreed. She looked for a time through my long north window out over the sagebrush. ‘And in a sense, of course, you are right. Yes, but I’m wondering what you would do if after working on a canvas for the best of your life—one canvas, mind you, and you were just creating a masterpiece—well what would you do if “Won’t you something threatened to destroy it? You would fight, wouldn’t you, my friend? Well, Tad, such as he is, is my masterpiece. Ever since I bore him he has been fitted and trained to build a place in my world’s scheme of things. He has a name to carry on, a man’s place to fill and a man’s work to do in the world. And, my friend, it’s a name not without some splen- dor and achievement. An old name that has kept its place in our history—and it must not stop. Can’t you understand that it must not stop?” Then we both smiled at her own in- tensity “I do paw the air a bit about this, don’t I? It’s my only illusion.”’ “Still, if Tad doesn’t follow the path you’ve chosen—well, it wouldn’t break your heart, would it?” Very slowly, very doubtfully, she answered: “T don’t know—perhaps. But would it break hers if he did follow my path?” “T’m afraid it would; you see, she’s not so well schooled as you. She’s younger, and youth, as you may remember, provides itself with many cherished illusions. Tad’s love is one of these. I wish I were not so close to Paquita. I could make a better spectator—for to me, you and Paquita are antagonists in the im- memorial battle between the parent and the mate. And I’m wondering if youth isn’t al- ways the victor in this unequal warfare.” “Nonsense! Youth always loses. Sad, but life. That youth will be served is a poetical sedative for the very young.” And then after a long thoughtful moment, it seemed to me that the General’s eyes momen- tarily softened. “I tell you, my friend, I envy. Oh, I am weak enough to envy that girl and her love! Yes, even though she is destined to be broken-hearted. And she’ll lose, my friend, proudly and splendidly she’ll lose, and I shall admire her. And envy her and perhaps a little pity her—but I shall win. For the world is not for the young—it’s for those of us who are old, old as you and I are, and steadfast as I am.” You know I have always felt that there are too many old people in the world. People who have ceased to worship at the shrine of youth and beauty, and have turned to the somber idolatry of prudence and circumspection. Meanwhile, she played a little longer with the beads about her neck, and laughing rose. “Just now, dear spectator, honors are easy. The situation remains unchanged. Tad clings to his little savage and I to my purpose.” We stood for a moment outside the door in contemplation of the descrt morning. I think some of its beauty stole in upon her, for as I bowed over her hand, she said, ““Next time we meet, old sentimentalist, I hope we may not be in opposite camps.” Then suddenly for no accountable reason she left that very day while I was sketching, out toward the Sangre de Cristos. So youth, I found myself thinking, had won after all. Still, I wasn’t sure. But at least Tad had resumed his scribbling, and happiness came back again to the face of Paquita. So two months passed. Then came a telegram from the General. She was ill, nothing serious, but she wanted Tad to come to her. Again I felt that the General’s tactics were a bit odorous. “And yet,” Tad said, sensing my thoughts, “‘she may be really ill. I’m writing her that I'll come any time, gladly, but not until Paquita can be received in the house as my wife.” “Tad,” came the voice of Paquita. She had been sitting in the half-light weaving. “I think that you should go.” “Will you come?” “No. The seviora madre does not ask that I should come.” “Then of course I won’t.” “That’s settled,” I began hastily, but a little gesture from Paquita silenced me. “No, anciano, it is not settled. If the seviora madre is sick, now is not the time to think of me. I think Tad should go.” And when Tad had left the room, I protested. “Paquita mia, one would think that you want him to go.” “T do want him to go. At least, I think I do— for should his mother die—oh, I know we think she is not very sick, but she may be—and if she dies, it would be always a cloud to him that he did not see her. I do not wish that anything should come between my Tad and me. Then too, anciano, I want him once more to see the places that he once knew. For if he does not, who knows, he may think sometimes of the sacrifices he made because of me, and that too, anctano, would not be good to live with in the days to come. Rather almost that he do not come back than that he should stay here, and sometime regret.” “Little foolish, how could he regret? He has you. She put an uncertain hand on my shoulder. “But I want to be sure, amigo, I want to be very sure, and I think I am going to risk my heart to know.” And at home that night I wondered, and brooded over the wisdom of Paquita. She was one of those who must have perfect things or none at all, and life is very chary of its perfect things. But if Tad should go back and then,: having seen it all again, tested it all again, still return freely and because he wanted to—well, of course, it would be the end to Paquita’s doubting, and bring its own happiness and se- curity. At least it must have been something like this in Paquita’s thoughts. That was about what I said to Tad the next morning as he drove with me out to the edge of the lagunas to scribble while I sketched. And Tad nodded. “Ves, Paquita wants it very much. It’s foolish, of course, this idea of testing as if I were a child not knowing my mind or where my heart lies, but it will give happiness to Paquita and please the General, and since you’re all so confounded anxious to pack me off, I’ll go.” And the day he left, a very lonely Paquita halted at my studio, scolded my housekeeper in impatient Spanish, strummed absently on

Page 134

“y-Nov Taleced Pict f sane os Big: , Be ic ages ad **At the time of my enrollment for LaSalle train- g in Higher Accountaiicy,”’ writes E. B. Risberg. was working in the blacksmith shop of the LaCross Well Drill Works—ten hours a day and six days a week. Since that time—and in a period of about four years —I have advanced from an initial position as stock clerk with the Milwaukee branch of a big packing company to my present excellent position with the largest elevator manufacturer in America. Today my salary is more than 400 per cent greater than at the time of my enrollment.” Nothing surprising about Risberg’s advancement. The demand for executive accountants and Certified Public Accountants far-excecds the supply. Salaries range from $3,000 to $10,000 and better a year. Many LaSallc-trained accountants, now at the head of their own accounting firms, earn up to $20,000 a year. Read these excerpts from the letters of accountants who have gone forward to success by following the LaSalle salary-doubling plan: “Salary and earnings have increased over 183 per cent.”” FRANK B. TRISCO, Minnesota. “Accountancy has increased my salary prac- tically 150 per cent in the last three years.”’ C. T. THORSEN, Washington. “Have been chosen Credit Manager of our Brooklyn store and Consulting Accountant of all our stores—at a tempting salary even to a Public Accountant. I can frankly say I got all my confidence from my training with LaSalle.” G.S. HILLYER, New York, You Have the Same Good Opportunity Is it worth two cents and two minutes of your time to learn in detail of the opportunities that would be yours in the field of Accountancy? All this information, together with an outline of the steps by which you may quickly fit yourself to take advantage of such opportunities, is clearly set forth in LaSalle’s 64-page book, “Accountancy, the Profession that Pays,’’ a book of invaluable assist- ance to the man who is scriously considering Ac- countancy as a Carecr. The coupon will bring it to you without the slight- est obligation, and with it details of the LaSalle salary-doubling plan, also the inspiring testimony of men still in their twenties and early thirties who have broken away from the low-pay ranks and today are expert accountants—with incomes ranging from $3,000 to $10,000, $15,000, $20,000 a year. _ Your start toward a biggcr salary is as near you as the point of your pencil. For the sake of a brighter future— ACT. LASALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY The World’s Largest Business Training Institution Dept. 1055-HR Chicago I would welcome copy of. ‘‘ Accountancy, the Profession that Pays,”’ also a copy of “Ten Years’ Promotion in One,’’ all with- out obligation. C Higher Accountancy Training for positions as Auditor, Comp- troller, Certified Public Accountant, Cost Accountant, etc. Other LaSalle Opportunities LaSalle opens the way to success in every important field of business. If more interested in one of the fields indicated low, check here: aaah o Modern Business Corre- OMod Sal hi Pp and Practice i *P O Modern Foremanshi: OTraffic Management and Production Methods ORailway Station Man- OPersonnel and Employ- agement ment Management OLaw—Degree of LL. B. OExpert Bookkeeping OCommercial Law O Business English OiIndustrial M t cial Spanish Efficiency D Effective Speaking OBanking and Finance OC. P. A. Coaching Name oe | donna. an old guitar, and finally curled up on the window-seat and wept. Dusk fell, the stars came and the candles were lighted, and after a time she sang for me those debonair, gay songs of Spain. But her voice, though she tried ever so hard and smiled ever so bravely, wasn’t exactly gay. Then two months passed and we learned from Tad’s frequent letters that the General was no better, and that Tad himself would be coming West in a few weeks. So it was with the feeling that Paquita would not be long alone that I left for La Jolla to put in a season of marine study. It was November when I went away, and April found me driving north over the Santa Fé road back to Taos again. Home! Paquita had made it ready. The logs were crackling, a vase of .early spring flowers greeted me from the easel, and Pa- quita’s two hands clasped my shoulders. Then something on the window-seat squirmed and a swathed object uttered a tiny wail, and the pride in Paquita’s eyes answered my unasked question. : (Si, a man child, an Americano already two months old. Half a man already, amigo. And if he is good, he will be a great writer—and if he is very bad, he shall be a painter.” “And Tad?” Her eyes fell. “Tad has not come.” The silence that followed was like a sob. “Why not?” She turned toward t!.e darkening world out- side. ‘How should I know, old friend? Per- haps because he ha; forgotten.” I put my arms about her and tried, not who’ y successfully, to laugh. I don’t believe that I had really thought of the probability of Tad’s not coming back until now. One simply did not think of it. that was all. Now the stark fact was there l’ke a death’s-head between us. Tad had not come back to Paquita. I nodded toward the child. ‘Tad knows?” “He must not know until he comes. Tad must come back because he wants me, Paquita —or not at all.” “And yet——”’ Paquita put a small hand lightly on my mouth. “You are very stupid, anciano. If Tad knows of the child, he will come. He would say, ‘Bueno, it is my duty,’ and he would come. No, I want to wait until his heart cries, ‘Madre de Dios, I cannot live without Paquita! I want that he should come that way.” Then her voice dropped. ‘Or not at all.” Understanding, I was silent. For how could I tell her that we in whose veins runs only the cold blood of the Northern people do not say, ‘Mother of God, I cannot live without her’’? How could I tell her that her Tad was, after all, only a pleasant red-cheeked boy, not very re- markable really, and on!y important because Paquita loved him? It wouldn’t have done. Well, it wasn’t a successful meal; neither were the days that fol owed happy days. You see, I cared for Paquita more than for any liv- ing thing, and Paquita was slowly breaking her heart. Then one morning while spring was laying her early magic over the land, I chanced to look up and see Paquita standing framed in the doorway. She wore that day her colorful tribal robes, for she knew I loved them. : In her arms was the boy. There in outline against the glory of the desert outside she stood, a regal Madonna of the Pueblos. And so began the picture of my Indian Ma- Some have said it is the best work I have ever done—it may be so. Certainly no artist will have a model more lovely than | Paquita as she stood there in proud, saddened | motherhood. | I came to know the new Pa- quita as I painted her. For it was a new Paquita—a little more aloof, a little chastened, and with a new light of motherhood in her eyes. And about ‘this time I learned that Don Rodriguez had acquired the habit of driving up from his ranch more often than before. Hover- ing, it seemed to me, closer like some overfed but voracious buzzard, and though Paquita said nothing, I suspected long conversations Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 between the Spaniard and Paquita’s mother over at the pueblo. And once, inviting himself into my studio, he bowed low before that yn. finished portrait of Paquita. “Dios, settor,’ he exclaimed in that fat, throaty voice of his, “‘but it is the masterpiece, You will sell it to me—at whatever price,” I shook my head. “It is not for sale.” : “Alas!” Then he tapped his sombrero g moment in silence “Is it not sad, sefior, this desertion of the Americano boy?” I laughed. ‘Hardly desertion, amigo. For a time he is kept in the East. That is all.” His eyes said plainly, “You are lying, my friend,”’ but he answered suavely: “That is re- assuring. For you know the Indians have a —what you call it?—a distaste for castaway women. Adiés, senor.” He was right, of course, and I wondered more than ever over those secret talks between Paquita’s mother and Sefior Don’ Rodriguez, Then came the invitation to take part in the New York exhibition, and I decided to show my painting of Paquita. Time was short and I worked steadily. “Strange, anciano,’’ she said once as we rested, “it may be that you will see Tad—my Tad that used to be—and it may be that he will see the picture of this, our son.” I painted on. “Old friend, do you think he will ever * come back now after so long a time?” “Who knows? The heart of man is a strange, unpredictab'e thing.” “Hay de mi, strange and very cruel. And sometimes I think he may love some one back there.” “Como quien . . .” I quoted the proverb of her father’s people: “How should one who has gazed upon the moon be mindful of the candle-light?” But Paquita only smiled and shook her head. “That is pretty of you,.but it answers no ques- tions. And perhaps ‘it: is better you do not answer them. For you are a perfect friend, but you lie badly.” Then one day I laid down my brush and step- ping back looked without shame on my Ma- donna of the Pueblos.’ Those are moments one lives for. One works and paints and curses and life slips by. But* those moments, they com- pensate. Of course I may have seen in it all of the beauty that I wanted to evoke and some- how missed. But Paquita’s first cry of delight repaid me. Yes, I lived that day. And when the following morning I stood ready to go, Paquita waited until the others had said their good-bys. For a little time she looked out over the desert, then without a word she kissed my cheek. “Tt may be you will see Tad,” she said and she tried very much to be calm as a daughter of the pueblos should. But her voice played traitor. “And if you speak of me at all, you and he, you will say to him of Paquita that she is very well back there in her own land, and among her own people.” She raised an ago- nized little hand to trembling lips. ‘And you will say, amigo mio, that she no longer speaks of Tad—that she is happy and sings. Oh, you must say that—happy and laughs and sings— ah, Dios!” And now Paquita was sobbing, weeping her heart out, her face hidden against my shoulder, and so she never finished telling me how very, very happy she was. 3 Six days later I watched them hang thepicture. And that night Tad’s voice came over the phone, and it wasn’t a particularly cheerful voice either. Something, it seemed, had gone out of him too. He wanted to see me, he said, so that evening the two of us sat after dinner before the big window in the Arts Club. Through the spring fog, hastening platoons of men and women emerged for a moment an then were lost again. Each intent, it seemed, upon getting somewhere. Taxis skidded in the wet streets, honked, clanked their gears and went on. Everyone hurrying. But where and why? I must have made articulate some of those thoughts, for Tad smiled wanly. “You dislike the East so much then, anct ano?” Instinctively he dropped into the name Paquita had for me. ”

Page 135

1925 > mother x himself that un- hat fat, sterpiece, price,” nbrero a ‘ior, this igo. For all.” ying, my hat is re- s have a sastaway red more between odriguez. rt in the to show hort and e as we Tad—my - that he [ painted will ever | Strange, el. And ome one proverb one who 11 of the her head. no ques- 1 do not t friend, and step- my Ma- rents one urses and ey com- n it all of nd some- of delight I stood 1e others time she it a word said and ughter of > played all, you uita that and, and an ago- And you er speaks Oh, you 1 sings— sobbing, n against -d_ telling epicture. over the cheerful iad gone 3 he said, or dinner ts Club. rtoons of nent and seemed, idded in eir gears ut where ate some ly. en, antt the name Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 S Men out of 10 Picked the Duofold Blindfolded From 11 New Pens of Different Makes Rivals the beauty of the Scarlet Tanager Choose Your Point ze a declared a Duofold owner — and he proved it: ES,ten men,chosen at random, agreed to make this test and were blindfolded. One by one, in the presence of several witnesses, they were handed 11 large new pens of different makes, obtained from pen dealers’ stocks. Each man wrote withall 11 pens, one by one, on an ordinary note pad. And one by one he laid them all aside until only a single pen re- mained in his hand —the pen he ranked as the smoothest, most in- spiring writer. Then the blindfold was re- moved. And man after man, with but two exceptions, glanced down to behold in his hand the flashing black-tipped lacquer-red Parker Duofold, with the point guaran- THE PARKER PEN COMPANY NEW YORK + CHICAGO Duofold Pencils to match the pens: Lady, $3 teed, if not misused, for 25 years. Never before a pen selection so unbiased as this. No one behind a counter to urge this pen or that. Not even the Duofold’s famed name or handsome color visible, to sway the hand’s Simon- pure judgment. You, too, can tell this super- smooth point with your eyes shut. Step to the ‘nearest pen counter now and try it. A point no style of writing can distort. A point guaranteed, if not misused, for 25 years’ wear! And a balanced Over-size bar- rel that gives you that easy full- handed grip, and holds enough more ink to tide you over until the job is done. - JANESVILLE, WISCONSIN SAN FRANCISCO Over-size Jr., $3.50; “Big Brother” Over-size, $4 THE PARKER FOUNTAIN PEN COMPANY, LIMITED, TORONTO, CANADA THE PARKER PEN CO., LIMITED, 2 AND 3 NORFOLK ST., STRAND, LONDON, ENGLAND 25 Year Point Same except for size iy : With ring for chatelaine Lady Duofold $5 15] “I believe that the hand can tell this super-smooth writer sight unseen,”

Page 136

An Oak Floor is not expensive You can have a beautiful, sanitary Oak Floorata..| phrases that across the centuries have kept cost to meet your purse. Different grades, all equally sound, with color finishes for different rooms, will provide variety in appearance at maxi- mum economy. Housework is lessened, as oak floored roomsare easily kept brightand sanitary. If your present home has old-fashioned worn floors, Oak may be laid over the old floors, adding beauty and permanent value. Send coupon for these free books Put your flooring problems up BEES to our experts, without obli- ‘ vation. CONSULT AN ARCHI- TECT BEFORE BUILDING, Oak FLOORING BUREAU 886 Hearst Bldg., Chicago Piease send me the free 24-page book ‘*The Story of Oak Floors,”’ and “How and Where to Use Oak Floors.” Write for free Guide Books and “RECORD OF INVENTION BLANK” ATENT * before disclosing inventions. Send model or sketch and description of your invention for Inspection and Instructions Free. Terms Reasonable. VICTOR J. EVANS & CO. 753 Ninth St. Washington, D. C. LEPAGES will WHEN you wish to mend or repair any article of useful value, do not risk using a cheap or inferior glue. You would not sew a silk dress with cotton. Why mend a broken article with an inferior glue? The cost of LePage’s is nothing compared to the saving of making permanent re- pairs. Use LePage’s Glue, the stand- ard for 40 years. Insist on LePage’s. [E AGE’S GLUE { i “T suppose I dislike it. And for reasons that may be good or bad, but which to me’are very significant reasons.” He nodded. “Yes, I know. Paquita says that the East holds memories of days for you that you have beén for twenty years trying to forget. Is that it, anciano?” “Tt may be that. You know, it’s hard for youth to believe that we whose hair is whiten- ing were not always old. Yes,” I said at last, “ghosts that are dead rise up to remind me that once, not so very far from where we are sitting, I let life pass me by—life in the form of love ‘and red lips and laughing eyes—and that is | very foolish, Tad.” “Why?” “Why did I let it? Because at that time I believed there was some meaning to words like duty, career, reputation. All those old catch many men from their happiness.” Tad leaned forward. “Are you telling me this because it is my own story?”’ “No. Is it your story?” “J don’t know. I suppose it is. But one’s | own story always seems more obscure, I sup- | pose.”’ Then with an effort his eyes met mine. “You think I’m a cad, don’t you? And Paquita—what does Paquita think? But I’ve stayed on and on because I’ve thought my , going would be the end of the General.” My doubts must have shown in my eyes, for he shook his head. “No. I don’t think the General is putting it on. She’s not the same as when you saw her. She’s shaken. I am not much, but you know I’m all she has. I’m being torn apart just the same. And all this means that I am trying to learn to stand on my own feet. I think if I can show the General that I can make my own way, she’ll see perhaps that I am able to lead my own life. And I can’t go back to Paquita | until I am on my own feet, can I?” You know I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him as he sat there, young and irresolute and quite perplexed before me. And almost I envied him that quality of youth which finds so much satisfaction and gives so much im- portance to standing on one’s own two feet. But I only said, “I suppose it’s never occurred . to you that it may be too late—this going back?” ; “Too late?” ee SRR “Tad, do you think loves an ever blooming kind of flower that just Kéépar6nj ini’ spite of neglect and in spite of despair? It doesn’t. Not always. Love can endure most things, but not the insult of neglect. At least, that’s one of the few things life has taught me, and I paid rather high tuition for the lesson. I give it to you for nothing.”” Then I told hima little about Don Rodriguez. ‘Of course, Paquita’s not alone now,” I added. “Her mother is with her?” Suddenly it came to me that he didn’t: know of the son she had borne him. I took him up- stairs to where the exhibit room lay dark and empty of spectators. I switched on the lights. And now Tad was standing like some startled statue face to face with Paquita and with his son. A long moment passed; then a sigh that was more than half a sob told me that Tad had come to life again. I turned with a professional air. “Good, eh? The texture——’ “Oh, confound the texture! It’s Paquita— Paquita and—a son?” The last was almost a whisper, a proud and at the same time very wistful whisper. “T think so. At least she calls him Tad.” But he had already forgotten me. So I left him standing and went to the phone. The voice that finally came over the wire had changed, it seemed to me; it was a little weary, I thought. But the spirit of the General was the same. “So you are putting your fingers in other people’s lives still?’ she accused me. ‘Yes, I'll come if you insist. But you sentimental asses do cause no end of trouble.” And in a surprisingly few moments I had bowed over her hand. Looking into her eyes Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 that seemed, like her voice, a little wearier than before, I led her to where Tad still stood rapt before the picture. For a time she looked at the painting and from the picture her eyes fell to the figure of herson. I think then for the first time it came to her that Tad was, in his own words, being torn apart. For she looked at me and nodded just once, then laid her hand on his shoulder, “You’ve been eating your heart out, boy, haven’t you?” Tad looked down into the weary eyes of the General. “I’ve got to go back, mother. You'll forgive me?” “Of course, of course.” “And she’—Tad nodded toward the paint- ing—“‘will she forgive?” “Yes, she ‘will forgive.” Those weary, un- derstandiag« eyes again sought the eyes of Paquita™® “It is the pitiful weakness of women, Tad, théyralways forgive.” Then there followed the turning of many time-tables. “One leaves in forty minutes,”’ I announced, “Stuff, Tad can’t catch that!” “But Ican. [ll get a suitcase in Chicago.” The General blinked. ‘Idiots both,” she murmured. Then a jolting taxi and misty lights through blurred windows. And then the damp lower level of the Pennsylvania Station. There wasn’t time for many words. Tad kissed her. “T’m sorry;.mother, that it’s got to be like this, and I know it’s knocked all your plans, but she’s life and love and the sunshine, and I’ve got to go.” “And after all, you can’t be responsible for your mother’s ambitions can you, Tad? And “you are responsible to your wife and son. I know. I understand.” “And you'll come and see us?” The General grimaced. ‘When you get bathtubs and paved roads in that God-for- saken country, perhaps. But better bring your little savages East some time. I’m too old now to acquire a taste for alkali and sagebrush.” Then a brief last kiss, a quick handshake, and the old General stood alone with me while the Pullman door clattered closed, and the red and green tail lights began to recede into the tunnel’s mouth. For a moment she seemed to lean more heavily against my arm, and I felt what might have been the slightest tremor. Well, she too had dreamed dreams for this boy of hers, dreams that were now vanishing be- cause of the light in the eyes of an obscure Indian girl. The old proud name was not to be carried on, the niche in the General’s world was not to be filled. And thinking of these things in that short moment while we stood watching, I seemed to understand her a little better. She looked up at me. “It seems I was wrong, and that youth does sometimes win. But only because I chose to have it so. Victories are often too costly. Yet I could have held him, my friend, even now, but—well, I wanted his happiness.” And here, perhaps, was the greatest wonder of all. For these two women had found at last common meeting-ground in sacrifice. Each gave with full hands what each one had—toa man. And no man, I caught myself thinking, is quite worth that. Yet I suppose this too is of the eternal glory that makes up a womans love. : The red and green lights were tiny jewels in the distance now, and through the roar of the station came the tired voice of the General. “You know, I am wondering if you paint that picture and came East just for this.” “Ves?” “Yes. But I'll never be sure, I suppose, whether you’re a rather wise person, of— “Or,” I finished for her, ‘a sentimental ass. Dear lady, neither shall I.” And now, even as we watched, those red and green lights were whisked into sudden darkness and only the tunnel stretched black and empty before us. I turned and helped the General up the steps ~~

Page 137

1925 rier than ood rapt ting and figure of : it a= S, nodded houlder, ut, boy, es of the . You'll i paint- ary, un- eyes of women, of many 1ounced, hicago.” th,” she through 1p lower There ssed_ her, like this, ans, but and I’ve sible for d? And son. I you get God-for- r_ bring I’m too cali and idshake, ne while | the red into the seemed 1, and I _ tremor. this boy hing be- obscure s not to ’s world of these ve stood - a little s wrong, 3ut only ries are eld him, nted his wonder ound at e. Each 1d—to a hinking, is too is yvoman’s jewels in ir of the General. paint is;= he steps: Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 153 On taste alone. Chesterfield has won the endorsement of men in every walk of life SUCH - POPULARITY +MUST-:-BE~+>DESERVED Liccerr & Myers Topacco Co

Page 138

“I’m making real money now” 6c EE that coupon? . Remember the day you S urged me to send it to Scranton? It was the best thing I ever did. “Mr. Carter called me in to-day. Said he’d been watching my work for some time—ever since he learned I was studying with the Inter- national Correspondence Schools. “Then he asked me if I thought I could take over Bill Stevens’ job. I told him I was sure that I could—that I had had that goal in view ever since I started my I. C. S. course. “I start to-morrow, Mary, at an increase of $60 a month. It’s wonderful how sparé-time study helps a man to get ahead. FoR thirty-four years, the I. C. S. has been helping men to win promotion, to earn more money, to get ahead in business and in life. You, too, can have the position you want in the work you like best. Yes, you can. All we ask is the chance to prove it. Without cost, without obligation, just mark and mail this coupon. INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS Box 2564-B, Scranton, Penna. Oldest and largest correspondence schoools in the world Without cost, please tell me how I can qualify for the position or in the subject before which I have marked an X: BUSINESS TRAINING COURSES (Business Management (O)Salesmanship CilIndustrial Management OD Advertising (Personnel Organization CiBetter Letters DO) Traffic Management LJShow Card Lettering OBusiness Law LiStenography and Typing (Banking and Banking Law CiBusiness English ( Accountancy (including C.P.A.)L) Civil Service (Nicholson Cost Accounting Railway Mail Clerk CL Bookkeeping Common School Subjects (J Private Secretary High School Subjects O Spanish 0 French Tilustrating Architects’ Blueprints Contractor and Builder Architectural Draftsman Concrete Builder Structural Engineer Chemistry (© Pharmacy Automobile Work Airplane Engines Agriculture and Poultry Mathematics (0 Mechanical Draftsman [L)Machine Shop Practice DC Railroad Positions (Gas Engine Operating (J Civil Engineer Surveying and Mapping Metallurgy ining Steam Engineering (J Radio Name.. cndbictvniblabangnespans cia Street 6-26-25 Address...... City... Occupation.......... sola : nesaee piasatisssuiceeuenbengieient If you reside in Canada, send this coupon to the Interna- tional Correspondence Schools Canadian Limited, Montreal B INSTRUMENTS WORLD $ LARGEST MANUFACTURERS EASIER playing qualities of Conn instruments, the result of exclusive Conn proce esses, speed your progress, give profit of.personally played music. Used and endorsed by the world’s greatest artists. mentsonany instrument for baudor orchestra. Send today for catalogs and details; mention instrument. ' Cc. G. CONN, Ltd. 1011Conn Bidg., Elkhart, Ind. ROBERT E CLARK Trombone Soloist U.S. Marine Band uses a Conn, you quickly the pleasure and | FREE TRIAL: 275 myself again. Happy for the first time since my good luck. Ach, what a heart-filling thing is work! In poverty or wealth, work has been to me the one escape from the storms of the soul within or the struggles with the world without. | At luncheon time I met the “eminent auth- | ors” that were working about the lot—Rupert Hughes, Gertrude Atherton, Leroy Scott, Alice Duer Miller, Gouverneur Morris and many others. What a thrilliag experience it was to see them for the first time face to face, to talk to them as they were eating luncheon, just as if they were plain human beings! One of the “eminent authors” invited me to dinner at his house that evening. Such things as dinner clothes or evening clothes never came into my mind. It seemed to me even if I had such fancy things I’d never know how to wear them. I stayed around the lot that afternoon, visiting the different sets. Before I knew it, it was time to go. y Again the company’s limousine drove me to the place. -A grave, dignified butler opened the door for me. Through the hall beyond I saw ladies almost half naked, in what seemed to me dressy, gay-colored night-gowns, and all the men in wedding suits. “So these are evening clothes!’’ I pondered. I wanted to rush back to my hotel, but my host saw me as he passed the hall and hastened over to welcome me. “T might as well stay and see how ‘eminent authors’ dine,” I thought. ‘How do they be- have themselves at a party, these shining lights of the world?” Up-stairs, a fancy maid in a black uniform helped me take off my things. She gave me one look that said as plain as words, “From where do you come? You here—among ‘eminent authors’?” But the “eminent authors” themselves were such lively, plain people. They greeted me with such natural friendliness that I almost forgot I was different. Cocktails were served. And then we seated ourselves about the table. Such a millionaire wedding feast! And that’s what “eminent authors” called just dinner. Four butlers were busy waiting on a dozen guests. Champagne—it would be impossible to count the bottles. As one rich dish after another was served, I thought of the people in Hester Street, starving, thrown in the street for unpaid rent. The cost of the champagne for that one dinner would be enough to feed a whole tenement house full of people . . . I remembered the picture of Nero fiddling before the fall of Rome. I had touched the two ex- tremes of life—Hester Street—Hollywood. At first there was a lot of educated talk about literature, art, Freud and other high things over my head. Then, warmed by the champagne, they began to talk about other authors. I felt happy just as if I were among my own people in Hester Street. Of course they didn’t yell and holler or get excited like the people in Hester Street. They sat quite still in their chairs—ladies and gentlemen. But by the tones in their voices, the looks in their eyes, I saw again the tenants sitting on the stoop, tearing their neighbors to pieces behind their backs. These two “eminent” evening gowns were like those two girls with uncombed hair and flashing eyes fighting over some man. And | that grand author lady, so proud of her best- | selling books, made me think of that frowzy herring woman with a shawl over her head, nodding and talking behind her hand what was cooking in the neighbors’ pots. In the morning, still elated with the gay party of the night before, I awoke to the delicious feel of my soft, smooth bed. Such fresh, clean-smelling sheets! Warm wool blankets finer than silk. Fresh air and sun- shine flooded my room. How far away was that dark hole in the tenements whence I came—six lodgers on one hard mattress on the floor, and the landlady Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 What $10,000 Did to Me (Continued from page 41) with all her children in that narrow be At the push of a button, a Japanese mai brought me my breakfast on a silver tr Hot-house grapes—great purple ones, big as plums they looked to me. And the smell of that coffee in that silver pitcher and the fresh, buttered toast! I laughed aloud at myself—crazy from Hester Street! You playing lady? Yq breakfasting in bed? You served on a silver tray? . . . Well, I’m only finding out how it feels. I’m only doing it for experience, The limousine called to take me to my office, I felt so fine, so in love with the whole world as I relaxed against the cushions of the car. How much more comfortable than the crowded trolley! Would I ever be able to stand the elevated or subway after this? My secretary was waiting for me as usual, | greeted her gaily. “Don’t you love it out here?”’ I laughed. “Love it! When they don’t pay me enough tolive?” Then she poured out to me her bitter story. “In my home town in Iowa I got thirty-five a week. But I was crazy to work with the movies. I left a good job to come And all they pay is twenty-five dollars a Week. T asked for a raise of five dollars. They. refused it. It’s impossible to get along on my wag But a lot they care. It’s take it or leave it wi them. A dozen girls are ready to step into my jo ie At every word my spirits sank. The joy over my good luck was over. In the next few days I met other stenographers, clerks, reader, stage hands. So many. were horribly under paid. The “eminent authors,” the screen star, the directors got fortunes for their work; the others drudged from morning till night for less than their bread. Like a ghost at a feast, my secretary, and behind her the whole army of under-dogs at the studio, rose up before me every time I stepped into the limousine. me at my hotel. I could stand it no longer. At the end of the week I went to the president of the company. “T’m so miserable in this grand hotel,” I said. “What? Aren’t you comfortable?” “T’m too comfortable—so comfortable—it makes me nervous. I’ve got to live plain like I’m used to. How much does it cost the com- pany to keep me here?” “About two hundred a week.” “Good heavens!” I cried. ‘Seven families with a dozen children each could live on that sum. Give me that money. I can live likea queen on fifty a week.” I left Hollywood a few months later, a tortured soul with a bank account. I had the money now to live securely for a few years. Security buys peace of mind to develop a soul. And here I was losing the very soul that my security was giving me. For now I was 4 capitalist—one of the class that I hated. The moving picture company saw in my sudden fortune a good human interest story for the papers, to advertise “Hungry Hearts throughout the country without cost. And|, new to the game of publicity, gave out one interview after another. And every interview was twisted and distorted. Soon the ten thousand dollars for the picture rights “Hungry Hearts” grew to twenty-five thousand. The two hundred a week I was paid while assisting on the scenario became two thousand. And then from lips to lips it leaped to ten thousand a week. Such were some of the head- lines in the ghetto papers—‘“‘From Want to Wealth—From Hester Street to Hollywood. People who have been always comforta can’t know what it means to come into sudden wealth. My mail was full of begging letters. Poor relatives besieged me for money. my conscience told me that if I were true tomy soul I’d give all. I had hated the rich because they kept their wealth and refused to sharett with the rest of the world. But how was! begin to share? There was no peace for

Page 139

r, 1925 ge 41) LTTOW bed! anese maid silver tray, nes, big as he smell of 1 the fresh, Tazy from dy? You On a silver & out how rience, > my office, le world as Car. How € crowded stand the 1S usual, | 2ughed, me en e her bitter owa I got ZY to work come here, so ney: refused my ave itt ep into my he joy over t few days s, Teaders, bly under- Teen stars, work; the tht for less etary, and dogs at the > I stepped peace for end of the company. el,” Isaid. D9? ortable—it - plain like t the com- n families ve on that live like a s later, a T had the few yeals. lop a soul. ] that my I was a ited. aw in my t story for - Hearts” t. And i interview | the ten rights of thousand. aid while thousand. ed to ten ‘the head- ceaeemeninmeiaes wt A Hearst’s International-—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 ] NASH Leads the World in Motor Car Value f~3) ? ee i ao Picturing the New Special Six 4-Door Sedan Again, in this new 4-door Sedan Nash re- sourcefulness in creating motor car styles of extreme distinction has produced a | body of magnificent charm. Modeled with superb art, and swung very low, it presents an unique appearance of length and lowness never attained before save in costly cars of far greater wheelbase. The new French type roof line, exclusive to Nash in this country, has a low-curving , forward sweep that contributes decisively Li to the long, low effect. i Be And the new body moulding swinging clear the Times Without around the body and extending to the aia Si radiator shell adds measurably to the custom-built look of the car. As standard equipment at no extra cost are included 4-wheel brakes of special Nash design, full balloon tires, and five disc wheels.

Page 140

TRY THIS PEN-LURING PAPER bs gecrts pen glides smoothly over Old Hampshire Vellum. Whether chatty note or courtly letter, this virile, finely textured sheet lends facility to penmanship, a subtle tone of fitness to important correspondence. Old Hampshire Vellum comes in modish sizes for professional and semi-business use. Five two- cent stamps bring a sample packet to your desk. HAMPSHIRE PAPER COMPANY Fine Stationery Department A South Hadley Falls, Mass. GT Gamackive Siationery Made in three distinctive finishes VELLUM Bporod Tha Round BUerado mikes drietotuen Qasr, Pocausea sts food 12 2mGoR and $eeanse it atands URAL fAdssuns. Buys, Ing J ork por' BOND LAWN CR No. 190-HB (soft) The round DIXON'S ELporaDO ~the master shorthand pencil JOSEPH DIXON CRUCIBLE CO. Dept. 201-J No. 190-F (firm) No. 190-2B (very soft) Jersey City, N. J. Ten thousand dollars seemed a fairy tale when I was starving poor, but a few months at Hollywood had so changed me that it did not seem much now. Just about enough to keep me till I wrote my next book. As the demands for money became more in- sistent, I grew resentful. “I’ve slaved and starved and risked all to write something real. I’ve earned what I’ve got. What right have they to it? Let them produce ‘Hungry Hearts.’ Let them suffer and agonize for every little word as I suffered and agonized.” The more I tried to make myself feel right, the more uneasy I was. My self-defense turned in upon me like an accusation. I knew the pain of the unjustly condemned and the guilt of those who had committed a crime. To end the turmoil and confusion of my soul, I took a trip to Europe. As I traveled from city to city and saw the crooked little alleys where the poor huddled on top of each other worse than in Hester Street, I wanted to atone for the luxury of my trip by going back | steerage. | I had come steerage to America twenty | years ago. Why should I not be able to return the same way? I felt that only by going back to my own people could I hope to regain my the treatment of minors. I joined right in with my frog baritone, merely to prove that I knew the song. Then I started in to blow about knowing the opera from one end to the other and Golden said that he always liked Katisha’s song which begins: Hearts do not break, They sting and ache. I could not go along with him. He had picked out the one number which is really grand opera and which had always eluded me after I had hummed about two inches of it. I was shown up and humiliated. After that I proved that I knew “‘Tit-Willow” and “The Criminal Cried’ and all the verses about flowers blooming in the spring and the punish- |ment fitting the crime and the cheap and | chippy chopper on the big black block, but it | was no use. Finally Mrs. Golden said that John once sang ‘Nanki-Poo” on the profes- sional stage, but that didn’t heal any wounds for me. If you are going to be a real Gilbert |and Sullivan devotee you should remember | everything sung by Katisha. Speaking of happy evenings in the theater while I was an undergraduate, I want to go into the finances of my reckless adventuring. This paragraph is dedicated to a friend who has a son attending an Eastern university—and burning an expensive brand of midnight oil on what is known as the ‘‘Gold Coast.”’ The boy has a man-servant to “do” for him and keeps | two cars in commission. When one car gets too hot he hops into another one. Last year his expenses were $5,000, Back in the eighties that sum would have sent five young fellows all the way through Purdue for the regular four-year course. We paid fifty cents a week for our dormitory rooms. Board was $2.50 a week if you wanted to be an aristocrat and eat at the Dining Hall, but, if you decided to economize, you could join a club which prorated the expense and manage to subsist on a trifle under two dollars a week. | Which does not compare with the miracle then | being performed up at the Valparaiso Normal | School, where they bought oatmeal and dried | fruit by the trainload and fed the students at | an average weekly rate of $1.65, or ten cents | less than one order of Astrakhan caviar at the | Ritz. We were a little more prodigal when we sallied forth for a gay night at the playhouse. We walked over to town because trolley cars were still in the future tense. Our seats were in the second gallery and cost twenty-five cents each. After the performance we went Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 lost soul—my soul that I had lost with my sudden good luck. I stood it one day only, in the steerage, The dingy, crowded, smelly berths, the coarse food, the thick, ugly dishes and the lack of table service that had become a necessity tg me. I realized that you can’t be an immigrant twice. When I returned to New York, I moved boldly into a hotel on Fifth Avenue. ’ I didn’t have time now to hate the rich, | had to use my energies to make myself a better writer, to keep up with the cost of my new standards of living. Here I came in contact. with other capitalists, other conspirators of wealth. I discovered they were not ogres, heartless oppressors of the poor. They were as human as other folks. Now, as I sit alone in my room, watching the wonder of the sunset, I look back and see how happy I ought to have been when I was starving poor, but one of my own people. Now I am cut off by my own for acquiring the few things I have. And those new people with whom I dine and to whom I talk, I do not belong to them. I am alone because I left my own world. OKOS The Good Old Days (Continued from page 59) to the Globe Chop House, where, for fifteen cents, one might get a small steak resembling a warped ear-muff, a boiled potato, bread and butter and coffee. After we had supped at our leisure and turned in our verdict on the play and the players, each one bought and lighted a fragrant five-cent cigar and then the jovial company went trooping across the levee assert- ing in song that we had been working on the railroad all the livelong day, which was far from the truth. You can figure it up for yourself: Theater $.25 Supper to Cigar 05 Total $.45 And we got everything in the way of intel- lectual uplift and bodily nourishment and social enjoyment that can be had now for twenty times that sum. I went to every “show”—when I had the money. All my life I have been just as unable to resist the wiles of the theater as a mouse is weak in the presence of cheese. It was settled from the beginning, although I protested with loud mock-modesty that I harbored no am- bitions, that some day I would try to write a play. Glen MacDonough used to say that every critic walked down the center aisle with a phantom manuscript under his arm, and all during the performance compared the sorry proceedings on the stage with the dramatic intensities and the sparkling dialog of the un- produced and unwritten masterpiece which he was holding in his lap. Consequently he was prone to write from the standpoint of a dis- appointed Sardou. : Every man who writes and holds his job is either a playwright or a to-be or a might-have- been. What’s more, millions of people who can’t spell “it” think they are dramatists. A certain form of tooth trouble gets four out of five. Writing plays gets five out of six. I might have known that I couldn’t hang around theaters year after year without getting the virus into every part of my system. As soon as I adjusted myself to a berth ona city newspaper I made friends with the dra- matic critic and offered to help him, and soon I had “passes” in the upper vest pocket and could nod pleasantly to several door men an walk right in. I began to meet stage celebrities and producing managers and those over confident friends who asked “Why don’t you? The story of my abject surrender and complete fall will be reserved for another chapter.

Page 141

, 1925 with Thy Steerage, he coarse e lack of “essity to mmigrant I moved e rich. | f a better my new Nn contact. irators of ot ogres, "y were as ‘ching the see how on I was ple. Now g the few ople with I do not T left my for fifteen esembling bread and ded at our | the play id lighted the jovial vee assert- ng on the h was far y of intel- ment and | now for I had the as unable 4 mouse is vas settled ested with d no am- to write a say that aisle with m, and all the sorry dramatic of the un- . which he tly he was of a dis- his job is ight-have- eople who atists. A our out of of six. ng around etting the berth on 4 h the dra- , and soon ocket and r men an celebrities ose over- on’t you?” 1 complete ter. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 157 KELLY BALLOO P=» dls A TRUE LOW PRESSURE TIRE WITH KELLY MILEAGE BUILT INTO IT." °° THERE IN ELEVEN WORDS IS THE WHOLE STORY OF ‘THE BEST TIRE KELLY EVE R BUILT

Page 142

158 Established ae Philadelphia CONFIDENCE The name of this Establishment in connection with Jewels, Watches, Clocks, Silver, China, Glass is an assurance of quality and value received The Gift Suggestion Book or The Diamond Book mailed upon request IMPORTED ENGLISH HAND-MADE CORRESPONDENCE PAPER Twenty-four sheets and envelopes mailed upon receipt of one dollar to introduce this splendid paper For All The Family SHAKELESS SALT AND PEPPER Air tight and always dry. Press top and salt or pep- per is released from the wag ET om sticks. Made of silver, heavily plated. No. 5037, $1.50 a pair. Cheese Plate of iridescent glass, daintily decorated with floral design. Cheese knife with pear] handle also decorated. A lovely, useful little gift on, the woman who likes nice things ‘in her home, No. 50. “Care Guide— Send for a free copy and do your Christ- mas shop- ping comfort- ably at home. We Teach COMMERCIAL ART Meyer Both Company, maintaining the most widely known Commercial Art Studios in the World, offers you a practical training based upon 25 years’ success in produc- ing over a quarter million drawings for leading advertisers. This attractive profession equally open to mer and women. Home study in- struction. Get Facts Before You Enroll in Any School Send 4c in stamps for illustrated book telling of the success of our students. MEYER BOTH COMPANY, Dept. 94 Michigan Ave. at 20th St. CHICAGO, ILL. | ought to do—continue a losing fight. | let’s settle it, Jim.” Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 The Hutchins Divorce (Continued from page 7 3) said: “You quit worrying, Doris. I know | what you’re thinking—that because of what’s happened—we ought to make another try at it, see if it wouldn’t go. Life isn’t that way, my dear. Too bad it isn’t, but—well, what can we do about it?” That was the worst of it. She and Jim had adored each other; now he had risked his life for her, and yet her only feeling toward him was of pitying gratitude. Not a spark of pas- sion, not a glimmer of the old love. And his calm voice, more than his words, told her that he felt the same. Nature, the great beneficent god Nature, was a brutal beast. He led people together for his own ends, then tore them apart without compunction. She did her duty; she took Junior to see Jim every day, and she tried to be merry, gay, to interest him. For Jim needed entertain- ment, old Hamells told her. His magnificent physique was not responding to treatment. The burns were healing, but Jim was dying. That was the brutal truth with which he finally confronted Doris. “Dying? Jim?” She couldn’t believe the incredible. “Unless a blood transfusion operation is successful——”’ “When do we try that?” she asked. “We? ‘You mean you?” asked Hamells. “T’m healthy, in as perfect condition as anyone you'll find,” said Doris. “If he gave his life for me—tried to give it—I guess I can give some of my blood to him.” Hamells, in his soul, was more than a doctor; he was a bit of a psychologist. If Jim Hutchins knew that his wife was giving her very blood for-him, he would fight harder for his life. And in these operations, the will to live is half the battle. He consented. Weak, fainting, exhausted beyond belief, Doris Hutchins left the operating room with Hamells’s words ringing in her ears. Jim would live. The blood: from her veins had been poured into his own. Truly, these twain were of one flesh, of one blood. They had been united as folk were united in early marriage when the race was young, united as Indians form the bond of blood-brotherhood. And yet, one night after Jim had come home, they sat together after dinner, and Doris brought up the subject that had not been mentioned for some weeks. “Jim, it’s about time we got back to the details of our—our diverce, isn’t it?” Over Jim’s face flashed a look of gratification. He tried instantly to hide it, but she saw it. “You didn’t suppose, did you, that I was going to make a fuss about—everything—or anything?” she demanded. He twisted uneasily. ‘Darn it, Doris— you’re such a trump. You saved my life.” “You saved mine,” she countered. “We both saved Junior,”’ he retorted. She sighed. “We ought to settle down to- gether, but—well, let’s be brutally frank once more. It’s the only safety for us, our only hope. Has your love for me revived?. You don’t need to answer. Your face tells me. And I’m the same. Thank heaven, we can be honest, even if we can’t do what ninety-nine out of every hundred people would think we Well, The Hutchins divorce was more than a scan- dal; it was a shocking tragedy, their friends and even the public felt. Here were a young, popular, well-to-do couple. The husband was a rising architect; the wife was a woman whose looks alone would have brought her distinc- tion, but who added to her beauty a charm, a manner, that made her eagerly sought after. If this couple could not weather the gales of matrimony, then what couple could? They had shown a willingness to die for their child, to die for each other. Their joint gallantry was of newspaper record, and their divorce could not fail to achieve a tremendous publicity. Special articles and editorials were written about them; ministers fulminated from their pulpits. A state senator. introduced a bill prohibiting divorce. Oddly, though, none of those who con- demned seemed inspired by bitterness. They were sorrowful as though their pity had been touched. For the events of the fire and that which had followed it had touched the public imagination and aroused its generous in- stincts. The Hutchins divorce became more than a bit of scandal; it was a direct assault upon the foundations of society. Even the judge who granted the divorce “pleaded with them to become reconciled—in vain. As Doris said to her mother: “It isn’t that Jim bores me, or that I dislike him. If we even needed each other . . . No, Ff wouldn't leave Jim for Bert Maillard. But I’d already left Jim when I met Bert. In effect I’d left him, % Or as Jim said to a brother: “‘No use my trying to explain, old man. Doris is every- thing she ought to be. A peach, anda charmer, and I know that Laura Waring isn’t. in her class. But I don’t love her, and that’s all there is to it. Why should we four-flush the world when we don’t fool each other? We each have a right to try for happiness. Maybe she’ll find it, maybe I will. Maybe neither of us will; but we've a right to make the effort.” And, after all, you can’t argue very much with a man or woman who is bent on divorce. Adults are supposed to know what they want in matters that affect their whole future. As for Junior, who didn’t understand it at all, and thought that his daddy was the finest man in the world, and that his mummy was the most beautiful and gentle woman in the world, he could do nothing, except pitifully wonder. Jim had him, by the court’s order, half the time; but Jim let Doris keep the child. Al- though he called two or three times a week. For he loved his baby. Cccasionally Doris met her husband when he came to take Junior for a ride. And she poured him tea and chatted pleasantly with him, and they were perfectly polite and even cordial. “Funny,” said Jim one day, “I enjoy you more than I used to, Doris.” She colored. “Same here with you, old thing. But itisn’tfunny. You see, Jim, we’re both nice folks. It was just—well, we had to see each other—all the time. You can stand a friend, but not too much of him—or her. I'll wager there are thousands of married people who are friends, but lovers no longer. And they can’t stand giving the intimacy of a lover to one who is only a friend. One tires of a too insistent friend. Oh, well, what’s the use? Come soon again, won’t you?” They shook hands warmly. “You're an ace,” Jim told her. “You're all four of them,’’ she laughed. And then, one night, Doris telephoned Jim’s apartment. He wasn’t in, but she found him at Laura’s home. “Junior’s pretty ill,” she said. Her frightened voice told him everything; he left without his hat and coat, couldn’t find a taxi, and ran all the way to Doris’s apartment. That deadly flu which raged last winter had reached out its filthy hands and touched the body of Junior. The child didn’t have a chance, hadn’t had a chance from the first. Hamells and a couple of specialists did their best, but what is man’s best when Nature has decided to do his worst? The flu just took that baby boy and squeezed the life right out of him, right in front of his mother and father, with all the refined brutality of which Nature is capable. Jim Hutchins found himself out on the street. A policeman touched him. “‘Where’s your hat and coat?” he asked suspiciously. h, my God, my baby’s dead!” said Jim. “Then go to your woman,” said the big cop. ‘Don’t you suppose she’s after needin’ you the night?” He

Page 143

1925 Written m. their l a bill ho con- - They ad acs nd that > public ous in- ie More assault ren the od with 1’t that If we ouldn’t already t him,” Ise my every- armer, in her ll there - world h have "Il find s will; much ivorce, ’ want e. | it at finest as the world, onder, lf the , fe week, en he oured , and ial. - you old we're id to tand ee ople And over . too use? ce,” 7 ’ him 159 ; : y - 25 Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 aaa oe ) your severe ¢ai/leur a bril- C a \ Ser are tlowers 3 to mann | / \ her costume and her mood / / \ Pe \ or formal wear there’s an / elaborate corsage or fra- ? XN grant arm bouquet to give * thefinal, perfect touch. For liant little boutonniere. For dinner or sports, for Avenue or tea at home— SEND MOTHER FLOWERS BIRTHDAY

Page 144

160 Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 Hea a “But,” said Jim, “we’re divorced! We— ny —why, we’re not in love with each other.” be The cop frowned at him. ‘Who said you weren’t?”’ &. O j i E G EK In her apartment, Doris asked for Jim. “He went out,” said Hamells. “Find him!” cried Doris. ‘Find him—now! He’ll need me, and—oh, how I need him!” They found Jim on the front steps, about to L, VO U COU 0 V/s AY ring the bell for the night porter to let him in. ee e@ He disdained the elevater and ran up to his wife. He burst in upon her. “Doris, I’ve been mad. P m crazy about you. I love you. I adore you.’ “Jim, what fools we’ve been! I didn’t know . You see, love isn’t dead while you can’t stand the thought of pain to the-ene with whom you’ve mated. And Nature, brutal, cynical Nature, knows this. He gives you children to keep you together; if that doesn’t work, he takes the children away. Now how do you like that, my dears? he asks. $90 SI Such a Mother! (Continued from page 49)

more will-power,” Gittelman said unfeelingly. “You can get thin without it. Furthermore, Yetta, I got it on good authority, y ’under- stand, that practically every Monday morning you’re seen not only coming out of the savings bank, but you ain’t above buying once in a while a good second mortgage if the bonus is cight.”’ It was at this juncture that Yetta almost ruined her reputation with Noblestone as a performer of mother réles by giving way to an indignation so ~-iolent in its character that Mrs. Siddons or Charlotte Cushman herself could not have managed it without risk of apoplexy. However, Bleistift was far beyond the stage where anything Yetta might do would affect his judgment about hiring her as his mother, and when at length she passed from violent indignation to a pathetic resignation, char- acterized by irregular sobs of what to Bleistift were of the most heart-breaking intensity, he could not resist patting her well rounded shoulders by way of consolation.

investments in good bonds durin e€ growing years “Now listen, Miss Saranov,”’ he said, “you’ ROWING good bonds during the g gy Now listen, Miss Saranov,” he said, “you'll of your boy or girl will provide the needed funds for college days. reagel & snipers sales sd 2 Pei gets Bond investments, with interest reinvested, grow surprisingly ‘over a we want you Peg ak period of years. ; ee oon b Spy reo Bleistift re : - ‘ iquid glance of her large brown eyes, to whic We shall be glad to help you lay outa far-sighted investment program, Bape a ah Boge < ws slight pressure and to recommend bonds that will strengthen it. Our offices i in 50 upon the palm of Bleistift’s right hand. “T don’t know what it is,” she murmured, ‘but whatever you want from me, I’ll do my best.” Here her voice grew much stronger. THE N AT IONAL CITY COMPANY “And no matter what this knocker tells you,” National City Bank Building, New York | she continued, nodding at Gittelman, ‘f it’s leading cities are ready to help you. a mother part, T’'ll eat it up.’ “Well, you’ve got to eat something up and take on ‘anyhow thirty pounds if you want to play mothers in this theayter, I’ll tell you BONDS - SHORT TERM NOTES . ACCEPTANCES that,” Gittelman said, and ten minutes later by way of beginning her new diet, Yetta me Saranov sat eating mohn-kuchen up and drink- ing coffee in the Café de la Paix on lower J 0, COS ad T Bi: SA Vi 1/) AY Second Avenue, while Noblestone and Bleistift Tu O yp Cit explained to her the lines and business of the role they expected her to perform for Mr. Fine’s benefit the following afternoon. There for half an hour Yetta munched and nodded sympathetically, occasionally patting

Jewelry of exquisite design and master workmanship priced pace ss low! An unusual opportunity for the woman who appreciates beauty, fine quality and good value! steed Indestructibl eer ; : 24 - inch P earls oan, 14k ond Indestrnctible: Only $295 Bleistift’s hand to reassure him that she was S41. Lovely 24” Necklace of perfectly matched, graduated, coca French mad fast becoming letter-perfect in her part, and to pearls in rich, , Semaaey pre, 14K white Gold clasp. Money refunded if pind ig Ws Renney Mery this every hand pat Bleistift thrilled in a most un- pemepebe igen Mate we ei as GE pyran filial fashion. His feelings were not even fra- Genuine Diamond $ 50 FREE Ht Bock & owing ternal, and by the time most of the details of Cluster Ring site gift suggestions for every their intrigue had been decided upon, he was $43. 7 genuine full cut, blue-white, brilliant Diamonds | Occasion, All exceptional va responding to Yetta’s maternal advances with attractively mounted in hand-engraved 18K WhiteGold | ues. A wonderful guide for the Ring. Money refunded if you can duplicate this ing selection of Xmas gifts. Send little hand pats of his own. Once ig ome elsewhere for less than $60. Our special price for your copy today, held her hand for so long a time that Noble- BARD - NORTH COMPANY. we Broad Street, Previdenee, R. I. | stone felt constrained to interfere in the matter.

| “Of course, Bleistift,” he said, “you will un- | derstand that while Miss Saranov is acting a

Page 145

srotoliten fer October, 1925 a _— ~~ VICTOR and BRUNSWICK adiola AN RCA PRODUCT ~~ Radiola Super-Heterodyne, the most famous of Radiolas.W ith thenew bower Radiotron as its . to be combined with phono- lol Two great manulacturers —working independently and competitively—set out to find the radio receiver worthy graphs that havea world-wide fame to uphold. They had every known kind and variety of radio set to choose from. They had every facility for research, test and exhaustive study. And they had a firm determination to -combine with the Brunswick phonograph and the Victrola only that radio set which proved to be the leader today and which carried full prom- ise of holding that leadership through the years of tomor- row. Both chose the Radiola. sixth tube, it achieves new volume of toneand finer tone quality than ever. CHICAGO ~- NEW YORK ~ SAN FRANCISCO RADIO CORPORATION OF AMERICA Bi

Page 146

EAR $1200 ver! ot va Combination Electric Cooker, Fireless Cooker, Thermal Jug, Ice Cream Freezer. and Food Container, ALL IN ONE Inexpensive Outfit Makes Cooking a Joy TTACH to any light socket. Cooks per- fectly. Uses no more current than a toaster. Roasts, bakes, steams, stews and boils. With- out current it freezes ice cream. _Keeps food hot or cold. Fime for apartments. Just the thing for women employed away from home. Thousands of enthusiastic users. Learn the pleasure and con- venience of lamp socket cooking this new, easy low-priced way. Have more delicious food. Profit Is Sacrificed To introduce Everhot electric cooking to as many homes as possible, we have priced the Everhot jr. at the very minimum. See it at electrical, hard- ware or department stores. If your dealer is not supplied order direct from us. Everhot jr. price complete with two heavy alumi- num cooking utensils, lifting tongs, six feet of heavy heater cord, two plugs and full directions for use, only $10, (far West $12). Larger models $39 and $57.50 (Higher in the West)—Booklet free. The Swartzbaugh Mfg. Co g. Co. -1508 Bancroft St. Toledo, Ohio (Formerly The Toledo ooker Co.) Mfrs. of cooking ap- - pliances since 1884 Sent for Balance ineasy “SX Eeetstade tes famous JDEBAKER Insured Watch 60 Different Art Beauty Cases. 8 Ad- Chain Given pat yrcne bins pears ree Book Studebaker Advance Watch Watch, Fim °o er. Styles and £1.00 do r. Watch Co., Dept. W72 South Bend, Indiana NEW VEST POCKET DDING MACHINE ADDS - SUBTRACTS MULTIPLIES - DIVIDES Does all the work of a $300.00 machine, yet fits che eae Docmet, Easy te operate —does any kind of figuring in a jiffy. t neatest = best constructed le adding machine made. Counts Clear Up to 999,999,999 Total visible at all times. A pull of the finger clears it. Invaluable to anyone who uses figures. Saves many times its cost by preventing mistakes. aid. Pa: tman on delivery $2.95. i TO days to prove it does all we claim. Your money backif not perfectly satisfied.Don’t be fooled by cheap imitations. Order your Ve-Po-Ad now from this ad. = Reliable Adding Machine Corp., Dept.357 184 W. Washington St., Chicago, Ill. Here's a money er. rybody wants one. Splendid profit. Write for special offer. mother, you’ve got to be a son, y’understand, and behave as such.” Yetta gently withdrew her hand from Bleis- tift’s grasp. ‘‘I’ll coach him,” she said. “I'll give him plenty of pointers how a son should ought to behave, and there is one thing which I want to mention right here and now.” Once more she flashed on Bleistift a tender glance, but it was only for the purpose of softening what was to follow. “It’s bad enough in a regular show that when things don’t go right the opening night, the manager is out what it costs him to put on the show, y’understand,” she began, “‘but if this here show flops which we are putting on, then right away you are out twenty thousand dollars, ain’t it?” Noblestone nodded sadly. At that moment ten dollars would have bought his ten percent interest in his leading man, who was gazing upon Miss Saranov with such lover-like in- tensity, that in ordinary circumstances she would have insisted upon his being replaced by a more competent actor. However, Miss Sara- nov herself was beginning to lose the spirit of her part, and to experience sensations which were not precisely maternal. “So therefore,” Yetta continued with an effort, “I want to say this to you, Mr. Bleistift: | it ain’t enough that I should act this part and 'that you should act up to me, y’understand. | It’s also necessary that we should dress it right. | Now me, for instance. I would wear my regu- lar Mrs. Gubin make-up, only I would tone it down because I take it they ain’t going to have |no baby spots in that bank where we pull this | off.” She paused and cleared her throat. “And you, Mr. Bleistift,’ she. went on, |“you’ve also got to dress the part.” She | narrowed her eyes and pretended to survey | him critically. “Now I would say that you | should ought to wear a plain business suit in a | blue serge, cut conservative,” she said, “with | a plain blue tie, black socks, a soft white shirt; | and,” she added with an unconscious gesture |of her right hand, “for heaven’s sake, get a |shampoo and brush your hair like a human | being—I mean a businessman.” | He looked so crestfallen that she was again | obliged to pat his hand. “You don’t mind my saying them things?” jshe said. “It’s only because I have the in- |terests of the show at heart. The kind of | mother I put over don’t call for no fashionable |son. The idea is that he is dressing to make ja hit with me and not with women much | younger than me—or anyhow much younger |than I am supposed to be.” | The result of this conversation was that on | the following afternoon at a quarter to three, two people entered the severely Doric portals | of the Kosciusko Bank—two people so different | from the couple who had taken coffee with him the previous afternoon that Noblestone, who had arrived before, failed to recognize either. One of them was a woman slightly past middle life, becomingly attired in a lace shawl of a quiet design and a demure black hat; the other, obviously her son, wore a plain blue serge suit, and when he removed a black derby hat, his hair was soft and wavy, parted on one side and brushed carelessly back from a wide | high forehead. It may also be said in passing that his shoes were dark tan throughout and disclosed black socks that were not even silk. “Good afternoon, Mr. Noblestone,” the mother said in a voice which precisely matched the lace shawl and demure hat. It was low- pitched and gentle, and so completely baffled Noblestone that she was obliged to rouse him into action with a most ungentle wink of her | right eye. “Qh! How do you do, Mrs. Bleistift!”’ Noblestone cried. ‘And Mr. Bleistift.” He waved them into Marcus Fine’s private office, where Fine himself drew forward his most comfortable padded chair and carefully assisted her to sink into it. “Mr. Fine,” Noblestone announced, “this | here is the party I spoke to you about by the / name of Bleistift.” Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 Fine shook hands with Bleistift, who was modest in his demeanor that Yetta began to feel the scene was sagging a little. “And this,” Noblestone continued, “is his mother, Mrs. Bleistift.” If, however, Yetta had any misgivings about how the show was going, she lost them entirely when Fine took her extended hand. Almost reverently he exerted a gentle pressure. Ip fact his instinct was to kiss the tips of her fingers as though she had been royalty itself but fortunately for Bleistift and Noblestone he refrained from doing so and therefore failed to detect the one blemish in Yetta’s make-up. Her nails were carefully manicured and showed no such traces of cooking and housework as characterized the finger-tips of her model Mrs. Gubin. “Mr. Noblestone told me a lot about you,” Fine said, “and I must say your son looks a credit to you.” “T done my best,” Yetta replied. “Which I promised my poor husband that I would bring the boy up he should be a good business- man and a merchant the same like he was himself, and I think I done so.” “His financial statements will show all that,” Noblestone said hurriedly. He felt that Vetta was treading on dangerous ground. “He’s got them statements. with him.” Bleistift immediately handed them to Fine, who for the moment became once more a typical chairman of a loan and discount com- mittee with a face of the latest steel con- struction throughout, as expressionless as the round door of a burglar-proof safe deposit vault with the time lock set. “These statements,” Fine said after a trying five minutes had elapsed, “‘if true, are ex- tremely satisfactory.” He laid them on his desk and smiled at Yetta. “And all I can say is,” he continued, “that with such a mother, I don’t believe a businessman would take a chance on making them if they wasn’t true.” “Even without such a mother, I wouldn’t take the chance,” Bleistift said so positively that Yetta almost shook her head and frowned, for this last line was not in Bleistift’s part as agreed upon in advance. Neither was Fine’s rejoinder. “And without such a mother as you’ve got, Bleistift,” he said severely, “I wouldn’t take a chance with the bank’s money neither, so it’s a stand-off.” He turned again to Yetta and his manner became more gracious. ‘You see, Mrs. Bleistift,”’ he explained, ‘‘your son ain’t as yet a depositor in our bank, and if I would buy his paper, naturally I’ve got to make some further investigations.” He cleared his throat impressively. “I would like,’ he announced, “to visit him and you in your home.” “Why certainly!’ Noblestone exclaimed with confidence—in fact with much more con- fidence than he felt. “You see, Noblestone,’’ Fine proceeded with a somewhat forced cordiality, “if you visit people in their homes and eat a meal with them or so, it places an entirely different complexion on the matter.” Yetta glanced down at her finger-nails and hurriedly put on a pair of white cotton gloves. “T understand from Noblestone, Mrs. Bleistift,” Fine said, “that you are famous for your fzimmas.”’ At this painful juncture Yetta’s training in Second Avenue stock with a weekly change of bill stood her in good stead. Here was a cue as foreign to the part as though it had been interpolated from a comedy by George M. Cohan into a drama by Sholem Asch, but she picked it up immediately nevertheless. “Tzimmas ain’t no company food, Mr. Fine,” she said as promptly as though she were modestly disclaiming a real talent as a cordon bleu, whereas in point of fact she had never learned how to boil a potato. Nor indeed had she or even Bleistift been informed by Noble- stone that he had ever so much as mentioned tzimmas to Fine. “Tzimmas is good enough company food for me,” Fine declared jovially. “What night did you say I should come?”

Page 147

Tt, 1925 who Was $9 a began to ed, “Ss his Ings about "mM entirely Almost ‘ssure. In Ips of her alty itself, lestone he e failed to make-up, nd showed sework as er model, out you,” mn looks a “Which I would _ business- e he was all that,” hat Yetta ‘ deposit ta trying are ex- n on his [ can say _ mother, 1 take a ’t true.” wouldn’t ositively frowned, 3 part as is Fine’s 1’ve got, n’t take T, SO it’s *tta and You see, on ain’t I would ke some s throat ounced, claimed ore con- ed with yu visit th them plexion ‘ils and gloves. Mrs. famous ining in inge of $a cue d been ge M. yut she Fine,” . were cordon never od had Noble- tioned od for ht did

Hearst's

Music Master Resonant Wood Insures Natural / Tone Quality / lf International—Cosmopolitan

>? for October, 1025 163 aster Receiving Sets cA Logical Development Type 300 Five Tubes. New circuit. Con- nect with standard bell or cabinet type Music Master Re- producer, or with specially designed art model reproducer, illustrated. Great selectivity, extraordinary volume, wonder- ful tone quality. Solid ma- hogany cabinet, beautifully ornamented, brown mahogany art satin finish. Price, $300 Music Master Reproducer Model XII. Drum Type. Spe- cially designed art model, il- lustrated. Price, $ 3 5 OW, you-will enjoy hearing over the radio songs as sung, words as spoken and music as played before the microphone. For Music Master Receivers insure efficiency of reception equal to the quality of reproduction which has achieved a world-standard in Music Master Reproducer, the su- (Canadian Prices : x Slightly Higher) preme Musical Instrument of Radio. We know that you will really enjoy the wonderful entertainment of New Era Radio if you hear its varied offerings for young and old, for every variety of taste and need, through the proved powers of MusIC MASTER reception and the demonstrated supremacy of MUSIC MASTER reproduction available in one splendid radio ensemble. Combining the functions of radio in one complete unit of supreme efficiency, MUSIC MASTER reasserts its pre-eminent title as the Musical Instrument of Radio—there IS no substitute.

Ten Models, $50 to $460, Guaranteed Unconditionally

Authorized dealers everywhere are ready to demonstrate radio as you have always wanted to hear it. See Music Master—hear —compare—before you buy ANY radio set

{Music Master Corporation Makers and Distributors of High-Grade Radio Apparatus 128-130 N. Tenth Street CHICAGO NEW YORK PHILADELPHIA pitrsBURGH MONTREAL Canadian Factory: Kitchener, Ontario PRODUCTS

Page 148

164 “How about next Wednesday?” Noblestone suggested. “That suits me! say seven o’clock?”’ “Seven o’clock would be splendid,” Yetta replied’ with every appearance of cordiality, although inwardly she was gasping for air. “And what did you say the address was?” Fine insisted. Bleistift looked at Noblestone with the despairing gaze of the cramped and sinking swimmer, and in the brief silence which fol- lowed he began to perspire profusely, but once again Yetta held up the scene. “Why, we’re pretty old-fashioned people, Mr. Fine,” she said, “so if you don’t mind traveling way over to the East Side for such poor food like I cook it, we live at the corner of Avenue A and Eighth Street, where the stationary store is, three flights up in the rear.” Fine rose from his desk and became at once much more cordial toward Bleistift. “Well, all I could say is, Bleistift,’’ he de- clared, “that for a merchant with a financial statement like this, such economy in living expenses is highly commendable—highly com- mendable.” Once more he shook Yetta by the hand and a moment later the unhappy trio found them- selves in a taxicab en route for Bleistift’s office. “Well, boys, I’m sorry,” Yetta said. “We give a good show, but I guess it won’t get over.” “You mean to say you don’t live at the corner of Avenue A and Eighth Street?” Noblestone cried. “Sure I live there, with Mrs. Gubin,’’ she answered. “And if that old feller shows up next Wednesday night, Mrs. Gubin wi! have the surprise of her life.” “Why will she?” Noblestone asked. “Ain’t it easy to change the name over the letter-box down-stairs from Gubin to Bleistift for one night only?” “And what’s Gittelman going to do for Wednesday night—put somebody else in my part?” Yetta asked. “My two weeks’ notice don’t run out till a week from Saturday—and besides, he ain’t got no understudy for me be- cause J ain’t missed a performance in seven years.” “T’ll fix it with Gittelman,”’ Noblestone said. “You'll. fix nothing with Gittelman,” Bleistift interrupted. “You’ve fixed too much already. He addressed himself to Yetta. “Miss Saranov,” he said, “you got to forgive me that I caused you all this trouble. You certainly acted wonderful, and whatever you charge me ain’t too much. So good you were as a mother that there were times when even me you fooled, and the last thing I want to think of you as—is my mother.” It was a trifle dark in the taxicab and as they turned the corner of Fifth Avenue, Yetta per- mitted the motion of the cab to throw her against Bleistift so that her cool round cheek just brushed his. “Listen!” she said. “I ain’t going to throw you down now. Next Wednesday night Gittelman can put in an understudy if he wants to or the house can go dark. I’m giving a party that night, and Mrs. Gubin will cook the tzimmas, which I don’t know what Mr. Noble- stone told that old feller about the’way I cook tsimmas, but whatever he said Mrs. Gubin will make good on, and don’t you forget it.” Noblestone leaned forward and _ touched Yetta’s knee. “Do me a favor, Miss Saranov, and have her cook some apfel kuchen too,” he said, ‘because I remember now that I also mentioned that you could cook apfel kuchen, and Mrs. Gubin will have to make good on that too.” On the following Wednesday night at pre- cisely seven, Marcus Fine alighted from a taxi- cab at the corner of Avenue A and Eighth Street, and entered the hallway of an apart- ment house which in New York real estate circles is technically known as a cold water walk-up. He lighted a match and above one of the letter-boxes found the name Bleistift in typewritten characters, and after the door had ? Fine declared. ‘Shall we Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, ” clicked itself open, he was guided up-stairs to the third floor by a combination of some of the most delectable odors which had ever assailed the nostrils of so well-fed an orphan as Fine. “Come right along, Mr. Fine!’’ Yetta cried. “You are just in time.” As she leaned over the bannisters, she made a perfectly composed picture of all that a fifty- year-old mother of the late 1870’s or 1880’s ought to be. She wore a white lace cap over her slightly gray hair and a white lace bertha around her neck, which was perhaps a trifle too plump and smooth for her years, though not for Marcus Fine’s taste in such matters. “Excuse my hands,” Yetta said as she greeted him on the landing. “Naturally they’re a bit red and rough from the cooking.” “T would rather see such hands on a lady like you, Mrs. Bleistift,” Fine declared gal- lantly, “than the finest piece of manicuring they ever turned out at a Fifth Avenue beauty parlor.” Yetta could not conceal a smile of gratifica- tion. She had taken a great deal of trouble with her hands. In fact many a character comedian has spent less time on his entire make-up, in- cluding crépe hair whiskers and a bald wig, than Yetta had devoted to her hands alone. “Mr. Noblestone ain’t arrived yet,” she said. ‘We expect him any moment.” ° She led the way into the modest little living- room, where Bleistift awaited them. ““Charles,” she called, ‘“‘here is Mr. Fine.” At her mention of his given name, used by her for the first time, Ble’stift grew quite agitated, but not nearly so agitated as Marcus Fine when Yetta took his hat and managed in the process to give his hand a tiny squeeze. Perhaps she felt instinctively, although she could not of course have known, that ever since her visit to the bank, Marcus Fine had experienced the utmost difficulty in keeping his mind fixed upon the important financial transactions under his charge, for in addition to being an orphan, Marcus Fine was also a widower. Moreover, in the few days succeed- ing his first meeting with Yetta, he had con- sidered very carefully his lonely situation, and had come to a decision in the matter. Now with the chairman of a loan and dis- count committee to come to a decision in any matter is followed immediately by acting upon that decision, and as Fine greeted Bleistift in what he conceived to be Bleistift’s own home, he tried to impart the warmth of fatherhood to his ordinarily flabby handshake. Bleistift never noticed it. Neither did Yetta, who at once donned a large b'ue kitchen apron. “Ail” she exclaimed. “I must hurry back to the kitchen. Everything will be spoiled.” She was about to leave when Fine held up his hand after the fashion of a traffic policeman, combined with the solemnity of a conscientious objector to oaths making an affirmation in a lawsuit. “One moment, Mrs. Bleistift,” he began. “T’ve got something important to say to you and your son—that is to say, in case you’re sure the ésimmas won’t burn.” Curiosity overcame Yetta’s prudence and she admitted that she had some one helping in the kitchen. “Then sit down for a moment,” Fine con- tinued. “I won’t keep you long.” He waited till she was seated, and then he crossed to the sofa and sat down beside Bleistift. “Young man,” he began, placing his hand on Bleistift’s shoulder, “‘you have a mother which has done’ everything for you, and you have done a whole lot for her.” He patted Bleistift’s shoulder as fatherly as he could. “And now,” he announced, “‘it’s time that somebody did something for you both.” Yetta felt intuitively that a situation fatal to the scene was about to transpire. She had experienced this feeling before in many other productions—premonitions of stage waits, wrong cues and missing properties long before the mishap itself occurred. “Maybe you’d better tell us about this later,” she interrupted. 4 ei | want to tell you about it now,’ declared; * ‘that is, if the tsimmas ain’t going burn.” And here he became fairly herg “As a matter of fact, I don’t care if it de burn,” he said. ‘What I’ve got to say is j portant to all of us. I’ve been thinking it ovg ever since you were in the bank, Mrs. Ble I’ve looked your son up. His business is good shape, but I can put it into better sh because if you will agree to what I am gg to ask you, this boy will not only have a mof] to guide him, but a father also.” Yetta put her hand up to her cheek groaned aloud. “Ai tsuris!” she cried. “T something like this was coming.” “Then that saves me a lot of trouble,” Fi said, “for what I want to ask you, Mrs Bleistift, is, will you marry me?” Bleistift "jumped to his feet. you!” he exclaimed. “Why not?” Fine -retorted. sixty.” “Only sixty!” Yetta repeated with satiric emphasis. “That’s all,” Fine assured her, will marry me——” “But how can she marry you,” Bleistift i terrupted, finally and irrev: rocably stepping of his part, “‘when she’s going to marry me Fine drew suddenly away from his p pective son. “Mrs. Bleistift!” he cried. your son insane?” “TI don’t know what he is,” Yetta replied “But whether he’s sane or insane, what he’ saying now is certainly news to me.” “T’ve been meaning to tell you for the last week, Yetta,” Bleistift said. ‘For heaven’ yp? “Her ma “T ain’t of “so if sake don’t throw me down for him! : “Me throw you “What!” Yetta shrieked. down for this old fool?” “Old fool?” Fine cried. ‘Me an old fool? “Sure you’re an old fool,” Yetta said. “ you wasn’t, you wouldn’t believe that a twenty-eight-year-old character woman in a make-up and a wig was the mother of a man five years older than herself!” She pulled the gray wig and cap from her head and shook out her bobbed black hair, and then taking her: handkerchief from her pocket, she rubbed the make-up from her face, exposing the ruddy smooth skin beneath. “‘Now do I look like his mother?” she asked. It was Marcus Fine’s turn to grow white in the face—white and then fiery red. “So!” he said hoarsely. “You tried to swindle me.” “We didn’t try to do nothing of the kind,” Bleistift retorted. “I’ve got a perfectly good business.” “And I’ve got some perfectly good tsimmas,” Yetta added, “and if you’re looking for the real thing in mothers, I'll show you that too.” She went to the hallway and knocked on the kitchen door. “Mrs. Gubin,” she called. ‘Come here once.” A moment later a complete replica of what Yetta had been not ten minutes before entered the living-room. “Nu!” Mrs. Gubin cried. want from my young life? spoiling already.” Marcus Fine gazed upon Mrs. Gubin, and not only did his anger abate, but once more hope kindled in his breast. “T’ve got to hand it to you, young woman,” he said. mother.” “Say!” Yetta exclaimed. a mother since I was eighteen years old. I’m sick and tired of playing a mother.” “Then why not—er—I mean why don’t you —er—well, you know what I mean,” Bleistift stammered. “Sure, I know what you mean, “but first we'll get married.” “And even before that,” Mrs. Gubin added, “we'll eat some fsimmas. What do you say, Mr. Fine?” : Marcus Fine shrugged his shoulders in complete surrender. “T’m agreeable,” “What is it you The ézimmas is ” Vetta said, he said. “It’s wonderful how you can play a ~ “T’ve been playing

Page 149

eaven’s » OW you 1 fool?” id. “If that a nina a man vhite in ried to » kind,” ly good mmas,” for the yu that 1 on the ” e once. of what entered ; it you nmas 1S roman,” play a: playing ac ided, ou say, jers in

Page 150

Page 151

Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 "he GUALITFY RAZOR OF THE WORLD 2- ener ert ae

TS daily dividends in shaving com- fort and a well-groomed look make your investment in Gillette Blades seem infinitely small by comparison. The shaving satisfaction these blades give in daily service is proof positive of their indispensable merits. The finest of blade steel and production processes perfected by the most thorough re- search and experiment, are, through the practical experience of twenty years of blade-making, responsible for giving the Gillette Blade the finest edge that steel can take. Yo GILLETTE SAFETY RAZOR CO. BOSTON, U.S.A. The Gillette New Standard Ppa ee ii In gold plate, $6. In silver plate, $5.

p AL mane i ws u™ Hoven ee = SAFETY RAZOR Sons Sr ATs & Whether you have a beard “like wire” or as soft as silk, your GOOD shave will become a PERFECT shave if you read “‘Three Reasons” —a new shaving booklet just published. A postcard request and we'll gladly send you a copy with our compliments.

Page 152

Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 © Bachrach ees Orne successful secretary is judged by the speed, accuracy and neatness of her work. That is why I prefer the Easy Writ- ing ROYAL TYPEWRITER. “Compare the Work” \ . ... Secretary to MR. ALFRED C, FULLER, President of The Fuller Brush Company, Hartford, Conn., whose products are Trade Mark TYPEWRITERS used in over ten million homes. Royal Typewriter Company, Inc., 316 Broadway, New York * Branches and Agencies the World Over

Page 153

Page 154

Page 155

Any Man Who Drinks (Continued from page 81) public houses are closed. You may go out at t nin the morning, but you must be back by eleven-forty-five. Two or three hours of treed2m are permitted in the afternoon.” Next morning I signed the paper in the presence of a magistrate and entered the home as a patient. If I had known what was to befall me, I should have run screaming from the place. In all inebriates’ homes in England the patients are under the direct control of the doctor. The doctor in charge of my prison— for it seemed to me not much better than a prison—was callous and moody. He had an ambiguous smile. His long upper lip could lift and curl like a dog’s. He was never directly brutal, but some of his actions had the effect of great brutality. His nerves were of iron— mine were as weak and tenuous as a spider’s web; so were the nerves of most of the other patients. : : The price I paid at first at this institution that remains in my mind as a nightmare of sorrow, harshness and cruelty, was thirty-five dollars a week, but it was soon dropped to thirty dollars—the price of living at a fair hotel. But we were treated with some of the humiliations that, even now in England, debase the inmates of a workhouse. The place was understaffed; it consisted of a half- witted woman who had spent many years in an asylum, another woman of a deafness almost absolute, an imitation butler and a_ boy. There was a male cook whose drinking habits emulated our own. On the grumbling efforts of these people, the comfort of more than thirty men—we had no women—depended. With my native stoicism I settled down to life in this place. But very soon all peace and happiness vanished. There came to the home a tall, magnificently built man aged about thirty. His face had a peculiar charin, and his eyes had all the innocence of a bluebell. For convenience, we will call him Dixon. One day Dixon asked leave to go to London on urgent business. The doctor, after much demur, consented on condition that he was suitably escorted. To this escort Dixon at once agreed. The time for his return was fixed for six o’clock. But at ten-thirty, when we all went to bed, he had not returned. I was awakened at about one o’clock next morning by the noise of shouting and cries for help from the story above. I rushed from my room, without pausing to put on a dressing-gown, and ran up the next flight of stairs. From an open door came light; from the room came the sound of spent breathing. I walked into the room and saw Dixon lying naked on the floor; his eyes were rolled out of view—nothing but the whites could be seen, and he was covered with perspiration. On top of him sat two fellow patients, one of whom was a friend of mine. He called to me to take his place while he went for further help. I obeyed him. But soon, having gathered breath, Dixon began to struggle. I was hurled off his body by a rapid jerk of his knees. Then with an animal-like thrust forward of his head, he closed his teeth on the arm of the man who a moment before had been sitting on his chest. Presently the doctor came. He dosed Dixon with morphia and the huge dark giant lay stil. In half an hour the disturbance began again. Once more I rushed from my room. I saw Dixon, still naked, coming down-stairs on all fours, like a ghoulish white crab. I could just discern him in the darkness, but he couldn’t see me, and I did not dare to tackle hin. alone. Dixon suddenly ran backwards and _for- wards, then sideways, on all fours, banging himself against everything that stood in his way. One saw white eyes, long arms, muscular shoulders, white eyes, froth at his mouth, Muscular shoulders, white eyes, curled-in Hearst's International—Cosmopelitan for October, 1925 fingers, white eyes . . . Two patients cried | out in terror and tried to escape from the building. Dixon like a jungle animal was after FACTS ABOUT A FAMOUS FAMILY Y= Y Part of a convoy of General Motors cars en route from Beirut to Bagdad. Speed as high as 70 miles an hour is attained during the 600 mile trip. Beirut to Bagdad It used to take about four weeks to travel from London to Bagdad. Today, through the service of General Motors cars, you can make the trip in eight days. Across the Syrian Desert—between Beirut on the Mediterranean and Bagdad in Mesopo- tamia—convoys of Buicks and Cadillacs carry passengers and mails on a regular schedule. Though heavily laden, they cover 600 miles of sandy waste in less than 24 hours of run- ning—most of the trip at racing speed. The stamina of General Motors cars and trucks has led to their selection wherever the going is hardest. You will find them in every country of the world. GENERAL MOTORS Buick + Caprittac + CHEVROLET * OAKLAND OxpsmosiLtE +* GMC Trucks General Motors cars, trucks and Delco-Light products may be purchased on the GMAC Payment P’an. Insurance service furnished by General Exchange Corporation.

Page 156

168 $5007% IN ONE MONTH Month ~ —_ Drawing \\-@ AREFUL, conscientious training by our faculty made this possible. Today train- ed illustrators who draw pictures for maga- zines, newspapers, etc., both men and women— Earn $200 to $500 a Month and More Present splendid opportunities in this field never excelled. Publishers buy millions of dollars worth of illustrations every year. [Illustrating is the highest type of art. If you like to draw, let your talent make your fortune. Learning to illustrate is fasci- nating to anyone who likes to draw. The Federal ‘‘Master Course’’ includes illustrating, cartooning, lettering, poster de- signing, window card illustrating, etc. No one artist is competent to give instructions in all these branches. That’s why the Federal School has established its ‘Master Course,’’ in which every subject is written by a specialist. No other school can offer a course nearly comparable. No other institution in the country has such an array of artists as are on the Federal Staff. The Federal Authors include such nationally known artists as Sid Smith, Neysa McMein, Fontaine Fox, Charles Livingston Bull, Clare Briggs, Norman Rockwell and over fifty others. Exclusive lessons and drawings especially prepared by them are included in the Federal Home Study Course. Federal Course Gets Results Federal School graduates have become so distin- guished for their high quality work they are in con- stant demand by leading publishers and commercial organizations. Send Today for “A Road to Bigger Things” Every young man and woman with a liking for drawing should read this free book before deciding on their life’s work. It is illustrated and tells about illustrating as a_ profession and about the famous artists who have helped build the Federal Course. It also shows remarkable work by Federal students. Just mail in the coupon below and we will send you the book free. Federal School of Illustrating, 1003 Federal School Bldg., Minneapolis, Minn. AR 0 s.k os dc bs BERS a5 Pho. ck eh oes eeecane IIOMDREIOD 5. deh sin din nics va T4 Oak Sek aaa Okan ok tee NB ohn Sie cae COS ARE RS Re ERED The Largest Sellin Quality Pencil in the World UPERB and matchless, VENUS provides’pencil luxury and pencil economy. No breaking of leads. 17 Black Degrees and 3 Copying. At all stationers and stores American Lead Pencil Co. 219 Fifth Ave. . ~ New, York] , Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 | them, silently, unerringly. The two men got out of the house and Dixon followed, now up- right. In the darkness of that wooded garden one could see that fleshy substantial ghost flitting moth-like hither and thither. Presently he was captured and brought into the sitting-room. He fought madly whilst a blanket was placed about him. We then tied him up with what seemed endless coils of rope. Next day all of us were in that terrible state of nervous tension that generally precedes a bout of drinking. Dixon joined us after breakfast; he was obviously in an abnormal condition. There was no attendant to guard him or us. But we brought strong pressure to bear on the doctor, who at last obtained a male nurse. But in the meantime several patients had got out of the grounds and had drunk themselves to a state of mind in which fear could have no place. For myself, I was ill for weeks after this— to me—awful episode. I was attacked by insomnia and became subject to trembling fits. The doctor smiled at my condition. d “You drinkers are always highly strung and full of nerves,” he said. “Precisely,” I answered. ‘That is the chief reason why we drink.” There came a day when I decided that I would never again enter an inebriates’ home, however much I might be driven thither by circumstance and by my own weakness. It took me years to recognize that in order to conquer a weakness in one’s self, one must face it hour by hour and day by day, and not attempt to run away from it by hiding in institutions. Nevertheless, I discovered that a short bout of drinking—say twenty-four hours—reduced me to such a weak and almost seemed to be momentarily disturbed by this question, which was evidently unexpected by him. He moved rather abruptly and looked quickly across to the Canon. “My wife! But I haven’t got a wife now.” Mrs. Lesley looked startled. ‘I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know that——” | “Oh, Lena’s not dead! No. But we divorced a few months ago.” | “Divorced after twelve years of matrimony?” “Yes. A bit too much for us, you see. It was in all the theatrical papers.” “T never read them so I didn’t see it.” There was a moment of silence. Then, turn- |ing to the Canon, Lewis added, “You know, | Canon, in America divorce is made very easy.” Canon Lesley, who was very “high church,” looked grave and suddenly ecclesiastical. “T consider marriage a binding covenant,” he said. ‘‘Which only death can break.” “Do you, though? Do you indeed? Well— that’s one way of looking at it! What a jolly bit of china you’ve got over there. Oriental, isn’t it?” And then the drawing-room door opened, and a small schoolboy appeared. “Hullo, Ronald!”’ said Canon Lesley. “Got back from school! Come along and say how d’you do to your mother’s friend, Mr. Lewis.” Ronald shut. the door and came slowly towards the tea-table, his gray eyes fixed on the visitor. He was a fair boy, rather tall for | his age, with rebellious light brown hair and | good features. He didn’t resemble his father, | who was rather soft and round with blue eyes |and a blunt face. But he was very like his mother and he had her look of acuteness combined with imagination. “How d’you do?” he said, holding out his hand politely to the actor. Lewis grasped it in his heroic and resolute way, the way of the “leading man.” “How d’you do. I’m very glad to meet you. I’m an old friend of your mother’s.” “Oh!”’ “But I’ve been for years in America. My trade’s acting.” “Ys it?” helpless condition that some sort of nursing was necessary to enable me to face the world once again. So I chose an ordinary nursing home and on various occasions stayed there five weeks, a fortnight, ten days, and so on, Whilst hitherto my body had been tolerant of alcohol, it was now extremely intolerant; two hours’ drinking would set me roaming all over the town, roaming restlessly, seeking I know not what. It was during this period that I tried Couéism, hypnotism and psychoanalysis, without result. Many times I faced despair. And yet, though during this period I felt I was becoming worse and worse, I always had the satisfaction of knowing that I had kept away from inebriates’ homes. At length there came a real change for the good. I altered my environment. Instead of living in London with all its heady excitements and tempta- tions, I moved to the seaside where I knew no one and no one knew me. Here, by immersing myself in work, by playing the piano a couple of hours a day and by solitary walks by the sea’s edge, I regained a healthy body and a saner mind. My breakdowns were few and far between; moreover, they were shorter. During the last fifteen months I have had one breakdown only. It has been a long and desolating fight, but I feel it must be near its end. Soon, very soon, I shall come out on the other side and shall look back upon the black waters that have so often overwhelmed but can no longer touch me. I believe in the power of the will—and nothing else. But the will must be given suitable con- ditions in which to work or all may be failure. To any inebriate who should chance to read this paper, I would say: Beware of one thing— homes for inebriates. $1 Gow A Woman’s Past (Continued from page 93) “Yes. Ever been in a theater?” “T’ve been to a pantomime and I’ve seen ‘Peter Pan’ twice.” “Like it?” “Parts of it were very jolly, I thought.” “Parts! That’s d , that’s awfully good! Well, I have to fight duels and do all sorts of tremendous things on the stage. You must come and see me.. I’Il get you in. You must bring him to see me, Val—Canon.” “It’s very kind of you to bother about him,” said Canon Lesley. “T say; mother,” said Ronald, turning away from the actor, “those football socks you got me are no good at all. What d’you think? To- day when I was on the field——” He mur- mured some words into her ear. The Canon engaged the actor in conversation and almost directly afterwards Ronald went out of the room. But before going he went up politely to Lewis and held out his hand. ““Good-by,” he said. “Good-by, boy!” The actor fixed his glit- tering eyes on the child in a resolute gaze, and kept his hand for a moment. ‘What are you going to be when you grow up?” he asked firmly. ‘Made up your mind yet, eh?” “Well, I don’t know. But I think I shall be a missionary.” Lewis’s jaw dropped. “A missionary!” “Yes. I want to see the South Sea Islands, and that’s a way of getting there.” “Well, I’m—well, that’s one reason for being a missionary.” “oc es ” “But now what about being an actor? Wouldn’t you like to be an actor?” “No, I don’t think I should.” ‘Why not?” “Don’t you have to put lots of stuff on your face?” “Make-up! Yes, to be sure.” “T don’t think I should care about that. But of course I’ve never tried. Good-by. say, dad, it’s Latin prose this evening.” “You don’t mean to tell me they’ve put him to Latin prose already?” said Lewis. He

Page 157

1925 nursing € world nursing d there SO on. rant of it; two ll Over | know that I alysis, pair. felt I ys had l kept | there ed my ondon mpta- ew no ersing ‘ouple y the ind a - and orter. 1 one but I on, I look ften hing con- lure. this ig— od! ist ist ut Ly ot O- yn it oe ele 8 Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 169 cael. One pair of rubbers for HE year before last—when that R daughter of yours, packed for school, mother supervised. And she put in three pairs of rubbers to fit vari- ous shoes—and then they didn’t fit. Last year—she rebelled and didn’t take any. She had the cold, as proph- esied. Mother tried to get the last word, as usual. But the cold still had it—six weeks later. She paid pretty high in pep for getting wet feet. This year—she's found Lastics. One pair of Lastics fits every shoe she Rubber Footwear - Canvas Footwear - Rubber Heels and Soles - Pneumatic and Solid Tires - Rubber Specialties! all those shoes wears, from brogues to dancing slip- pers. If the sole’s thick, the Lastic spreads; if it’s thin, the Lastic curls up. Always the Lastic fits as though it was born for that shoe—till it sees the next. Similarly about heels. Clever! Well, rather. Three kinds of Lastics—storm-cut, pump-cut and Snug (a foot hold), sat- isfy varied preferences as to protection. One time when a man really in- vented some- thing a woman wanted ! Remember to ask for Hood Lastics, not rubbers Rubber Footwear

Page 158

: BG 7 of, H/) The Making [= / of an Unusual—* flere are Some Big of the Records After epending fourteen years as conduc- oJ tor on a railroad, I came in on my passenger

run and never went out again. were wonderful chances in the selling field; so I started in selling real estate. The first month I did not make a sale. I saw I needed trainin: alesmanship. The next month I made $700 and last month I averaged better than $67 a day throughout the month. _ C. A. THOMAS, California. My salary was practically doubled a short | time ago, but my greatest satisfaction comes from knowing that the amount of business S Now Open I have written this year is easily five times greater than before. S. N. WILLIAMS, Kentucky. With or without previous experience, you may b an lly ful salesman. Men who sent for this

doubled their earnings. If you are ——, advancement or greater opportanity. get full particulars of the le salary-doubling . The coupon will bring it to you, together with two val- uable books—“‘ Making of an Unusual Salesman’’ and ‘‘Ten Years’ Promotion in One,’’ all without obligation. If a successful career is worth two cents and two minutes of your time, clip and mail the coupon NOW. Je LaSALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY The World’s Largest Business Training Institution Dept. 1055-SR Chicago Please tell me about your salary-doubling plan as applied to my advancement in theb field checked below. Send also copy of ‘‘Ten Years’ Promotion in One,”’ all without obligation.

OModern Salesmanship OBusi M t OModern Business Corre- OHigher Accountancy Rs omy and < og odern Forema' Oteatiie Money —— and Production Methods ORailway Station O Personnel and Employ- Management ment Management OLaw, Degree of LL. B. OCommercial Law Olndustrial Management Efficiency OBanking and Finance OExpert Bookkeeping OBusiness English OCommercial Spanish O Effective Speaking Oc. P. A. Coaching Name

Present Position........-...----------------.2-----------ecce: oo Address....------------- naneeeeeeene------ ~receccennncesnennnece = . Safe The ORIGINAL Malted Milk ,

and Diet For INFANTS, Children, Invalids, Nursing Mothers,etc. we Avoid Imitations

Just take orders for Malloch Hose and Underwear — worn all ores, the ene le lay you your big commissions as a Sepeet [ie the customer, to whom we ship direct. Thrce other selling methads to choose from! 1 Together with sure sales in. Get Our Sample Offer! You can build up a big hee We pay all shipping charges and guarantee prompt delivery. Write! If you hurry, vou can have other agents working * for you. But don’t let someone in your neighbor- hood get ahead of you. Just say: “Send me your Sample Offer and Sure Money Making Sales Plan.” Write! Malloch Knitting- Mills, 6510 Hastings St., Grand Rapids, Mich.

something to help me, so I took up LaSalle | book from one tosix months ago have |

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “‘He’s just starting,” said the Canon. “T’ll come up in a minute, Ronnie.” “Righto, dad.” And then the boy went out of the room. When the door shut behind him there was an odd little pause, an instant of dead silence. It was broken by Lewis, who cleared his throat and then said: “That’s a wonderful kid!” “Why is Ronnie wonderful?” asked Mrs. Lesley. . “Well, I don’t know. But he strikes me as that. He’s so sure of himself, almost like an American kid. And he’s got such a look to him. Why—he might be a little judge, the way he stares at you as if he were trying to read you. Believe me or not, that’s no ordinary kid!” The Canon looked pleased. ‘I suppose we all like to think our children are out of the ordinary,” he said. ‘But here’s an impartial verdict from an outsider. What d’you say to that, Valentine?” : He got up as he spoke and put a hand on his wife’s shoulder as she sat by the fire. She didn’t look up at him, but she said: “T believe Ronnie is rather clever.” “Let’s hope so,” said the Canon, who was known as a learned man. “I should be sorry to have a dunce for my child.” He took his hand from his wife’s shoulder and turned to the actor. ‘‘Will you excuse me, Mr. Lewis? I want just to see what they’ve given Ronald in the way of work for tomorrow, and then I have my sermon to think over. And I expect you and my wife have a lot to talk about. | Had you been here long before I*came in?” “No, Canon. Only two or three minutes.” “Do stay, then! And shall we see you tomorrow?” Lewis looked across at Mrs. Lesley. ‘Well, I—I had thought of going to London in the morning.” “Tf you change your mind, come to luncheon after Cathedral; tea too. Any old friend of my wife is welcome in my house.” “Awfully good of you!’ He gripped the Canon’s soft hand in a manly, profoundly honest sort of way. “I’m glad to know you.” ““Good-by, good-by.” Canon Lesley mounted the dark oak stair- case. Arrived on the spacious landing above, he opened a door. “Ronnie! Oh, there you are!” The boy had come quickly into the room which they called “the schoolroom” from a room beyond where he slept. “Hullo, dad!” “What have they given you? Is it Cesar?” “Ves. I say, dad, who on earth is that man?” “Man? D’you mean de “That man in the drawing-room. You

| don’t say he’s really an old friend of mater’s?” “Of course he is! Why not?” The boy was silent. “Why shouldn’t he be?” said his father, looking down at Ronald in surprise. And yet, in an obscure way, he wasn’t surprised. It was as if the surface of him was surprised but not the depth of him. “T don’t know. But I say, wherever did mater pick him up?” “You mustn’t speak like that about your mother,” said cue Canon, with a sudden odd feeling of anger. “All I mean is “Don’t you like him?” And as he put the question Canon Lesley was conscious of an extraordinary feeling of curiosity. “No!” said the boy. “Why not?” “T can’t bear him.” “But why? He was very nice to you. He was very nice to all of us.” “Did you like him?” “Like him?” The Canon paused, suddenly seized with hesitation. ‘Well, he isn’t exactly in my line. He’s an actor, a man of the stage, and I’m a clergyman. But he was very pleas- ant and cordial and I’ve nothing against him.” “Then you do like him?” ”

“But you see I hardly know him at all.” “Well, I hate him!” “Oh, come, Ronnie, come! That won’t do, We must try not to hate anyone. And you've certainly no reason for hating Mr. Lewis.” “I don’t want any reason,” said Ronald obstinately. ‘And I won’t ever go and see him fighting duels and all that sort of thing. Why should he ask me?” “Out of kindness.” “D’you think he’s kind?” The boy’s eyes were fixed on the Canon’s face and the Canon noticed that there was an odd glitter in them. “Surely!” he said. “Surely!” “How’s he kind?” said the boy. “Well, he- was interested in you, and he wanted you to come to see him act.” “Has he gone?” asked Ronnie abruptly. “No,” said the Canon. : “‘What’s he doing?” “Doing! He’s in the drawing-room talking to your mother.” Ronnie looked down, pressed his lips to- gether, said nothing more. As he stood by the table his appearance was oddly sullen. But it also suggested violence, emotion. After waiting for a moment the Canon said: “Let me have a look at the passage in Cesar you’ve been set for this evening.” Ronnie gave him a strange, almost ugly glance, half questioning, and, it seemed, half defiant. Then he went to fetch his new copy of Cesar. ; When he had finished with Ronnie, Canon Lesley went down-stairs to his library. As he crossed the hall he heard faintly voices in the drawing-room, the actor’s resonant tones soft- ened by distance, his wife’s voice, dimmer, frailer, scarcely audible. They had acted together in the old days. As the Canon sat down in his armchair by the fire, drew the book-rest fastened to it towards him, and opened his Bible, he wasn’t thinking about his sermon for the morrow. The church and the stage! Attempts had been made, in England at any rate, to draw them together. Great actors had read the lessons in churches, had even mounted into pulpits and delivered addresses to crowded congregations. The church, in many ways, had made use of “the profession.” But was there any real affinity between the church and the stage? .Thinking of his recent interview with the actor who was still in his drawing-room, the Canon thought not. Yet that actor was an “old pal” of his, the Canon’s, wife. He called her Valentine. She called him Crichton. They had much in common. An old wonder was revived in the Canon, an old wonder that he had not been conscious of for a very long time. How was it that Valentine had so easily loved him, so easily abandoned the stage for his sake? He wasn’t a conceited man. He knew he was learned, but he had never considered himself physically attractive, though he had no reason to believe that he was physically repulsive. And Valentine had been, and was, very attractive physically. She had not wanted to have a second child. Ronnie was enough for her. She adored him, the ‘‘wonderful kid.”” Sometimes it had seemed to the Canon that it was her adoration for Ronnie which had prevented her from wishing to have other children. How odd Ronnie had been that evening about the actor! Of course like all other boys Ronnie had his likes and dislikes; but the Canon had never before known him to take such a sudden hatred for anyone. And Mr. Lewis had been particularly nice to him, had evidently been struck by Ronnie’s appearance and personality, had said, in his resonant voice, ‘Believe me or not—that’s no ordinary kid.’ He had said, too, that Ronnie might be a little judge, ‘the way he stares at you as if he were trying to read you.’ Evidently he hadn’t been subtly aware of the child’s diag- nosis of himself. But he was, the Canon couldn’t help thinking, rather a conceited man. -Had Ronnie been right about the actor? He

Page 159

1925 at all.” n’t do, ‘'anon’s Was an nd he ly. ulking S to- ’y the But After ve in ugly half ¢ Opy anon is he 1 the soft- mer, rS. t by O it isn’t row. een hem sin and ons. > of the ent his Yet

171 Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 Outstanding improvements in every type of GRUES watch

as f, ct : ro Empire 57 P ale 9 Ultra-VeriThin (Pat'd) LOQS + PRECISION movement $125 to $550 N EvERY type of Gruen watch you will find technical improve- ments to adapt the particular movement to its particular use. Many of these improvements are patented by the Gruen Guild and are to be found in watches of no other make. In men’s pocket watches by Gruen are embodied the Gruen VeriThin and Ultra-VeriThin principles of watch. construction, explained by the diagram below. In women’s wrist watches by Gruen is embodied the principle of the Gruen Cartouche. By placing an oblong movement in an oblong case, the Gruen Guild takes advantage of every bit of space to make the necessarily tiny movement as large and strong as possible. Similar to the Cartouche principle is that employed in some of the newest Gruen strap watches. The movement, instead of round, is made rectangular to gain space. The result is greater size and durability of parts, permitting greater accuracy.

Pentagon 104 (Pat'd), VeriThin PRECISION movement, $75 up The better jewelers can show you these watches, as well ds.a large variety of others by the Gruen Guild. Their stores are marked by the Gruen Service emblem. GRUEN WATCH MAKERS CUILD, Time Hill, CINCINNATI, U. S. A.

Canadian Branch, Toronto 17-jewel PRECISION movement ag ; ig eee $150 to $165 Engaged in the art of fine watchmaking for more tian hej a century GRUEN GUILD WATCHE

| TULTRA-VERITHIN PRECISION f | Ww | AY | e PATENTED | Trade mark reg. THE OLD WAY } VERITHIN WAY

sansnadesensin i} Teagan | | 1 ieeneanenanen: snennnen jh f 1 OOO O08 be ad

This pledge mark of the GRUEN Guild is placed upon those watches of

Wheel train diagram, showing how the four operating planes of the higher quality and ordinary watch are reduced to three in the Gruen VeriThin and two in ~ finer finish the Ultra-VeriThin. Thus thinness is secured without loss in accuracy Pay a little more and get the best

or, durability of parts

Page 160

GERMAN ARMY OFFICERS’ FIELD GLASSES FREE TRIAL If you sate to 8 power $9. 85 keep them Free trial coupon will bring you these genuine German War Glasses purchased at exceptionally advantageous rates of exchange. Manufactured by most prominent of German o tical factories. Many were reccived direct from the Allied Reparations Comn.ission. Conservative $20.00 value. Finest achromatic day and night lenses. 40 m.m. objective. Dust and moisture proof. Pupillary adjustment. Built for service regardless of cost ac- cording to strictest military standards. All glasses paprentocd in perfect condition. We have sold (0,000 pairs of this model to date. Shipped promptly on receipt of attached coupon on 5 days’ free trial. If satisfied send check or money order for $9.85. Order your field glasses today. HENDERSON BROTHERS Largest importers of field glasses in America 95E Federal Street Boston, Mass. + FREE TRIAL COUPON ‘4 Gentlemen: I Please send = on 5 yes free trial one pair German Army C r’s war glasses. After 5 ! days" trial I will either recurs glasses or remit H 9.85 SE el ES SS te REMNANTS 66C Tricotines and Suitings at less than wholesale prices, All newest colors. Each Remnant Sufficient to pes ay Suit or ONEY BACK IF OT SATISFIED. Save money Make your own aan “These mill remnants save you up to $1.50 a yard. WRITE FOR FREE hist ‘Textile Products Co., Dept. M 60, Kansas City, M o.— for outdoor men Interesting vigorous outdoor work in a grow- ing organization where merit wins advance- ment. Good starting wages. Permanent posi- tions and a real future for men who make good. Even our present field force of 500 Davey Tree Surgeons cannot meet the in- creasing demand. So we are selecting now, to enter out employ in 1926, a few sturdy, clean young men, thorough Americans, single, between 20 and 30 years old, free to travel, industrious, with good practical education, and able to give good references. Write for qualification blank to serve in place of per- sonal interview. The Davey Tree Expert Co., Inc., 281 Federal Bldg., Kent, Ohio. NTRS TSA A TS STL aT Hearst's ! Such a sudden hatred in a boy of that age, an age full of instinct rather than full of reason, a | hatred so unusual, must surely have a basis |in those mysterious depths where much of truth lies hidden. - The‘Canon knew, now that | he was alone, that his boy had influenced him | greatly during that brief interview in the | schoolroom. But Valentine was evidently a real old friend | of Lewis. He hadn’t forgotten her in all these | years. “Wherever did mater pick him up?” What an odd glitter the boy had had in his eyes when he had been speaking about the visitor! But the’sermon for tomorrow! It was-time to think seriously about that. He turned the leaves of his Bible, drew the book-rest a little nearer to him. “And the Lord turned and looked upon Peter.” Was there any book in the world so dramatic as the Bible? The Canon found himself wondering whether ‘Crichton” had ever read it. He felt that the actor was a man worlds away from religion. The stage was really very distant from the church. “And yet Valentine married me! hurried on the wedding!’ Canon Lesley took up his writing pad. Al- though he preached extempore he ‘usually took a few notes. | ‘ And even Canon Lesley was a little late in dressing for dinner that evening and didn’t see his wife till he came into the drawing-room just before eight o’clock. “Well, dear,” he said as they went in to din- ner, “and what about Mr. Lewis? Has he decided to stay over Sunday?” “He’s staying till tomorrow evening, and taking the eight o’clock train up to town.” “Then shall we see him at luncheon?” “Ves. It’s very kind of you to ask him.” ‘An old friend of yours. I couldn’t do less.” “Anyhow, he was very pleased. And he’s coming with me to the morning service.” “Tt’s very long. Perhaps’—he smiled across the table at his wife—‘‘perhaps you’d better let him slip out before the sermon.”’ “Oh, but he wants to hear you preach!” “Very good of him!” And on the following morning as, preceded |by a verger carrying a silver poker, Canon | Lesley walked from his return stall up the long choir towards the pulpit, he couldn’t resist a glance towards the left where his wife always sat in one of the two stalls allotted to him for his family. The glittering eyes of the actor were fixed upon him. He looked away im- mediately, but as he mounted the pulpit stairs he felt obscurely troubled. Ronnie always lunched with his parents on Sunday. The Canon wished today it were not so. He found himself thinking about this trivial matter in the pulpit just before giving out his text. With an effort he dismissed it from his mind. But when he had finished his sermon and the service was over, and he was taking off his surplice with Mr. Dean, the Archdeacon of Merston, and other clergy, he thought of it again, with perplexity, almost with dread. How would Ronnie be with the actor? When he reached his house, before going to the drawing-room- where he heard voices, he went up to the schoolroom. Ronnie was there in his Eton jacket and broad white collar. “Coming down, Ronnie?” “Yes, dad.” “You know luncheon?” “No, I didn’t!” + “Didn’t your mother tell you?” “T came straight up here from school. I haven’t seen her since before breakfast. Who’s nu?” “Mr. Lewis, who was here yesterday.” Ronnie frowned, and the ugly look his father had noticed the evening before came once we've got some one to more on his face. International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “What, he’s here again?” he said sulkily, “Yes. Be very polite to him, my boy. He's going to London tonight, and I don’ t suppose we shall see him again.’ “T’m glad of it, dad. I can’t stick that man, Does mater like him really?” “She likes him as an old friend. And we must try to like him too.” And as he said that Canon Lesley was sud- denly aware that he shared his boy’s extraor- dinary dislike of the actor. To his surprise Ronnie caught hold of his hand. “Then you can’t stick him either! you couldn’t, dad!” “Now, Ronnie, this won’t do! and your mother’s friend. about it!” But—somehow he couldn’t help it—he gave the boy’s hand a soft squeeze which was re- turned. And then they went down together to the drawing-room. Crichton Lewis greeted them with decisive cordiality. “T enjoyed your sermon, Canon. I’m not a great hand at sermons, but I claim to know something about elocution, and yours, if I may say so, is excellent. Hallo, Ronnie! Glad to see you again. Is it a holiday today?” “T had early school. But I’m free now.” “Come for a walk this afternoon?” Ronnie reddened and stole a glance at the Canon. “You might show me round a bit while your mother’s resting after luncheon, eh?” “T don’t think mater rests specially after luncheon. Do you, mater?” But just then the gong sounded gently in the hall, and the Canon said quickly: ‘“Let’s go in. I’m sure you’re hungry after the long service, Mr. Lewis. Come, Valentine!’ As he said the last words he looked at his wife and noticed that she was unusually pale. “Aren't you well, dear?” he asked. “Perfectly well. I’m afraid Ronnie wouldn’t be much good as a guide to Armbury, Crichton. But he might take you for a stroll round the Precincts.”” She spoke hastily and her voice sounded oddly uneven. “Splendid!” said the actor. At luncheon the Canon and his wife sat opposite to each other, and Ronnie was op- posite to Crichton Lewis. Conversation was brisk, in fact at times almost too brisk, for Valentine seemed uneasily cheerful and anxious to keep things going, and the Canon, too, made a strong effort, of which he was painfully conscious, to flow on in conversation. Lewis took his share with his evidently char- acteristic manner of resolute honesty and forthright manliness. Ronnie was silent unless he was spoken to. Then he answered briefly, keeping a grim little face. His mother looked at him several times with, as it seemed to the Canon, a growing anxiety. The glittering eyes of the actor, too, were very often directed to the small figure opposite to him, with the broad white collar and the carefully “‘watered”’ hair; and once the Canon noticed that Ronnie looked up and re- turned the glance fixed upon him with a sullen stare in which surely hatred was expressed. Then the eyes of the actor suddenly showed a rather blatantly dominating expression which, to the Canon, suggested the stage. And Ronnie looked down and shifted in his seat. And then the uneven voice of‘ Valentine was heard making some eager remark. “TD’you smoke?” asked Canon Lesley of the actor when luncheon was over. “Like a chimney.” “Then come into my study, won’t you, and I'll give you a cigar.’ “T shall be delighted.” He turned round. “And then, Ronnie, I’ll be ready for that stroll around the Precincts, eh?” The boy said nothing. But really an answer was hardly necessary, for Canon Lesley at once led the way to the study. I knew ; He S our guest Now no more “Are you coming with me, Ronnie?” said Valentine, standing at the drawing-room door, and looking at her little son with those big brown eyes which had won Philip. Lesley’s heart with the first glance they had given him. H nek on a a ao th ee ee:

Page 161

1925 sulkily, »y. He’s Suppose 1at man. And we Vas sud- extraor- surprise I knew ur guest O more he gave was re- ther to lecisive Canon. I claim | yours, onnie! oday?” ow.” Ronnie Canon. e your r after tly in “Let’s e long see. fe and Aren't uldn’t chton. id the voice e sat S Op- 1 was Was ition. char- and n to. little ‘imes wing too, igure ollar and

NEW! Madrasette is a brand new Eaton paper that boasts an attractive striped madras finish and envel- opes gayly lined. In white, of course, but also in lovely shades of gray, tan, and blue, with envelope linings in daring but pleasing contrast. Also Eaton’s Hand Made Style, with the modish, large single sheets, in hand woven effects, to be folded twice into smart oblong envelopes—a rea!ly delightful am paper of rich quality and attractive ; writing surface. In white, cream, gray, and blue. EATON, CRANE > PIKE COMPANY New York - Pittsfield, Mass. - Paris @58.c. aP.co.'ss

Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 173

Where Stationery Styles Originate Up in the Berkshire Hills there is an institution that has been producing correct social stationery for a quarter of a century. Here have originated the styles in writing paper that have been recognized everywhere as correct and adopted by women of discrimination. Eaton’s Highland Linen, perhaps the most popular writing paper ever produced, has won its way because of the character of the paper itself and of the way in which the fashion of the moment was expressed in its shapes and shades. New fashions in writing paper put out under the Eaton name become at once the accepted correct style. No woman need hesitate to buy a paper that bears the Eaton name, whether her taste is for the conservative, dignified, white sheet which is always correct, or whether she has a soul for color as expressed in beautiful shades or paper with borders, novelty linings, and other character- istics now so popular. There is a paper of excellent quality bearing the name Eaton to be had wherever good stationery is sold.

— SOCIAL LORS STATIONERY

Page 162

Building for America’s growth The early builders of America made their houses of rough hewn logs or of stone or adobe lifted from the earth. Settle- mer.is grew to towns, towns to cities. Small stores and shops were built, and these in turn were torn down to make room for bigger ones. Roads, bridges and railways were constructed. Factories and skyscrapers were erected. And so, swiftly, the America of today appeared, still growing. In the midst of the development came the telephone. No one can tell how much of the marvelous later growth is due to it—how much it has helped the cities, farms and industries to build. We do know that the telephone became a part of the whole of American life and that it not only grew with the country, but contributed to the country’s growth. Communication by telephone has now become so important that every American activity not only places dependence upon the telephone service of today, but demands even greater service for the growth of tomorrow. AMERICAN TELEPHONE AND TELEGRAPH COMPANY AND ASSOCIATED COMPANIES BELL SYSTEM One Policy, One System, Universal Service Hicherate deewhite bond paper— 00: Soe ea Finches B writing gar yn] env match. Has that crisp, rackiy “feel’’ that identifiesit to everyone ality st A$ Name and Adres Printed Free Sis Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “D’you want me to come, mother?” “Yes, of course.” “All right.” And the boy followed her into the drawing-room. ‘“What’s the matter?” she asked, directly the door was shut. She spoke anxiously, even uneasily, and now her pale face was slightly flushed. “Nothing. Why should there?” “But you’re so odd today.” “So are you, mater.” “T!” she said, sharply almost. ““W hat d’you mean? There’s nothing odd about me.’ “T think so,” the boy said obstinately. “Tt’s you who are odd. What is the matter? Tell me.” “Why should I?” “Ronnie darling!” She put her arm round his narrow white neck, then she rested her hand on the back of it just under his hair. ‘What is it?” He was silent. Suddenly, with a flash of intuition, she asked: ‘Does Phil know?” “D’you mean dad?” “YVes—dad.” “Well, he does.” “You tell dad and you won’t tell me!” she exclaimed. Her voice sounded bitterly hurt, like the voice of one who was wounded, who was even afraid. “Why’s that? Why should it be a secret from me?” She sat down abruptly on a sofa so that her face might be nearer to his. She looked right into his eyes. “Ronnie, tell me! You know what you are to me. Tell me!” Ronnie flushed deeply but returned her glance steadily. “I don’t like that man.” “Crichton? Mr. Lewis?” “T hate him.” After an instant of silence she said in a low voice, ““Why? What’s he done to you?” “Nothing. But I hate him and I’m not going out with him.” And then he turned and made for the door. But she called to him then, “Ronnie! Did you say that to dad?” “Yes. And I’m sure dad feels just the same.” And then he went out, almost running. The Cathedral bells were ringing for the afternoon service when the door of the Canon’s study opened and Crichton Lewis and he came out into the hall. “Well, I must be off!” said the Canon. “You’ll be with us at tea, won’t you?” “Really, I scarcely like to give you so much of my company. But if you’re quite sure——”’ “We shall expect you.” “Awfully good of you. And meanwhile I’ll get Ronnie to take me for a look round the old place.” “T don’t know whether he’s about.” “Oh, Pll hunt him up!” “‘There’s the five minutes bell. You'll excuse me? No doubt my wife’s in the drawing- room.” The Canon had already got his coat on. Now he picked up his soft hat and hurried away, leaving the actor alone in the hall. The five minutes bell was plainly audible there, and Lewis stood quite still for a moment listening to it. Ding—ding—ding—ding! My Lord! What a melancholy, monotonous sound! A sound to give you ‘‘the creeps”! Religion ) | was in the air here, something that forced a F200, Sheots—Z00 Envelopes | man to think of all the things one was always trying to forget; the future, old age, death, nothingness. Or—not nothingness! “My Lord! How can Val stick it?” And the wonderful kid wanting to be a mis- sionary! But his reason for that was right enough. What boy doesn’t want to see the islands of the Pacific and the world of the Golden Gate? : The bell had stopped at last. Now for Ronnie and that stroll! He opened the drawing-room door. Valentine faced him. She was sitting on @ sofa with a book in her hand. But when he saw her she wasn’t reading. She was just sitting there with her big eyes fixed upon him, as if she had been waiting for him. Hear “Hull gone of Ronnie. “Ron “Up- him knc a wond ] must

Page 163

1925 ” her into directly ‘xlously, ice Was t d’you ly. matter? round or hand Vhat is a flash yw?” py !? she - hurt, 1, who should down zht be > eves, are to d her a low ? 1 not door. 1 you ” me. ’ the 10n's ame non. 1 so uite T’ll old use ng- ow ay, ble nt Ay d! » ee Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, “Hullo, Val, old girl!” he said. “Dad's | gone off to church again. I was looking for Ronnie.” “Ronnie isn’t here.” “Up-stairs, I suppose? Couldn’t you let him know that ’m ready for that stroll? He’s a wonderful kid, that boy of—yours. He and I must get better acquainted. That’s only o., 99 Ma's no use your looking for Ronnie, Crichton.” “No use! What do you mean?” Valentine got up from the sofa and laid her book down. ‘Ronnie won’t go with you.” The actor’s face seemed to stiffen, and an angry light shone in his eyes. ‘“‘D’you mean— has the kid had the sauce to say he won’t go with me?” “He told me he wouldn’t go.” “He told you! And what did you say?” “JT didn’t say anything. What was there to say?” “You ought to have made him come with me. I’ve the right a “No, Crichton, no! Don’t you understand?” “What?” he said, staring at her. . She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Ronnie’s chosen his own father.” | When Canon Lesley came home at five o'clock from the afternoon service he found his | wife alone in the drawing-room. “Why, where’s Mr. Lewis?” he said. “He’s gone.” “But he promised to be here to tea.” “Did he?” “Yes.” “He isn’t coming back,” she said. After a moment of silence her husband asked, ‘‘He—he didn’t go out with Ronnie?” “No.” “But I know he wanted to. He said so.” “Yes, I dare say he did. But Ronnie wasn’t there and—anyhow they didn’t go out to- | gether. And now Crichton has gone.” “Was he”—the Canon hesitated obviously, then went on—“‘was he angry about it? Was that why he didn’t stay to tea?” Standing by the fire he looked down at his wife with a suddenly penetrating gaze. She didn’t look up at him. It seemed to him that her brown head drooped slightly as she answered in a low voice: “Yes, he was rather angry. But what does it matter?” “You—you say it doesn’t matter, Valentine? Do you really mean that? Do you really mean it doesn’t matter to you?” “Ves—yes—yes!”’ Suddenly she got up. Her face and neck were flooded with red. “Didn’t you hear me tell him I’d cast in my lot with the church?” “Ve ” “T meant it. I mean it. I shall always mean it.”” She put a hand on his arm as if pleading with him, pleading with her body as well as with her mind and her heart. “Phil, | 192 Phil—don’t send me back to the stage! The Canon had become very pale. His lips quivered. For a moment his blunt face was drawn, almost convulsed; for a moment he looked like a man involved in terrible strife. Then he put an arm round his wife’s shoulders. “Twon’t!” he said. “Ican’t! But ci “Hush, Phil! Don’t say it! For God’s sake, don’t ever say it! The old days are gone forever. Don’t—don’t recall them!” The drawing-room door was opened, as if cautiously, and Ronnie looked in. “Anyone here? Only you and dad!’ Ronnie said to his mother, smiling. “That’s all. Come and have tea with us.” “T say,” the boy said, as he shut the door and came up to them, “I’m jolly glad that man’s gone.” “Now—now, Ronnie!” said Canon Lesley. | “You mustn’t talk like that. Remember Mr. Lewis was an old friend of your mother’s.” “Was?” said Ronnie, staring across the tea- table at his mother. it. o4 . : “Yes, Ronnie,” she answered. “Was! Here’s your tea.” a pen OA patriots registered their Independence Illustration is exact size of $4.00 model (With a few strokes of ’ 1925 merican A Watcrman’s Pen —> with one filling—would have written many times the entire Declaration of Independence. It would have startled these patriots into an appreciation of its remarkable efficiency. In MILLIONS of homes and offices today it is freeing men and women from pen- discomfort and aiding them in “the pur- suit of happiness.” For the sake of independence try a Waterman’s. We recommend the model illustrated. Offered with black, mottled or cardinal holders; fitted with pen points that write as you would write. From $4 to $6.50, according to size Sold and guaranteed by 50,000 merchants

Page 164

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 The Heart of Juanita by Kathleen Norris (continued from page 83) Thrill, confidence, fear because not feel? she loved so much, delight because she could give so much? Might the bride of a few hours feel something of that instead of this half confused, half ashamed emotion that was suffocating her, this sense of cheating and acting and mere passive enduring? All this was frightful; it must be morbid. She tried to shake herself free of it, to be interested in the towns through which they ran, to face the situation sensibly. Marriage was a serious thing to a motherless girl, especially a sudden marriage. Yet marriage was a natural state, and in a few weeks . . . Her throat thickened; her heart began a quite irrational hammering, fast and alarming. This is a terrible mistake, this is a terrible mistake, the steady voice within her said again. You should never have married him. “Nonsense!” she told herself hardily, deep in her soul, as she smiled at him from the luxurious depths of her furs. ‘This is idiotic. You'll go through with it with dignity, as millions of other women do; you like him thoroughly, you’ll come to love him before you know it, and you can make him utterly and entirely happy. Just stop thinking of nothing but yourself and your own silly notions! You're tired and excited. “T can’t believe that it was only this morning that that odious Bladd fired me,” she said aloud, to say something. Somehow it was unbelievably difficult to say affectionate things, sentimental things to him today. “Do you love your husband?”’ Billy asked, in answer. She could smile, but it was with a sort of sickness in her heart. What was the matter with her? Was she going to be ill? Well, she would have to go through the hours with dignity, if with a total absence of any emotion except endurance. She could smile, she could look her prettiest in her one evening gown, she could at least not make him unhappy. Juanita, in her disturbed soul, tried to pray. They had left San Francisco at two o’clock; it was six when they came in sight of the wrinkled, gray level of the twilight sea, and the crouching cypresses about the Pebble Beach shores. Sea and shore were indeed blended in the half-lights, and the beatiful rooms in which Juanita found herself presently, taking off the fur hat, were exquisite with the soft dying reflection of the water that was just below their windows. They would have the little Inn to themselves; there were no other guests, except the few dinner guests who would drift over from Monterey and Del Monte every night. She and Billy had two enormous rooms, rooms facing the sea, beyond a narrow slope of lawn and pines, and showing the curve of the shore below the cliffs where the golf links were, and to Carmel beyond. And miles, miles below Carmel Mission lay the old Mission of San Esteban, on the swift- running coffee-brown Amigos, and beyond that again, only a short mile, the rancho, with the peppers and eucalyptus shedding their leaves upon the deserted pipe-tile roofs of the patio, and the sea-gulls walking there like doves. One of the rooms, attached to two spacious baths, was the bedroom, with twin beds painted green, with flowers stenciled on them in rich dull reds and gold, and flounced with apricot and lavender silk. The second room was a sitting-room, where one might have breakfast up-stairs. It had a balcony over the sea; it was a beautiful room, Juanita and Billy conceded, investigating it, with Japanese cabinets and Japanese wall-paper and heavy Oriental rugs, and teakwood furniture. Juanita laughed suddenly when Billy said fervently: “Let’s hope they don’t serve bitter green tea and rice cakes for breakfast!’ Encouraged by her laugh, perhaps feeling vaguely that she was not quite in his own wild mood of triumph and delight, he put ‘his arm about her and_said boyishly: “You do love me, don’t you, Juanita?” “Of course,”’ she whispered. “Frightened?” he asked. “A little,” she admitted, looking up. “You don’t have to be frightened of me.” “Tt’s all so confusing and exciting,” she re- minded him. “That nice housekeeper a few minutes ago, calling me ‘Mrs. Chatterton’——” “Ah, you'll have to get used to that!” he assured her joyfully. The first consideration was baths, and the second, as it was now seven o’clock, dinner. They murmured long over their meal, and afterward Juanita, with a little shy satisfaction Billy found enchanting, put on her soft new coat of silvery squirrel skins and pulled down the little cap, and they walked in the calm winter moonlight. He showed her the links, the tennis courts and some of the nearer cottages, whose owners he knew. When they came back to the empty lobby she paused for a moment, perhaps merely to pause, not to move on toward the hours ahead of her, beside the framed photographs that were hung there; big photographs, of fox hunts, of polo teams, of golf matches. Billy looked over her shoulder, identifying some of the men; the only one in which Juanita discovered figures that she knew he did not see until they had stood so, idly inspecting the groups, for a full minute or two. “And look there,” he said suddenly, “that’s Kent Ferguson—on that horse. They had a paper chase here a year ago last October, just before my mother went East—that’s mother beside him, and here’s my father—they all came down here for two or three days.” Juanita remembered those days. The time of the big tide at Solito. ‘Kent rides like anything,” Billy observed. ‘You can tell by the way a feller sits if he’s accustomed to a horse.” They went up-stairs. And Juanita turned just inside their door, and from the depths of a heart sick with misgivings and nameless apprehensions, laying her hand on his lapel, began merely: “Billy: ” “Yes, I know, dear,” he said instantly, stooping to kiss her lightly where the fur hat met the bright hair. “I’m going out for a smoke!” When he came up-stairs, more than half an hour later, he thought her asleep. She was tired—she had been nervous and unlike herself. during the latter hours of the day, he knew. Yet long after he was healthily and wearily asleep himself, her blue eyes were sleepless, wide open, searching the soft shadows of the apricot and lavender room, searching tomorrow —the next day, the next, for escape. Billy was blotted out completely, his good nature, his boyish affection and eagerness, the limitations of his conversation, the triumph in his manner today, by that one glimpse of another man’s figure, pictured on a big horse. Kent’s hat had been pulled down; riding, he wore the very golf suit in which Juanita had first seen him. He was smiling in the picture —how well she knew that oddly reluctant, oddly sweet smile that'so changed the dark face! Kent! About the mere thought of him there was reality, there seemed to be awakening from a troubled, bewildered dream. Instantly she seemed to be only Juanita Espinosa, not a diplomat, an actress, a blunderer, but a girl like other girls, destined simply for the normal living and loving of life. It was terrible to return to the truth. Terrible to find herself in Billy Chatterton’s room, married to him, with that other man alive in the world. Juanita tried to face what she must do, live on cheerfully, busily, receive callers, pour tea, buy frocks—always meeting Billy with a smile, always acting. It could be done. Women had done this, living brave lies through the slow years, and she must be one of .them. Spontaneous joy, the richness of loving, were not for her, She would be beloved, and she knew that she would not be unhappy. If she might not have the deep, glorious passion of which all girls dream at least she would have everything else. : Suppose this were still her marriage night she mused, but to Kent? The blood rushed to her heart, her senses swam in a sudden vertigo of terror and joy. But this was sheer madness. She would think of Billy. They would have happy days together, wandering southward through the autumn days, laughing at everything, eating delicious meals, watching the sea. After a while she slept, but she was awake in the dawn, dressing with the caution of a thief, creeping down-stairs for a walk on the shore. She went back to the Inn at nine to awaken Billy, but he was almost dressed, and the odd day began with their being very felicitous, very conversational, at breakfast, Afterward she had her first golf lesson. He was patient; but after half an hour she pre. ferred to follow Billy about, glad to be free to look off the cliffs at the sea, and the curve of beach beyond Carmel, and the gulls that flew about the course. Luncheon, and she was still all companion- able gaiety and sweetness. And in the after. noon they walked into Monterey, to buy silly baskets and abalone shell souvenirs, pins and pocket-knives. Suddenly Juanita knew that she must leave him, that if ever she was to love him at all it could not come to her in this mood, when every word was forced and uneasy, when every’ thought of her confused mind was turning for- ever to another man. This was unendurable. She felt as if she were losing her mind. “Billy dear,” she said feverishly, “you must forgive me. I can’t—I can’t go on with it.” The stricken look he turned toward her shamed her. It was more than surprise or dis- appointment that darkened his blue eyes. He looked as if he might have guessed, as if he had felt that this was coming. “Juanita, why?” he asked blankly. “Billy, forgive me. After a while—after a few days, when I’ve had time to think——” she said incoherently. “Believe me, I weuldn’t do this if I weren’t so wretched—so utterly— I don’t know what.” “But, Juanita, don’t you trust me?” he asked boyishly. “You can trust me. I'll do anything you like—you know that. But we’re married—we’re married, you know.” He was so much a boy, after all. He was trying so hard to be manly, to be master of the situation. “Billy darling, you’ll have to let me go! I’m heartbroken about it—I don’t ask you to for- give me. But let me have my way in this, or I think I shall go mad. It’s my fault, Billy. I knew—dearly as I loved you—dearly as I loved you!—that it wasn’t the right love. That he,” she said, very low, “was always there.” “Kent,” he stated rather than asked, slowly. And there was silence. They were near the bay, where the scattered fishing fleet was coming in, and where the shore was cluttered with old boats lying upside down, - half buried in sand with trawls and nets, dories, the drifted rubbish of fish scales and coconut shells thick on the tide line. Humble little collapsing huts huddled together toward the west; the sunset was red and low on them. | “As long as you like,” Billy said bluntly, his young face red, “we'll just be—friends, if that’s what you mean.” “It’s not quite, dear,” she said eagerly, apologetically, tender for his bewilderment and hurt. “It’s just that I want—that I must have time to think, to be alone! I’m half sick now with worry and doubt. Give me my way, Billy dear, and I’ll send for you, I’ll come to you one of these days. And I’ll love you so for understanding me now!” “There is no reason why you should go,” he -said darkly. “I know I’ve rushed you, I know wh itn sob tov it ov int th in

Page 165

er, 1925 ) ‘or her, at she w ot have girls dream y else, Triage pj ood fe N a sudden She would appy days hrough the ung, eating was awake tution of a valk on the at nine to ressed, and eing Very reakfast, esson. He ir she pre- be free to le Curve of s that flew ompanion- the after. » buy silly , pins and nust leave n at all it od, when hen every’ ring for- ae you must ith it.” vard her se or dis- yes. He as if he veuldn’t tterly— ne?” he T'll do ut we're He was r of the ‘oO! I’m to for- Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925. you're tired. But why do you want to leave 2? ie was so kind—so young—so stupid, the girl thought feverishly. She made one desper- ate effort to rally her self-control. “Jt seems to me that I could rest—that I could think better alone,” she offered, Her heart seemed to die within her when she saw is hopeful look. Me Get in,” he directed, and she got into the car. “Now, you know, Juanita,” Billy said, | driving slowly in the direction of Del Monte, “J don’t believe one bit of that Kent talk. It’s the bunk. He had a kind of a mushy way with girls, and they all got crazy about him.” “J suppose so,” she made herself agree faintly, as he paused. “Now, the thing you need,” Billy pursued, encouraged, “‘is to come with me to the Hotel Del Monte, go to bed, get a good night’s rest, have your breakfast up-stairs if you want to— you don’t have to worry about me. I'll play golf tomorrow; Pll play billiards or bridge tonight. And we can do that for two weeks if | you say so,” he reasoned. “I don’t have to be back for two weeks anyway.” Juanita wondered, with a sort of suppressed agony, what was the matter. Why couldn’t she act like a reasonable human being? “You idiot,” she breathed to herself angrily, “what does it matter? What if you don’t love him, what if you’re not happy—must you be a fool?” e persisted. She couldn’t go on with it. “If you would just be perfectly simple and natural, make him happy, enjoy this wonderful place, think less of yourself,” she argued. And she began to pray, “O God, help me!” Billy had slightly missed the road, explaining that he inevitably did so at this point. The right-hand road led about the curve to the hotel, the left-hand down toward a windmill, a confusion of immense dark trees and inter- laced roads that was always puzzling. He had taken the left by some chance. A train had come in, was standing three hundred feet away in the little station, steam- ing, its bell ringing. The hotel bus was waiting; Billy explained that if they were quick they would be well in their rooms before the lumber- ing old bus made its way to the hotel, half a mile back in the tangle of trees. “There’s a road back of the windmill here— wait a minute, I’ll ask that lad,” he muttered, | peering into the dusk. He had stopped. He was out of the car and running toward a workman, who was walking a bicycle slowly along a path, perhaps a hundred feet away. Instantly Juanita had her suitcase in her hand. She was crazy—he might have her arrested! This was idiotic—the train might not start for twenty minutes. He would know where she was, he would bring her back She was in the train, barely in her seat when itmoved. She felt herself becoming hysterical; sobs were struggling with an insane inclination toward laughter. over Monterey. Dusky woods, bare stretches of shore and sea, woods again. were gathering speed. She jumped nervously. The conductor was beside her. Instantly, looking up composedly into his fine, strong, sixty-year-old face, she was herself. She opened her purse, watching the strip ticket he punched. He tucked it Into the brass binding of the velvet seat ahead. “Thank you,” Juanita murmured. _Insanity. But she was free! Oh, the de- liciousness of it, after twenty or thirty hours of prison! Free. Anything could come now, any arrangements be made. Perhaps she would 80 to Billy penitently in a few weeks . . . Solito, at half past seven. She did not dare go into the hotel; old Fernandez would know her. There was a brightly new little delicacy store on’ Junipera Serra Avenue; Juanita Yet the wretchedness, the rapid beating of | her heart, the almost dizzy sense of unreality, | the consciousness of dishonesty, of play-acting, | t It was moving—moving— | it was sending the cry of its desolate whistle | They were moving, they | The Astounding Success of : BEE-VAC ; What Does It Mean? OMEN all over the nation are V4 buying Bee-Vac cleaners to- day as never before. What is the reason for this wide approval of an electric cleaner that has never been sold by factory can- vassers or demonstrators? We think that you know the an- swer. The Bee-Vac has set a new standard in electric cleaners. “Sell Yourself” a Bee-vac When you buy an electric cleaner remember this: It is your house to be cleaned. It is you who will run the cleaner. It is your money that buys it. Therefore, we say disregard all “‘hearsay.’’ Ignore all claims. Just pick out three or four makes of electric cleaners, including the Bee- Vac, and have a// of them sent to your home. Use each of them and return all but the one you prefer. It won't - take you long to decide to keep the Bee-Vac. Ashes cathe ss cathe sy cr ahess RAPID ° The \\ Self Selling | BEE-VAC | @ Bee-Vac Dealers Invite the Test More than 12,000 merchants now selling Bee-Vacs openly invite this comparison. They suggest that you test the cleaners for efficiency in removing all embedded dirt, all dust, all sur- face litter. Note which cleaner does the work quickest—yet with safety to the nap of valuable rugs. Com- - pare them for beauty. See which cleaner is lightest, easiest to handle. Finally, consider the Bee-Vac 2- year guarantee—and its low $44.50 price, remembering the quality and performance which go with this price. Write to Us More than 400,000 homes are now being cleaned with the ‘‘self-selling”’ Bee-Vac. Let us send you the name of your Bee-Vac dealer, who wil! gladly let youmakethetest—and send for book- let entitled, ‘‘Sell Yourself a Bee-Vac and Save $10."’ Also details concern- ing the Bee-Vac electric iron at $5.75. BIRTMAN ELECTRIC COMPANY, Dept. -¥-159, Chicago, U.S. A. BEE-VAC Electric Cleaner THOROUGH : SAFE 177 nthe ss athe ss orale 25 cashes; cr she sane cr fe 55 00 he 55 00 he ss oa hess ca fe 5 nwt, ORY AY oR ova Y OY Se ee ee er oe TIE APE AGA Hes a tesres Se OS Se ee ee Se Ot Dek Deel eet eee ee ee

Page 166

Coffee Free from caffeine Here is a coffee you can drink at midnight without fear of wakefulness. A coffee which doctors never forbid and never stint. A coffee which makes substitutes un- necessary. A coffee children can enjoy. The name is Kaffee Hag—a pure, exquisite coffee with the caffeine taken out. Caffeine poison is the sole cause of coffee’s harm. Kaffee Hag is not peculiar coffee. The finest hotels now serve it. You never knew a flavor or aroma more delightful. We simply open the pores of the raw coffee bean and remove the caffeine—the poison. It adds no delight to coffee. Jt has no taste. Even its stimulation does not come until two hours after drinking, so you don’t miss that. All the quick bracing effects remain. The f'i.vor and aroma are untouched. The roasted beans come to you unground. So you have coffee—natural coffee—at its best. Does that not mean much to you or yours? A coffee all can drink at any hour without a thought of harm? Real coffee, not mock coffee? If so, please send this coupon for a ten-cup package—for a dime! (Stamps will do.) Mail This Today for 10-Cup Sample; 10 cts.! | K 7 | GFFEE 1487 Davenport Ave. | | H AG Cleveland, Ohio

miniett COUNSC itt uit a 7ZYears 1 This simplified, complete High School Course—specially prepared for home study by leading pro‘essors—meets all require- > ments for entra‘ice to college, business, and leading professions, Over 200 noted Engineers, Business Men, and Educa- tors, helped prepare the 120 Other pecial instruction which Courses you need for success. No matter what your incli- nations may be, you can’t hope to succeed without <pecia.ized training. Let us give you the practical training you need. AMERICAN SCHOOL Drexel Ave. and 58th St. Dept.H714 Chicaga Money Back When You Finish If Not Satisfied American School, Dest.H714 rexel Ave. & Sstn St., Chicago Send me full information on the subject checked and how you will help me \ in success in that line. .... Architect ....Electrical Pngineer ..Euilding Contractor ....General Education .. Automobile Engineer ...Lawyer . .Civil Engineer ..Mach. Shop Practice . .<Structural Fngineer ..Mechanical } ngineer ....Business Manager . .Steam b ngineer ....C. P. A. & Auditor .. Sanitary & Heating . .Pookkeeper ... Surveyor & Mapping . Draftsman & Designer . High School Graduate

BUIPONE . 5 ov Fasc 6:0 cups 0030 '500 0b 050 bobs ss UU wh Nene entered it, bought cookies, sandwiches, with a trembling sense of adventure. It had occurred to her that the rancho might be entirely de- serted. A forlorn little muddy car, with “Taxi” written large upon it, was outside. Did he know the Espinosa rancho? “Yes’m. Down the Amigos Road, out toward the old San Esteban Mission, ain’t it?” | the man asked alertly. He stored her luggage as if he were glad to do it. They were all so kind—the girl that put her sandwiches in a bag, this friendly man who

rattled her along the beloved road so rapidly. She could hear her sea crying to her—crying to her in the dark. A year, more than a whole year since she had |lived at the rancho, a contented, innocent, | busy, eager girl. Now she was what? Name- | arms | absurdly into blankness. | coffee cup, stared at them. of the barns. less, married and yet no wife, troubled in scul, | disgraced, perhaps to be divorced—creeping back again under cover of the autumn night, laughing, crying, as she paid her taxi-man and sent him away. “Lola!” It was a high, desperate cry, the lcry of a homing gull. “Lolita! Somebody!” The door of Lola’s cabin opened. “The Senorita! Holy Infant in His Mother’s be near us all! Luis—Tony—the Seforita!” She was in their arms; she was laughing, 'crying, clinging to the children, kissing the once-disgraced Dolores. They made her eat, her big fur coat flung carelessly upon a chair already burdened with overalls and aprons and pink dry peppers and baskets and ropes, her fur cap pushed back on the fiyaway gold hair, so that she might better see them all—feast her eyes on them. “T’m back! I can sleep in the hacienda di “But why not! The Savior protect us, weren't Lolita and I airing it a few days ago?

| It is sold, the rancho, the Sefiorita knew that?” It was sold. Her radiant face fell almost She put down her “But what matter, Sefiorita? The Blessed Mother’s hand was init. The buyer wishes all to be as it now is, wishes us to remain, with Tony to dispose of the calves and the skins and the fruit, even as today!” “Who are they?” the girl asked. Whoever they were, she could come to terms with them after a few days. The three Dolores did not know. But the place was sold. “Didn’t they, the new buyers, come down and walk over it? Don’t they know anything about it?” she asked. “Never one, Sefiorita. It is Tony’s opinion,” said the old woman, “that they have bought lit but to sell it again, as a deal. Eighteen thousand is all they paid—for half the county and all the stock, was it not absurd?” Lamp held above Lolita’s head, they all | stepped out into the dear, familiar barnyard, | to escort the Sefiorita to the house. The light made shadows leap from fences and the corners The pale moonlight retreated before it. Juanita looked off, her heart swell- ing, to the meadows, and the silent oaks, the silent haycocks, the pale glimmer of the sea beyond, and her soul tasted infinite peace. Oh, whatever mistakes she had made, for whatever stupidities she would have to answer, she could right them here! Here was peace, and cool, soft, fragrant airs on her flushed face, and the sea, and home. Luis and Tony had preceded them to the |old hacienda by a good haif-hour; there were fires going; there was even afoot a clumsy at- tempt to sweep the Sefiorita’s room. The four women busied themselves with sheets, pillows, | from the sea. | blankets. Old Lola herself would of course sleep in the } poor Sefiora’s room; Lolita would be over at | eight to get the SeSorita’s breakfast. Juanita’s | protests were In vain. | comfortable, and they succeeded in seeing her, |the poor motherless child, cry for very joy. They would make her The country air crept in, cold, sharp, sweet And Juanita turned on the old pillow and shut off the lamp and sank miles, miles, into a heaven-sent, a dreamless sleep.

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925

The next-day, and the day after, she was her old self. There was even an enveloping, dark blue apron for her to wear. She bunched her bright hair severely back, armed herself with a broom. Lola and Lolita were in ecstasies. What if the new owner should suddenly appear, the women told each other valiantly, what were they doing except put the place in order? Sweeping, straightening, tiring herself glori- ously, drinking deep of the crystal well-water. biting childishly into the cold, juicy apples that were so casually stored in the spring house, Juanita kept one eye on the road that led to the old Mission. When Billy’s car came down that road, she would meet him at the gate, beyond the dry corn-stalks; she would put her arms about him, kiss him as he had always longed to have her - kiss him, beg him to forgive her. Twenty-four hours in the old quiet environment, in the old babble of inconsequent, prayer-interspersed Spanish, had quieted heart and brain. She was master of her own soul again. The first day died away into a red winter sunset, and the second day, and Billy did not come. He must have known where she had hidden herself, she mused. She had talked so con- stantly of the rancho. What would such a wife as herself do if she had irrevocably hurt her young husband by so selfish and impulsive a performance? Suppose Billy never forgave her? She felt bitterly ashamed of herself; her face would burn with hot color. Whet a wretched mess she had made of the whole thing! The papers had had a notice of their marriage, and how cruelly a man’s pride must be hurt to find himself so treated by the woman to whom he had always been kindness itself, humiliated before his friends, made a laughing-stock! “Tt’s all very well for you,” Juanita said to herself as she sat for hours together, motion- less, upon the sun-warmed rocks on the shore, “all very well for you to say you’ll make it up to him. But it isn’t quite so easy to play fast and loose with marriage.” . Under the women’s forceful hands, abetted, when they shrilly demanded, by those of the two men, the hacienda was restored now to something even more than its old comfort and beauty. And as she worked, she thought of Billy. She must give the rest of her life, if need be, to showing him that she appreciated how stupid, how cruel she had been. On the third day she wrote him at his mother’s house in San Mateo. She told him that she was sorry—sorry—sorry. It had been fatigue and excitement, that sudden flight of hers; she was at the old rancho— hadn’t he guessed it? She hadn’t thought of anything since she left him except how wrong she had been, of what he had been doing, of where he was. Would he come down to Solito and let her tell him how bitterly sorry she was? When Tony had been sent into Solito to mail this letter, Juanita felt lighter of heart. She had told the three Dolores the whole story, and she told them now that “the Senor” might come at any hour. She worked about happily, expecting him. If the letter went up tonight, he would have it tomorrow morning; he would be here in mid-afternoon. Mid-afternoon! All morning she sang, and when Lolita put her luncheon before her, the Mexican woman ventured a few friendly pleasantries. : ‘“‘So my mother can sleep in her own cabin tonight, eh, Sefiorita?”’ Juanita turned scarlet, laughed bravely. “After what I told you all yesterday, I wonder you wouldn’t call me Sefiora, Lolita.” “Senora?” The grandmother of forty-four chuckled shrewdly. ‘God willing, I’ll call you that tomorrow,” she muttered piously, and left Juanita laughing, yet with an earthquake in her heart. But when the quiet afternoon hours began, with a soft fog over the sun and the sea sub- dued and smothered in milky veils, to her dis- may she found the perverse, the inexplicably willful mood of her honeymoon reviving again.

Page 167

2 Yr, 1925 Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1025 she was her ping, dark inched her erself with What if ppear, the what were der? self glori- vell-water, Icy apples he spring. road that ae ee % ; | 2 3 CHOCOLATES oad, de 7 in : : 4 ai d the dry ace | | venty-four WN : ES ae : . ' teres - Be ae Ss ‘i > “f 4 4 UMMER or winter, -—- j e a ae S , : springtime or fall, , ) Johnston’s is the accepted offering —it bears the stamp of social approval. ... For Johnston’s is good taste. ® @ When you are considering a graceful gift,one that compliments the recipient as well as the sender, give Johnston’s.

ed winter ly did not ad hidden d so con- a Ee eae do if she and by so Suppose t to mail rt. She ory, and ” might happily, tonight, e would oon! lita put woman i es ‘ ’ é : ; ; You will find a special agency _— : -" , eA TS : dea for Sabon Chocolates in : f one of the, better class stores ni ; Ce as in your neighbourhood. rday, I ; Lolita.” rty-four call you lv, and hquake

began, ca sub- Sha her dis- i icably Bei A. 1-0: RON SFO COMPANY ‘ again. : MILWAUKEE

Page 168

How delightful to use a delicate powder which assures daintiness for the whole day! By Letitia Hadley "'D EODO will lead many more women to the use of a deodorant,’’said a letter which came to me the other day. “‘I think it is exactly what women have been waiting for, for a long time.”’ I know it is! Ten thousand women were ques- tioned as to their preferences before Deodo was perfected, and their wishes were fulfilled in the new product. Deodo is a fine, white powder—faintly frag- rant—with almost unbelievable capacity for ab- sorbing and neutralizing body odors. It does this, mind you, without sealing the pores or interfer- ing with their important functions. To rub it under the arms and dust it over the body only requires an instant. It is so delightful to use! It soothes—brings healing comfort if the skin is tender. And it doesn’t stain or otherwise dam- age clothing. Outside of Deodo’s important daily uses, you will find invaluable its immediate and continued | effectiveness on sanitary napkins. Surely it is a fresh, regardless of circum- stances .. Deodo is sold at most druggists’ and toilet goods counters—or I will send you a miniature container, holding a generous supply, free. Please mail the coupon today! A MULFORD PRODUCT prevents and destroys body odors FREE—matt Coupon Now! H. K. MULFORD COMPANY er Mulford Building, Philadelphia, Pa. Please send me the free sample of Deodo. Name Sereet City State In Canada, address H. K. Mutrorp Company, Toronto boon to know you are sweet and | Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 She fought it with every means in her power; but it gained—gained. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t become Billy Chatterton’s wife. It smothered her—the mere thought. She found herself imagining that in his haste to reach her Billy had driven his car over the cliffs, had | been painlessly killed. Painlessly, instantly killed. And her heart soared with wild relief. Twilight. And he had not come. The | Mexican women studied her furtively, but * “ | nothing was said. Yi | That was Juanita’s first wakeful night at the rancho. She lay staring sleepless into the dark, thinking as she had never thought in | her whole life before. Her life, unless Billy | returned to it, was a broken and a wrecked | thing. And the fault was only her own. The next day she had a letter, addressed to her as Mrs. W. C. Chatterton, Jr. The letter, deeply edged with black, was from Jane Chatterton. My dear Juanita, You have perhaps read of Mr. Chatter- ton’s sudden death two days ago. Billy was with his father at the end, and is the only consolation I have in the loss that will alter my entire life. Mr. Chatterton somehow caught a heavy cold, and was ill but twenty-four hours. Billy sails tomorrow for the Orient, and will be several months in reaching Paris, where he is to meet me *n May. He wishes you to know that he has for- given you heartily, that he wholly under- stands, and that at this time next year you will have no difficulty in establishing your divorce suit on the grounds of desertion. I am meanwhile concerned for your comfort, and am having a sum deposited regularly to your account in the Solito Bank—please do not resent an old friend of dear Maria Espinosa taking this step, and believe that my good wishes are always with you. It is my earnest and confident hope, as I know it must be yours, that my dear boy will find comfort and solace some day in the future, if it is not possible now. It was signed, “Sincerely your friend, Jane | Chatterton,” and was written completely in | her own beautiful hand. Juanita sat for a long time motionless after she had read it, the color drained from her face, the blood from her heart. It was too hideous to believe. Deserted, and divorced—and nobody to blame for it but her own wicked, stupid self. “What have I done?” she said aloud, after a while. “What have I done?” Billy, alone with his crushed life and aching heart, already out on the ocean. Herself, a wife who was no wife, a figure ridiculous in the eyes of her own old servants, alone here on the rancho. The future for both of them crossed by a dark stain. She crushed the letter into her sweater pocket, started blindly on the long walk into town. She had not left the rancho since the dark night of her arrival. But this afternoon she walked into the village to buy the San Francisco papers and send a telegram to Billy. “Ts it too late?” she wrote. She did not even sign it, except with the single letter “J.” Walking back to the rancho, she stopped at the Mission. The old priest was walking in his garden, walled from the sea, and shady and |damp from great fig trees. He welcomed | Juanita with tears; he was weak with rheuma- tism and age; it was good, he said in faltering Spanish, to see the Sefiora’s dear child home again. Sitting on the old stone bench beside him, she told him the whole story, watching him anxiously while he pursed his dry old mild mouth and shook his silvery head. No, no, he said sadly. She was as much married now as if she had been wed for twenty years. She had been deeply to blame, first to take a sacrament so lightly, secondly to fail in her wifely duty. The man, she claimed, was a good man, was free to wed. To refuse him what was his right, a good, humble con. scientious wife, was to commit a grave sin, Smitten, feeling that she hated the dis. passionate old man, she returned to the Whichever way her gaze moved, she seemed to find only thickening difficulties, only fresh eyj. dences of her criminal thoughtlessness. Padre Aisano had left her in no doubt. There could be no annulment of this marriage, sanely con. tracted by two persons of age, and sanctione by law and church. And for Juanita at least there could be no divorce; indeed, he had in. dicated it to be her duty to draw her young husband back by any means in her power, Well, she must humiliate herself to the duct. She must follow Billy with a letter that would find him in Manila, or Yokohama, or Benare-, or Bombay, telling him that he must return, that she loved him. That she would make it all up to him a thousand times over. That if she had been less tired, less confused, less dull after her lonely working year, this never would have happened. That if she had had a sister, a mother, it would not have happened. The phrases of her letter ran in her mind as the placid winter days followed one another, as Christmas came, and New Year’s. She grew graver, walking alone about the rancho, staring at the sea, pondering. She had failed everyone, herself most of all. It wasa constant, torture to Juanita to look back, to tell herself now how she might have acted, what she might have said. That was the way, was it?—the way un- happy destinies were forged; just a little combination of ignorance and stupidity and unconsidered swift action, and a woman of twenty-four might find herself stranded, for- gotten, put aside, with the voyage over and the prizes lost forever. Obviously she might not drift along here in- definitely, upon a piece of property to which she had, less than ever, any sort of claim. But it seemed difficult to move. The early year came in with brilliant, sunshiny, cool days; and despite the new gravity, the growing pains that Juanita felt stretching every fiber of soul and mind, she was happy. It was deep hap- ‘piness only to be alone, to think, to watch the little drama of the rancho unfolding. One day Juanita took the delicious, dark- curled older baby into the hacienda with her, and Dolores brought forth the new baby in the cabin room. Dark, lumpy, damp, speckled, convulsed with fury was the new baby when Juarita bent over the tangle of heavy comforters and blankets that were smothering his first few vigorous minutes of life. His great-grand- mother, old Lola, at sixty-five, was handling him with a terrifying confidence. How dared she stretch the crumpled little saffron legs so boldly, restrain the blindly warlike little arms in one of her big brown hands, laughing at the baby’s rage meanwhile! “Oh, don’t hurt him!’ breathed Juanita. “Hurt him! That one!’ said his great- grandmother. And she bunched him in her great hands, nude and wailing and forlorn, against her oily dark cheek, for a kiss that was like a bite. There was a new agony in Juanita’s heart as she went back to await the awakening of the older baby, taking his nap in the center ol what had been the Sefiora’s bed. That hour of terror and bliss, that fighting and wailing armful of helplessness and power, might never come to her now! She might be “the Sefora who was really a Sefiorita” until the end of her life. The hacienda was all in order; it was five weeks since Billy Chatterton’s bride had fled here, away from her wedding night. The old rooms, with their faintly discolored plaster walls, were floored with Indian rugs, the dark old Spanish walnut furniture in place, the small-paned windows shining like jewels. As Juanita sat dreaming, waiting for the baby to awaken in the adjoining room, t of the stupendous every-day wonder that had just come to Dolores, there: was a step in the patio, and a shadow fell across the bright Hea

Page 169

er, 1925 humble, Con- Tave sin, © the rancho, he seemed ty nly fresh eyj. ness. Pad There call » Sanely cop. d sanctione] nita at least, |, he had in. v her young Tr power, to the dust, r that would or Benare:, nust return, uld make jt er. That if ed, less dull never would lad a sister, ned. her mind as another, as - about the g. She had - It wasa yk back, to lave acted, e way un- st_ a little pidity and woman of anded, for- ver and the ng here in- y to which ‘laim. But early year cool days; wing pains ber of soul deep hap- to watch ling. ous, dark- with her, vy baby in convulsed n Juanita yrters and first few -at-grand- handling low dared yn legs so ittle arms ing at the Juanita. ‘is great- m in her | forlorn, kiss that a’s heart ng of the center of hat hour 1 wailing ht never e Sefora e end of was five had fled The old plaster the dark ace, the Is. for the Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1025 1,000 for titles par of sunlight in the doorway. She looked | a smile ready for Tony, or Lolita, or who- ever had come for the child. But it was Kent Ferguson who stood there, jooking gravely in at her. “Juanita?” he said. And at the sound of his yoice a sort of heady fear, a delicious weakness her. -“Kent!” she said, a little breathless, her tone half frightened and half incredulously glad. She glanced at the still sleeping baby, and | stepped with Kent into the sunshine and shade of the patio. For a few minutes they stood | staring at each other. She saw in him a man | strangely older, yet strangely younger too, than the Kent who had come to the rancho | little more than a year ago. That man had been bigger somehow, looser built, in subtle ways more careless, more coarse, than this Kent of today. He was thinner, graver, and yet at peace. Even in the first few stiff moments of their conversation she saw that the old restlessness | had gone; there was a definite sweetness, a gentleness about him. The dark, quietly smiling eyes seemed to wear habitually now | the expression she had loved so much and seen so rarely; their kind look, their sympathetic look. It was almost, she thought confusedly, as if Kent were sorry for her. ~ He fixed upon her now the old smile, half serious, reluctant, yet irradiating his whole | dark face. But there was a new quality—was it pity?—in his voice. _ “Nita, you’re prettier than ever!” She might well be; her whole being was flooded with the light that transcends joy and hope and personal prayer. They sat down on an old bench in the sun- light, and looked at each other as if their eyes would never be satisfied. “Ym thinner,” she offered. Not that what she said mattered much. She wore one of her old uniforms, plain black alpaca, decorously rounded about the white | throat, decorously long in the sleeves. But | lying square and flat on her shoulders was an old baby collar of Spanish embroidery, and at the thin, fine wrists were cuffs of the same fine needlework; her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes burned like fires under the oddly dark brows, and the bright drift of her hair blurred itself into a halo in the sunlight. The man perhaps was not quite conscious of the details of her beauty; the flush, the glory, the radiance of her had swept them all away. But he was with Juanita again at the old | rancho. Here she was, close beside him, glorious child and girl and woman in one. Her earnestness, eagerness, fragrance, her white-and-gold sweetness were after all only the catalog of charms some other woman might have had. But this one—whatever she was or was not —this living, breathing creature, was the one woman in the world for him. *Billy’s not here,” he commented. : Her color flamed suddenly; she fixed sus- | iclous, conscious eyes upon his face. How he known that Billy was not here? “No. Not just now.” She stopped proudly; | no need to explain further. ‘How did you know I was here?” she countered, feeling the blood burn in her cheeks and the nervous plunging of her heart. | “It was guesswork as far as Solito; then I asked at the post-office, and sure enough the woman there said that you had been at home for several weeks. But then I knew you were!” Kent said. And again there was a mysterious Sorrow, a strange pitying look; in his eyes. | “You knew,” Juanita asked, almost at ran- | dom, and to draw his too personal attention | from herself, “that Billy’s father had died?” His astonished gaze answered her. He stared at her for a moment too much surprised to speak. : “Old Chatterton!” ‘Oh, yes—very suddenly. A few days after We were married. Billy—Billy was there when he died; it was pneumonia atthe end, but I Suppose the accident was the real reason.”’ Famous for its Correct Shades Madame Jeannette, one of the - world’s leading cosmeticians, makes it her business to see that the four shades of Pompeian Beauty Powder are correct. Pompeian Beauty Powder is used the world over by women who find that it meets every requirement of beauty, pro- tection, and purity. It has an exceptionally adhesive quality, which makes the powder stay on an unusually long time. Comes in fine scientifically blended shades to match skin tones of typical American _ beauty types. Don’t Envy Beauty—Use Pompeian 18! pee help us get a title for this beautiful picture—the 1926 Pompeian Beauty Panel. A few moments’ thought may bring you cash for your cleverness. Who will win this prize? You — if you are the one who can best imagine yourself in this en- chanting scene—a flower-scented night with a full moon splashing its silver through the palm trees and over the little dancing waves at Palm Beach, Miami—or is it California ? Shut your eyes and think how wonder- ful it would be— you and the dearest- one-in-the-world. That odor of flowers —are they orange blossoms? And is this fancy dress ball just planned for two hearts to find each other? How would you describe this scene in a few words? Write down the titles that come to you; then send in the best one. CASH PRIZES. 1st, $500; 2nd, $250; 3rd, $150; and 2 prizes of $50 each. SUGGESTIONS. These titles may set your mind working: Beauty’s Reward; Love’s Hour; One or None? “I Love You, Dearest’; Beneath the Palms; Beauty Wins. RULES 1. Only one title from one person. 2. Ten words or less for the title. . Write title on one sheet of paper. Below title write only your name and full address plainly. 4, Coupon and coin for panel can be sentalong with your title. 5. Contest closes Nov. 30, 1925, but get your title in early. 6. In the event of a tie for any prize offered, a prize identical with that tied for will be awarded to each tying contestant. . Prizes paid Dec. 15, 1925. Winners an- nounced Jan. 9, 1926, in Saturday Evening ost. ww ~ Note. If you plan to get panel anyhow, you can send for it first and study it in full size and colors. Then send in your titles. However, no one isrequired to get a panel to enter contest. GET 1926 PANEL and Samples ‘THIS is the most beautiful and expensive panel we have ever offered. Executed by the famous colorist, Gene Pressler. Size 27x7 inches. Art storé value 75c to $1. Sent for two dimes along with valuable samples of Pompeian Bloom (for youthful color); Pom- peian Beauty Powder; Pompeian Day Cream (powder base); and Pompeian Night Cream (skin nourishing). Ciip the coupon now, en close 2 dimes and send today. The Pompeian Laboratories ' , 2706 Payne Ave., Cleveland, Ohio F I enclose 2 dimes (20c) for 1926 Pom- ' peian Beauty Panel and valuable samples. Name__ Szreec ' Address __ City sect State | Shade of powder wanted ?

Page 170

Sy our skin is jobbed of its natural “Precious Moisture ~~ Out in the sun and wind—encounters with dust—frequent washings and powderings all tend to steal the natural “Precious Moisture’ from your skin, leaving your face harsh and perhaps scaly. If you care about your complexion, don’t let your skin lose its natural “Precious Moisture” without giving it in return an application of Fros- tilla Fragrant Lotion, the prepara- tion that supplies your skin with a “Precious Moisture” just like its own. It is quickly absorbed and keeps your skin smooth and soft. Remember Frostilla Lotion is an excellent base for face powder. too, Announcing a new economi-al dollar size bottle containing more than three times the 35c size. Frost lla Lotion now obtainable in tu ze and $1.00. Sold e erywhere. FROSTILLA COMPANY ELMIRA, NEW YORK Established 1873 by the late Clay W. Holmes) nee (> THE battle ling Ag-nts S Harold F’. Ritchie & Co., New Yo: k & Toronto Frostilla, CJragrant [potion Hig wet yyy Each grain of powder is a tiny blotter absorb ’ng the **Precious Moisture’? f.om your — skin. “Carwood Chatterton!”’ Kent ejaculated, still unable quite to grasp it. “Funny thing, I was going to telephone the Sun this morn- ing, too,” he added musingly. “I did telephone the San Mateo house, but somebody, the operator, I think, said that the place was closed.” “Poor old Mr. Chatterton,” Juanita said, reminded of him again by mention of the house. ‘‘He used to be so kind to me. He used to show me engravings, and play cribbage with me, before ” She stopped. ‘Before Mrs. Chatterton came home,” she was about to say. But that memory was always one of pain. Kent was still stunned with surprise. ‘Well, that’s a knock-out,” he murmured, looking at her keenly as if he sensed something unsaid behind her: constrained manner. “But where on earth could you have been, Kent, not to hear of it?” she asked. “Not on earth, literally,” he answered, after a few seconds of frowning silence. “As a matter of fact I was at sea. I sailed on a fur-trading cruise, five weeks, up the coast and back, on the Madeline Hansen.” “Ts it a big ship? Was it an excursion?” Juanita asked, wrinkling her brows and nar- rowing her blue eyes in her own little fashion, that fashion he had often recalled. “Four thousand tons, about,” he answered | laconically, with a flicker of ironic laughter in his eyes. “Oh! Is that”’— Juanita hesitated— “large?” she asked innocently. “Not very. We had no radio anyway, which explains my missing the news of poor old Chatterton. ‘“‘No,” Kent added dryly, “it wasn’t an excursion, although at one time it promi:ed to extend our travels indefinitely— into spheres unknown. We had bad weather, aud Captain Larsen, who is a son-in-law of the Hansen interests, broke his leg on the deck. So an entertaining time was had by all.” “Tt sounds—awful,” Juanita commented, puzzled. “Tt was.” Kent stretched his long legs, in their tweed golf trousers, before him. ‘‘All in all,” he admitted, “it was the most frightful experience of my life.” “But, Kent, why did you go?” “T don’t know,” he answered, with the first return she had seen today of his old brevity, his old taciturnity. “And now what are you going to do, Kent?” “Now I am going to Baltimore to see my mother. A certain publisher has taken my newspaper stories, which are to be brought out under the simple name of ‘Stet.’ Stet means replace it, keep it, don’t edit!” “Kent—not a book!” “Yep, a book. One of two thousand that will be published next September,” he added dryly. ‘‘But no, I won’t bluff about it. I’m awfully pleased. And I'll be glad to see my mother, and my father too—they’ve all acted out the story of the prodigal to the last line; they couldn’t do more if I had been a joy and a comfort to them all these years, instead of the greatest anxiety. they ever knew. Well, anyway—that’s my plan. Mother and dad ” | Francisco last night at nine,” | naturally I’ve not had much time to set things | in order. | place was sold last March, wasn’t it?” | little, intense. cousins—the Sefiora’s cousins—in Mexico City, th legatees, you know—their name is Castel- lago. abroad—or in South America.” | are to make their first visit in twelve years to | California next summer, | them. | may expect to see us turn in here—and that | reminds me of something and I am to escort So along about July if you’re here you else.” He fumbled in his pockets, took out a sheaf of papers. “The Madeline Hansen got into San he said, “‘so But I find—well, to go back. This ‘How did you know that?” “Tl explain. Do you know who the owner tc 07? | is? His tone made her look at him, frowning a “No,” she said. “I wrote my But I’ve not heard. They may all be “T bought it,”’ he stated simply. Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 ’ She merely stared at him, her lips rounding incredulously into “You?” “Yes, last winter. After you ran away from Mrs. Chatterton, when I couldn’t find you, | bought it then.” “You!” she ejaculated again, stupefied. “Byt what for?” “Because I didn’t want anyone else to buy it,” he said. “I knew—or I felt then, never knowing that you would meet Billy, marry Billy, not even knowing that you were in California—I felt that some day you woud come flying back here—like a sea-gull. ’Nita— that this was the place you would always fing your heart—find yourseli——” She was smiling, but her lips were shaking, her blue eyes brimmed with tears. Her hand gripped his tightly; she looked blindly away. “And so I did!” she whispered. “This morning, after a succession of baths and shaves and civilized breakfast,” he re. sumed, “I tried to telephone the Chatterton house in San Mateo, as I told you. Finally the operator told me simply that the family was away. It occurred to me to call the Sun office, but what I had to say was to you, and I had a feeling you would be here. There was a letter from Mrs. Chatterton for me at the hotel—I’d said she could always send letters there—evidently written just after your mar- riage. She didn’t say anything of old Chatter- ton’s illness. Tell me one thing, ’Nita.”’ Kent interrupted himself in a suddenly thickened tone, ‘‘when did you meet Billy again? How did your engagement come about?” “T was working, in the Mayfair,” she began, Kent looked a quick question. “It’s that big red cash and carry store on Market Street,” she explained. She saw him shut his eyes, set his big jaw. “I boarded with some French people in Franklin Street,” Juanita went on, “It was a cold, stormy kind of night last October, and I met him in Market Street. He took me to dinner—I looked terrible, be- cause I didn’t have very good clothes She thought Kent had interrupted her, - when she paused he merely said, very low, “Go on.” “Well, and then for a week or two he took me to tea, and everything,” the girl said. “And then I was fired——”’ “Fired from the Mayfair?” Kent com- mented, in an absolutely non-committal tone. “Yes. And then Billy was anxious for an immediate marriage and there seemed no reason——”’ She faltered. Ah, what good reason there had been to say “‘No,”’ had she bu: been wise enough to recognize it! “When did he tell his mother?” “Immediately afterward. He wrote her a note at the Fairmont.” “Afterward? She didn’t know then that he had met you again, was seeing you? “No, I’m positive she didn’t. I didn’t”— Juanita hesitated—‘“I didn’t Sah her to know,” she admitted. “T see.” He sat silent, breathing deeply, arms folded now across his chest, and his nar- rowed gaze staring darkly into space. “Where’s Mrs. Chatterton now?” manded suddenly. “T don’t know. She is going abroad, I know. But perhaps business is keeping her here.” “You’ve not seen her?” he asked, surprised. She must not—she must not continually forget that she was a happy young wile, whore husband was supposedly absent from tue rancho only by chance, and for a few hours! “Not—not lately. I forget,” she stam- mered. ‘“She’s either with a friend or—or at the St. Francis.”. “I’m at the struck. “When did you last see her, Kent?” She had to ask it. “Last February. But I telephoned her the day I left on the Madeline Hansen—the day after you were married. I left them, you know; I tried to find you after that. I was in San Francisco for a while, went down to Los Angeles on a false trail “You were really searching, for me!’ he de- St. Francis!” he returned, ’ she

Page 171

, 183 Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925

4 1925 »S Tounding away from ind you, | efied. “But else to buy hen, never lly, marry uu were jy you would ull, ’Nita~ ulways find re Shaking, Her hand ly away, n of baths t,” he re. ~hatterton \. Finally the family Il the Sun ) you, and There was me at the nd letters vour mar- 1 Chatter. ita.”’ Kent thickened in? How she began, s that big t Street,” 3 eves, set ie French went on. light last et Street. ‘ible, be- thes “e | her, but low, “Go

> he took id. “And

SS rte nt com- a a he beginning oe

med no of new wisdom > | } Sa hat good

7 i AA had she In the realm of face powders, it used to be }é A —“That which is good is costly. fee 4 : th_re’s a new gospel spreading agp tig . te her a on tha Slee of wisdom—“Pay less, but J best.” 1 that he have the . / TRE-JUR FACE POWDER | a / is a delightful contribution to raeme s | Be loveliness. As soft as a kiss in <—w _ , as fragrant as the woods at dawn. aw- j i — | less powder—at a price ac a z j Ee —packed in a box i \ For Tre-Jur Face Powder : ~~ a Tre-Jur Thinest, $1 / ’ he de- ‘ ; ei 3 of singular beauty—costs - : h ’sa A shallow “‘ single” with P ‘ Purse Size Twin, $1 Speaking of value—do you know there's « ample powder. Thinest I know. \ with famous sliding drawer. delightful Tre-Jur Compact for every ne - Cats ebhuenths ‘ Ch MS The Triple — with lip stick, ingeniously encased — surprisingly price at \ ue irprised. \ sain Sq The House of Tre-Jur, 19 West 18th Street, N. Y. C. & Re ae tinually 7 J House o -Jur, 18th | oe e, whore i, r i } [ J ra. om tue tsetse y. nours! ‘ FACE POWDERS & eer. &- e stam- . mal \ te store or by . r—or at Sold at your favori ’ r—or W@ | ‘ ] turned, i TOV I ( _ oe he : P Cad, She had \C) iS her the é the day u know; in San ; ri our moneys mos to Los } inine Charm and a frank guarantee of y aa n symbol of Feminine Look always for the Tre-Jur trademark — the America e!” she

Page 172

184 a Sas | Sah. é trim and smooth MARTLY smooth— not a hair out of place... Unless you keep your hair always perfectly combed you cannot, today, look well-groomed. But thousands of men and women have the kind of hair that refuses to lie naturally trim and smooth. That is why Stacomb was made —a delicate invisible cream that quickly trains the most unruly hair to stay exactly as you want it. Stacomb does not make your hair dry as water does—nor greasy as the old pomades do. Stacomb gives your hair just the soft, even texture, the very slight lustre that conservative fashion demands. Helps Prevent Dandruff Stacomb does more than marvel- ously improve the appearance of your hair. It actually helps prevent dandruff. Buy Stacomb today at any drug or department store and use it for ten days. Notice the difference. How velvety smooth your hair now feels. It has a softer, lovelier gleam, looks thicker and healthier than ever before. Start using Stacomb tomorrow morning. It comes in jars and tubes or in the new liquid form. * * * Readers in Canada should address Standard Laboratories, Ltd., 727 King Street, West, Toronto, Ont. KEEPS THE HAIR IN PLACE Free Offer akes your hair lie } Standard Laboratories, Inc., Dept. D-24 : 113 West 18th Street, New York City Please send me, free of charge, a generous i : sample tube of Stacomb. Hearst's International—Cosmopoiitan for October, 1925 | exclaimed, trembling a little, and smiling. “Really searching!” He echoed it sardoni- cally, but immediately returned to a quieter tone. “Yes, I suppose I passed you in the street a hundred times,” he said. ‘Somehow I never thought of you as in San Francisco. I came down here twice, but they hadn’t heard.” “But, Kent ’ She mused, her beautiful eyes on the distance. ‘But why?” she began again. He pursed his lips for whistling, did not move his glance from the dangling bunch of bright red peppers at the kitchen door, across the | patio. “There was something I had to say to you, | Nita,” he said unemotionally, in a carefully | controlled tone. “I can’t say it now. Well,” | he added briskly, “what I came about is this. | | I’ve found Sidney Fitzroy.” “Billy told me something of that—that you had, and had lost him again. Tell me!” | ‘Yes, I found him just after you an away | last year, lost track of him, and found him last month again, just before I sailed.” ’ “Kent, then how could you sail? Does it ;mean the Sun can buy that property? And does it—does it mean anything to me?” “Yes, it means exactly the value of that property to you,” he answered. “I have an offer for sixty-seven thousand five hundred dollars, less inheritance and accumulated | taxes and so forth.” | ‘But, Kent,” she breathed, “enough to buy back the rancho?” “The rancho I want you to let me give you, as a present,” he said briefly, with a glance up. “T meant that from the first!’ It silenced her. She sat, caught by an irresistible current of puzzled and doubtful thought. “Sidney Fitzroy” Kent began. Juanita looked up alertly. ‘Oh, yes!—tell me about him. You’ve met him? Where is he?” “You’ve seen him,” Kent told her, smiling. Their eyes hung together. “I’ve seen him!” she gasped. “T’ll show you his picture, and you'll recog- nize him,” Kent went on, putting his hand in his pocket. Juanita, fascinated, watched him almost without breathing. But it was not a picture he put into her hand. She looked down confusedly, saw a segment of her own face, caught in a small round pocket mirror. She turned it over—the back was merely black celluloid; turned it back again, looked from it to Kent, her eyes fearful, her face pale. “That’s it, dear,’ the man said gently. | “Don’t let it scare you! You’re he. You’re Sidney Fitzroy yourself.” | For a long time Juanita sat staring at him, stupefied and uncomprehending, the color flickering under her clear transparent skin. “Do you see?” Kent repeated encouragingly. | ““You’re the person we’ve been hunting—it’s you. You were baptized by the name of Sidney Fitzroy, in the old Mission Church of Our Lady of Sorrows, in San Francisco, twenty- four years ago. I’ve seen the record.” But she could not see at all. “T?” she murmured, frowning her own little | frown of incredulity. “I don’t know—exactly | what you’re talking about, Kent.” “Let me see if I can’t explain it to you,” | Kent began, in a matter-of-fact, cheerful tone. | “There was a little actress in San Francisco | twenty-five years ago, a chorus girl at the Tivoli. She was very young—eighteen, maybe. She met a rich man, or a comparatively rich man, by the name of Choate, a widower with a couple of little daughters. Well, exactly what representations Choate made to Sidney | Fitzroy—for that was her name—exactly what he told her of course I don’t know, and I sup- pose we never shall know;.but it appears that she thought she had some claim on him, and when she discovered that she absolutely had | not, she disappeared, merely writing him some | months later that she had given his child her | name. “Choate wasn’t prosperous then, nor anxious to follow up the matter evidently, but ap- parently at the time of his death he remembered this child and left the legacy, as you know. But meanwhile Sidney Fitzroy, the chorus girl, had entirely disappeared, and it was only when I discovered the name, printed on the old bound books of songs in the Chatterton house that I had any clue at all. : “That was the reason, of course, that I fol- lowed Mrs. Chatterton down here that day last autumn, thinking all the time that Fitzroy was a man, perhaps an old friend of hers— that sort of thing. Knowing that she came to see the Sefiora, I felt that the Sefiora might help me. All my feelers in Jane’s direction hadn’t got me anywhere, naturally—she’s a woman who can keep her own counsel if anyone ever could! So later, the day I found you here in mourning for your mother, I had come back partly to question the Sefiora, see if she would give me any clue.” “She wouldn’t,” Juanita said involuntarily, wrapped in the story. “No, I suppose she wouldn’t have. But of course it was too late. My idea then was that Mrs. Chatterton was interested in you, and would have been sorry to have you adrift, al- though I didn’t dare hint it to you, since they, both the women, had made so much secrecy about it. So I suggested the secretaryship. “The rest you know, up to the time you ran away, anyway. After that I went up to the storeroom one day, and looked at those old volumes of music again. And I found that it was almost all light opera music, ‘The Mikado,’ and ‘Girofle-Girofla,’ and so on. But more than that, believing all this time that Sidney Fitzroy was a man, it suddenly struck me that these were all soprano parts. You know, on the cover of sheet music, the fashion they have of notching tenor or bass with a red pencil? Well, these songs and operas were all notched for soprano. “Tt didn’t come to me,” Kent added, “for a long, long time. And then it was because I had another idea. Some man on the newspaper one day was talking about the great days of the old Tivoli, and how they had put on the Gilbert and Sullivan operas, and “The Grande Duchess,’ and so on, and I suddenly thought, ‘Where have I seen those names before?’ This was after you had left the Chattertons’, in the days when we were all anxious about you—all trying to find you. “Well, I went up to the Tivoli—it’s a moving picture house now, and all the old records were burned in the big fire. But they told me about an old singer there named Rose Masson, who lives out on the Panhandle now, and who has all the Tivoli bills for twenty- two years before the fire. So I went out to see her and asked her if she had ever heard of a soprano named Sidney Fitzroy. “She said no, but that she couldn’t remember the chorus girls’ names. However, she let me go over her programs, and there I found Sidney Fitzroy, in the chorus under sopranos, and I knew I was a step nearer. The programs her name came into were all about 1900—they only appeared there for about seven or eight months. But the point was that the Sidney Fitzroy in old Choate’s will certainly wasn’t singing in light opera in 1900. Choate was fifty-three when he died, in 1912. That would make him the father of a professional singer at the age of forty-one—which at least didn’t seem probable. “T went back to old directories, old telephone books. No use! And then one day, remem- bering what your mother, what the Sefiora had said about the old Mission, and thinking that it was extremely possible that a chorus girl of 1900 might live there before the day of small down-town apartments, I went over those books, out at the old Mission Dolores in San Francisco. And there I found that Sidney Fitzroy, father dead, mother Sidney Fitzroy, was baptized there on the twenty-third of December, 1900. Godmother, Maria Espinosa. The address given was a Shotwell Street ad- dress—all burned over six years later.” “Yes, but then—then!’”” She had not stirred

Page 173

1925 Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 185 things. I don’t seem able to stand on my own Briturant finger tips—gaily pink! but ap. since he began ‘his story; she was motionless, »mbered rapt, now. “But then how did you get me in!” 1 know, “Then I went to Mrs. Chatterton,” he an- chorus swered. “It was in the first days after you vas only left her. I told her what I had got, and that I . the old would have to put the case in the hands of a n house detective agency unless she helped me out. : She immediately told me the whole thing. She at I fol- had known Sidney Fitzroy, she admitted, and nat day she had letters, photographs to prove it. She Fitzroy and the Sefiora had been your mother’s friends. * hers— You were born in a little cottage in Shotwell 1e Came Street, in San Francisco, and when you were a might three weeks old the Sefiora, who had no chil- irection dren, came up to get you. It was she who -she’s a insisted upon the baptism, giving you your anyone mother’s name. Your mother then wrote to ou here Choate, also accidentally giving a false im- ne back pression of your being a boy. But Mrs. Chat- e would terton, who has had occasional reports of you all these years, never knew that Choate had ntarily mentioned you in his will until this year.” se “And my real mother, Sidney Fitzroy? She But of died? Did she never go back to singing?” vas that “Never. She died,” he said very gravely. bu, and And he was very still. ‘So it only remained, rift, al- Nita,” Kent finished, with his strangely new, ce they strangely gentle smile, ‘“‘to find you again, take aa secrecy this evidence to the proper authorities and (i) ship. - clear your inheritance. Choate’s daughters, uw) you ran both married now and living in the East, have to the taken steps to have the property merged with ose old the rest of the estate since the heir is missing, that it but nothing has been done as yet. So there, likado,’ dear,” he ended smiling, “‘is the whole story!” re than “You'll have to tell me what to do,” Juanita Westies ‘Sa ——> Sidney said, after a silence. “If you can manage it, a ee ae ae ace vel: sa Ba lbh ye lg ne dle yo To keep her hands veautifully groomed, the Parisienne depends upon Cutex oy have whole thing?” pencil? “T should think so. Anyway,” he said cheer- 10tched fully, touched by her subdued manner, “you will have your rancho, ’Nita, either as a present “fora from wong: one from your husband, or buying : el had it yourse fa per one “And [am Juanita Fitzroy,” she mused. “Or move Women Use this SUZ Vt the old am I really Sidney?” Gilbert “You are Ric the nt person in the ichess,’ world to those of us who love you,” he said. b on “I am nothing!” she answered, in a low, | method L an any OL, Ah ter you bitter tone. “Kent,” she added suddenly, | s when “you don’t know what a mess I’ve made of | | 7i dedi feet at all! I’m back at the rancho now, where Te ee littl | -it’s a I started from—but beaten! It’s all so mixed ‘it 1s suc appy ittle accents to persona Boge: —so confused—it seems to me life will never loveliness that the Parisienne selects. it they come straight and simple again! ; Long ago she discovered Cutex—the won- named “Tell me first,” he said, when the passionate | - Sa ake ee handle voice had died away to silence, “why did you derful antiseptic liquid that quickly van- wenty- toe roe — aga eg : quishes dead dry cuticle and removes every Se e girl was silent. She looked across the : : ‘ oe patio with a hard, set look creeping into her hint of stain. Marvelous polishes! And ‘ eyes, and making her young mouth stern. delicate paste that whitens the nail tips. rember “The day you went away,” Kent said, “I So magical are they that in Paris and the , lat tae had told Jane Chatterton—I can tell you this Wueniah sonnel Ciaee ini all preparations are Try this Method Sidney now, ’Nita, so much has happened since—it’s : ; 2 ame. and all such centuries—such centuries ago! I had used more than any other kind. IP orange stick in mis her told Jane Chatterton that at last I loved a Try this method that brilliant women all over the Cutex, twist cotton —they woman, that there could never be anyone else world depend on. Buy one of the attractive Cutex around end and dip again. r eight in the world for me but you. ; Sets—from 35c¢ to $5.00. Or send 10c with coupon Work gently around nail Sidney me Lae berm fete, 98 most of the hile for dainty Introductory Set described below base to loosen and remove wasn’t married women are nowadays,” he went on, as oes y : ” ee the dead dry skin. Rinse te was Juanita preserved her stony silence. “We had If you live in Canada, address Dept. C-10, 200 hands and wipe with soft would been exchanging those little cryptic sentences, Mountain St., Montreal, Can. anak ~ the sich singer glances—you know the regular game, or per- N Ww i a ae pe is Sens ae didn’t haps you don’t. I admired her; more than that, ORTHAM WARREN—New York, Paris, London. back lightly. she had a strange fascination for me—she was = 4 phone a wonderful creature to watch, relentless, tire- Mail coupon with 10c for I ntroductory Set emem- aa oar play a oF a game. I had ga Sr OP OPP ra had er of the power she had over me—a sort o : : : 5 : g that a. rachis to — ae vole in oe ag eon peer te sae or to watch her, so beautiful, so superb, so as : daring, was always thrilling to ik Con you,” I enclose toc in stamps or coin for the Introductory Set contain- those he broke off to ask, ‘“‘can you see that at all?” ing Cutex Cuticle Remover, Liquid and Powder Polishes, Cuticle in San “Ves, I can see that,” Juanita conceded Cream, brush, orange stick, emery board and helpful booklet. anew slowly, clearing her throat. itzroy, “Well,” Kent said with an air of elucidation, ird of “then you came along. You came along.” inosa. Juanita was silent. But an angle of bright et ad- Sunshine, falling upon the brick-red curve of an old olla, hung on the wall across the patio, : stirred dazzled before her eyes. | eee ee ;

Page 174

“ - en al Her Broken Narror On her way to the party, she dropped her compact. The mirror broke. In spite of her better judgment, the old superstition of seven years bad luck haunted her. It threw a cloud over her usual gaiecty and the party was a great disappointment all around. 4 q é Have you seen the new Mary Garden double compact with its metal mirror — impossible to break? The charm and the delicate odor of Mary Garden face powder and the ever pop- ular Mary Garden rouge—so natural in color—are both contained in this most attrac- tive thin compact, so easy to carry. You can also procure the Mary Garden odor in lipstick, toilet water, talcum, bath powder and bath salts. Its delightful fragrance lingers entrancingly. These are the prices Face Powder in round box with puff. .$1.00 Rouge or Face Powder Compact in the new small metal case.......... .§0 Lip stick, slide metal case........... 25 Face Powder Compact, in new metal RRS SEY PRU See er one 1.00 Double Compact with metal mirror.. 1.50 Talcum Peace PRENS Ss toe aes 25 Wet GRICE ENS OR» 5 ive iiacs 2 os ees 1.50 Bath Powder with large puff......... 1.50 BAH DAtS TROL. Soo Fite. soho 1.00 Sole Distributor, Geo. Borgfeldt & Co. 111 E. 16th St., New York . ° ° a2 _Parfumerie Rigaud — 16 RUE DE LA PAIX, PARIS For a few moments both man and woman were so still that a young gull, drifting down with stiffly dropped, woodeny pink feet to the old fountain, walked there like a pigeon, lifted himself piping, and wheeled up into the clear spacious sunshine again. “You're like cold water, Juanita,” Kent said abruptly. ‘“Clear—wonderful! I want you to know that it was always you—although I didn’t know it myself then. That was the first time I had ever kissed her—and that was to say good-by.” The words took him back to another world, ) |a world of perfumed bodies, hot rooms, rouged | women stretching ringed hands for cocktails, to ologies and isms, I’m not the convertible type—but I have never forgotten that Boston tea party, and I have never wholly closed my mind to any “daylight” Ist. For instance, the card readers: everybody knows about them, what fakers they are and how impossible it should be to read character by the turn of a playing card. I have no more respect for card-reading as a science or pseudo- science than I used to have for numerology, but I have long been impressed with the accur- acy of some card-readers. Spanish women are especially gifted. There is one frail, almost -scrawny little person, whom I used to visit in Seville, but who is now—l'ke most wise Spaniards—residing in Paris. On questions that have to do with the immediate past or immediate future; this shrewd little woman seldom slips between the diamond and the spade; and last winter she gave me an example of her powers which I might describe as “painfully” accurate. I had spent nearly two years in European hotels, and had eaten myself into a condition where I was inspired to write for this magazine an article entitled ‘‘The Good Times I’ve Had Ruining My Digestion.”” When I saw the Spanish woman in the pink-and-green striped front parlor of her little flat in the shadow of Sacré Coeur, the article had not been printed. But the first thing she said to me when she looked at the cards was this: “You are too fond of rich food. You must look out for your stomach”’! Later that afternoon a phrenologist, a Frenchwoman, removed her hands from the bumps on my cranium long enough to point cheerfully to the bump on my waist-line. ‘Be careful,” she whispered, after she had again helped out her English and my French by additional pointings, ‘‘or he will die of good things.” And in my American mail, the next week but one, I found this voluntary warning from a friend in New York, an astrological “bug” whom I hadn’t seen since long before I got ‘fed up”: ‘You are under very bad conditions,” the letter read, “‘so far as your stomach is concerned. Do be careful what you eat!” My American friend’s worry may have been prompted by thought transference three thousand miles away. The card-reader’s re- mark may have been due to mind-reading or body-reading. The phrenologist’s gestures may have been suggested from below rather than above. My face and figure may have given me away. They are neither so esthetic as they were in the days of the Boston dinner party! But—and this is the sort of thing which |makes it hard to beat the Ists—the graph- | ologist of that long-ago party had said the same thing. He, who had never seen me and who had | died in the days of my gastronomic perfection, | was twenty years ahead of either the fact or | the thought of possible indigestion! The phrenologist who worried about my stomach was a very different kind of person from the furtive and obviously fakerish Spanish } | | } i Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 cards, money, somebody’s very latest story, Here the windmill creaked suddenly in’a wandering breeze, was still; there was a sound of water splashing. The sharp sweet bitterness of chrysanthemums and willow bark drifted lazily through the air. The sun shone warm in the sheltered patio. And in a silence they could hear the sea, crashing, breaking with a smother of wa er, quiet, and then crashing again. “Those winter mornings, walking home with you ” Kent began. He got to his feet; his voice ended abruptly. The first blue lines of shadow were inching their way down the old discolored, whitewashed wall. The greatest surprise of all is in store for Juanita—and with it the dream that is closest to her heart comes true—in the last instalment of Kathleen Norris’s gorgeous romance Next Month How Can They All Be Wrong? (Continued from page 97) woman. Although she was French, she might have stepped out of one of the little old ladies’ houses in “Cranford,” and the converted din- ing-room in which she received me might serve without comment in any home in Gopher Prairie. There was a red and white checked cloth on the dining-room table! But her card describes her as ‘‘Professeur de Sciences Occultes, Diplomée du College Chirologique.” And for all her housewifely appearance, Madame lived up to her title. The occult, with her, was a science. The idea that the bumps on your head indicate your character and capabilities was very popular when I was a boy. It seemed reasonable enough then, and it still does, that the different mental faculties each have a separate place in the human brain, and that the degree to which they are developed in the individual cranium is indicated by the size and location of the roofs over :these mental parking places. Hard-headed medical men say ihere is nothing in the theory: that the hollows on the inside of the skull do not conform to the elevations outside; and that bumps are no more indicative of mental capacity on the head than on the nose. But Madame de Siva says that both are important—the head bumps and the nose bumps; and she, being a physiognomist as well as a phrenologist, ought to know. I must admit that after she had given my head a thorough massage and had taken a good look at my plain face, she gave me a reading that compared favorably with the more mathe- matical ‘“‘sciences.” She it was who first told me that I would spend the next few months in diplomatic circles. My handwriting, I have always been told, indicates dealing with international affairs. My horoscope, according to every astrologer, suggests relations with governments and dignitaries. Both of these indications antedate the phrenologist’s statement by many years. Also, the little Spanish lady, from whose flat I had just come, had insisted that I held some government position. And when I told her that I had never so much as run for justice of the peace, she said: “Well, you should, for the cards say that you are going to do some- thing about governing.” But Madame de Siva put her finger right on the bump: ‘Your chief interest,” she said, “will now be diplomacy.” Madame was right. In the next six months I visited ambassadors in Rome, Paris, London, Brussels and Madrid. I wrote about Mussolini, Primo de Rivera, and the international situa- tionin Morocco. Next week I sail for Germany to see Hindenburg and Schurman Iam ona diplomatic marathon—and none but the Ists can say where it will end! “ Madame de Siva’s prediction was made in Paris in January. And I recalled it for the first time in Tunis the following April. I was sitting in a hole in the wall, almost on the side- walk of the broad street that leads from the

Page 175

Yr, 1925 test Story, denly in'a asa sound ; bitterness irk drifted one warm lence they ing with a n crashing home with is feet; his ue lines of vn the old rt +t h t page 97) she might old ladies’ erted din- ight serve n Gopher e checked t her card Sciences rologique.” pearance, he occult, our head lities was [t seemed Joes, that 1 have a and that ed in the the size e mental there is ws on the n to the S are no the head Siva says imps and ognomist v. I must y head a ood look ling that > mathe- I would iplomatic ays been rnational to every =rnments dications by many n whose it I held n I told wr justice ould, for lo some- lame de > “Your now be months London, ussolini, il situa- ermany um on a the Ists nade in for the I was he side- om the Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 ancient palace of the Shahs. Through the half curtained opening, the African sun beat and baked. Before me was a dirty old Arab inhaling the flame from a metallic powder which burned incessantly. “J see you,” he said, “writing in an office but it is not a business office. I don’t under- stand. It has something to do with a machine. You are writing, writing, all the time writing, and it is about a machine that has something to do with the government—no, many govern- ments. Am I right, sahib, am I right?” I had to admit that he was, that the Paris phrenologist was, and the Paris palmist, and the New York astrologer, and the Boston graphologist—that Ists in general had an annoying way of being right. For I certainly was writing of ‘“‘many governments” and the diplomatic “machine” by which they deal with one another. There was very little about the flame- inhaling old Arab, outside of his success in read- ing the content of my mind, that impressed me; and very little about any of the much-touted Moorish and Arabic seers which entitled them to be ranked among the best-family Ists of my acquaintance—with one distinguished though inexplicable exception. At Biskra, on the edge of the Sahara Desert, in Robert Hichens’s beloved Garden of Allah, sits Hama Serer, the sand diviner, who sent Dominie and her lover on their tempestuous way. Perhaps he isn’t just the same one. Perhaps he is his son. But anyhow, he has been sitting in Hama Serer’s garden, and making marks in Hama Serer’s sand, and reading out of Hama Serer’s Koran for years and years and years. He is not scientific. He is not mathematical. Isuspect that he is not even very intelligent. But in his gentle, smiling way, he told me the same old story—from Beacon Hill to the Garden of Allah!—the same old story of the Ists. Here in the African sands, by methods which even he could not possibly understand, this hairy old priest was able to ‘ell me what all the other Ists had told me about my profession, my temperament, my tastes, my financial and marital status—even my danger of overeating and my interest in diplomacy! I cannot explain such things—or such people. Some of their information comes, no doubt, from mind-reading; some from experience in sizing up the person with whom they are talk- ing; some from shrewd guessing, and building on the guesses which are obviously successful. Some of their effectiveness is due—though it could hardly be true of a skeptic like me—to the eagerness of the ‘‘sitter,” to his responsive- ness and his imagination. But the sum of all these explanations does not cover all of the knowledge which even the crudest of the Ists possess. It doesn’t scratch the occult surface of what the best ones seem to know. And, of course, it doesn’t touch the work of those Ists who operate at a distance and on mathematical formulas which have come down to us through ages of testing from the days of the Babylon an wise men. I have had my horoscope cast so many times and by so many different ‘‘astro'ogists” that I no longer have the slightest doubt of the mathe- matical accuracy of that science. Much de- pends upon the efficiency of the astrologer in interpreting his figures and in applying them to the individual. That is the difference between a good astrologer and a bad one. But I have absolute confidence that the results obtained by a competent reader of horoscopes are in no way affected by mind-reading, telepathy or guessing. So, when I tell you that the “read- ings” I have gathered from the minor Ists since I started out to give daylight occultism the acid test, correspond in general tenor and detail to the “reading” of what I consider the greatest of the Ists, I am giving final evidence of their baffling—and well-nigh convincing— uniformity. I don’t say that the Ists are right. As a practical, thinking man, I don’t see how they can be. But that, after all, is not the question. What I want to know is: How can they all be wrong? April Showers Toilet Wa- ter, diffused loveliness, $2.00. Sachet, breathing the Freshness of Youth, $1.00. Rouge, in light and dark shades, withthe April Showers Fragrance, 50c. Face Powder, that blends and is lovely, in the five true tones, 75c. Double pnsons pear a little silvery jewel with beauty inside, $2.00. Perfume, sparkling vials of enchantment, $1.00, $2.50 and $4.00. 187 L of us search for the beautiful. But not all of us make it a life work—a science—an art. This A was the goal of Cheramy—the quest of the ex- quisite. Not in form, or in color, but—subtlest of all— in fragrance. ... And to this house, so rich in the perfume traditions of Old France, success came—greater even than Cheramy had dared dream of. It was not merely in the discovery of a new odor—a new flower to add to a bouquet—but in two fragran- ces, soentirely different, so intense in appeal that women find them irresistible. Perfumes of Youth... These fragrances are Cappi and April Showers, Perfumes of Youth... Eachisloveliness incarnate. Cappi—vivid, yet subtle—alive, yet reticent—constant, yet changing. April Showers— part music, part color, part poetry. Both—Youth, fascinating, irrepressible. cA thousand odors in one... Open a bottle of either, and breathe its fragrance! Now put a drop on the back of your hand. Let it evaporate, and then test it. It is somehow different—more pleasing —more harmonious... Why? It has blended with you, madame—just as it blends with the separate personal- ities of countless lovely women. For Cappi and April Showers are perfumes of a thousand odors—subtle. in- dividual... Both you must own, that they may accent by their delicate contrast the charm of your varying moods. CHERAMY NEW YORK (appi and April Showers U M yg A es O F Oo 2a &

Page 176

The HAND That Greets New Friends First Impressions! What a lot they mean in this mad, rushing age, - when second chances are so rare i one doesn’t “take” at sight! And how skilfully the masculine eye reads you through your hands! Keep them always lovely if you would make the impression you want—skin soft, smooth and white; nails always glowing with the smart, shell-pink lustre that Fashion and good taste demand. It’s easy enough if you follow the Glazo way. Instead of long, tedious buffing you simply coat each nail evenly and smoothly with Glazo, wait a second for it to dry and, presto — your nails are changed to lovely pearls! Only once a week is even this scant attention necessary, for Glazo does not crack, ridge or peel, nor is it affected by soap and water. Glazo is the original Liquid Polish. It comes complete with separate re- mover, which prevents waste and insures better results. Get Glazo today at your favorite toilet goods counter—soc. Nails Stay Polished Longer— No Buffing Necessary Try GLAZO Cuticle Massage Cream It shapes the cuticle and keeps it even and healthy ee es ee ee COU PO Nee eee ae eee cy This Coupon and 10c good for Trial Size lazo Manicuring Outfit l The Glazo Company, 44 Blair Ave., Cincinnati,.O. lenclose 10c (stamps or coin) for which please send me one trial size Glazo Manicuring Outfit. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 The Last of the Bourbons (Continued from page 45) there, and I wouldn’t be surprised to hear it had mysteriously disappeared, come the next dark of the moon. Still, Ben Schwartz, that owns the Old January plant now, is bearin’ up nobly under his losses. He’s seemin’ly more prosperous than ever. Benny always was a forehanded feller, though.” He spoke this last dreamily. “Discussing the customary morbid topic of the present day, I observe!” A third speaker had broken in on them. Having approached the conference without being observed, the venerable Doctor Lake was propped upon his cane regarding them with a dry smile on his lean face. ‘Well, asa favor to me, I wish you’d drop it. Let’s confab about something that’s not so sordid and more cheerful.” “Fur instance, whut?” asked Sergeant Bagby. “For instance, going fishing.” “Where?” inquired the Judge, a pronounced eagerness in his voice. ‘ “Over to Cottonwood Lake, across the Tennessee. They tell me there’s just enough frost in the air these nights to make ’em snap- pish. We won’t be getting many more chances this year, boys.” “You’ve landed one customer right now,” said Judge Priest heartily. “Make it two,” amended Mr. Bagby. “When do we start?” “How about fixing it up for day after to- morrow?—that’ll be Thursday,” suggested the veteran. ‘We can take Uncle Ike Matthews with us to do the cooking. He must be nearly ninety, but he’s still a master hand at a fish fry.” “Tell you whut,” proposed the sergeant. “Let’s ask Major Woodward—he’s about the last able-bodied member of Gideon K. Irons Camp that’s left except us three—I mean that’s spry enough to git about on his pins. Ef he’ll come along we kin make a kind of an outdoor reunion of it—swap old soldier lies and drink maybe a few sweetenin’ drams and so on.” “Now you’re whistlin’, pardner!’”’ declared Judge Priest, he having got laboriously on his feet. ‘Only, by rights, we ought to be holdin’ our celebration up in New York City or the outskirts of Providence, Rhode Island, say.” His tone was cryptic. Sergeant Bagby gave a violent start. ‘““Whut business would we have projectin’ around amongst Yankees?” he demanded. “Don’t call ’em Yankees, Jimmy,” pleaded his crony. “Didn’t you know that way up yonder is mighty nigh the only section left where they hold by the beliefs that us boys fit and bled fur? Yes, suh, New England and points adjacent is the last remainin’ stronghold of the ancient and honorable Southern doc- trine of State Rights. I wouldn’t be aston- ished any day to hear they’d h’isted the Con- federate flag in Hartford, Connecticut. And ez for New Jersey sg “There you go again,” Doctor Lake inter- posed. “I steer you off your favorite subject and you go right back to it. Haven’t you learned yet, you two, that liquor is a bad thing for some people?” “And a blamed sight too good fur lots of the others!” It was the sergeant who rounded out the sentence. ‘“Speakin’ of liquor, now Be “T was just coming to that,” Doctor Lake hastened to say. “Personally, I’d rather have Prohibition than not to be able to get a drink whenever I feel like it. How about strolling over to my back room and letting me rig up a | few long toddies from my private stock? As | a physician, I’d say we all three need to stimu- late our appetites—it’ll be dinner time in two | or three hours from now.” They trudged away, marching three abreast, and their combined ages were not so very far | short of two hundred and forty years. The party was smaller than had been ex- pected. At the very last minute, Major Wood- ward’s loving but tyrannical guardian, his mar- ‘ried granddaughter, put her determined heel down on the idea of letting him make the trip. It would be just like him, she said, to go and get his feet wet and then she knew what there’d be next—rheumatism, that’s what: more rheumatism than he already had. So the Major stayed behind, cursing his octogenarian legs for their treachery to him. It turned out that Uncle Ike Matthews couldn’t go, either. He had another engage. ment. In bed in his tumble-down cabin out on Plunkitt’s Hill, he was entertaining a long- delayed visitor called Old Mortality. The visitor would stay on for a day or two, and when he went Uncle Ike’s soul would go with him, leaving an empty, worn-out husk behind, So only Judge Priest and Sergeant Bagby went with Doctor Lake, with the doctor's middle-aged man-of-all-work, Dick Gaspar, doing the driving, and four long canes lashed to one of the running-boards, and two full minnow pails sloshing on the ankles of the pair who sat in the rear seat. For these sturdy sportsmen none of your jointed bamboo rods, none of your deceitful artificial lures, gaudy with paint and dangling with hooks, would do. If the perch family spurned an honest bait, all right; at least there would be no false pre- tense about it. Anyway, Dick Gaspar would surely catch a mess of eating sizes even though his white patrons failed. There was known to be an affinity existing between a colored man and a pan-fish. No angler wenf unrewarded, though. In the middle part of the forenoon they bit well, in the latter part of the afternoon they bit better. Every minute or two somebody’s vanished cork would be bobbing its head under. They had a pool on the day’s catch—half a dollar for the first fish, half a dollar for the biggest fish, a whole dollar for the most fish. It was a sweepstakes for Sergeant Bagby, al- though Dick would have won handily had he been included in the gambling feature. He was high pole all day and especially he was during the morning session. His string furnished most of the meat that went into the skillet at midday when they laid off to eat and rest up. They made a Jong lazy nooning of it. Where they sat on fading wild grass under a sour-gum tree that wore a jack-pudding coat of bright crimson and bright green, Dick supplied them with fried perch and hot corn-bread and hot strong coffee, and the rich smells blew across the clear yellow lake to the opposite bank, and probably made the bullfrogs over there hungry. They kept bellowing as though they were mighty hungry. Before the food, they had drafts from Doctor Lake’s deep flask to give them zest—not that they needed it—and after- wards, while Dick ate a full-sized meal and then tidied up the camp place, they lay back on the soft dry turf which was thick and cush- iony under their venerable backs and they smoked and they talked, and the Judge dozed off for a spell and snored zealously. About three o’clock the other two nudged him awake and they boarded the skiffs again, two fishermen to a boat; but first Doctor Lake’s flask passed from hand to hand, winding up, with just one good long dram in it, in the wel- coming grasp of the black man. “That’s powerful good-tastin’ whisky,” com- mented Sergeant Bagby. “Whew-e-e! I kin feel it strokin’ me all over!” “Tt ought to be good,” said the donor, with the silver measure poised just off his own under- lip. ‘It’s been aging in the wood ever since the spring of the year when Alton B. Parker ran on our ticket. It’s out of the supply I laid in just before the Big Drought started. That’s some of the original Old January, and they never made any better Bourbon than that here in this town or anywhere else in this state.” “To think it’s almost gone, and when it Is, there won’t be no more like it never again!” There was a true Kentuckian’s true lament in the sergeant’s dolorous philosophy. “That'll be a sorrowful day, Lew.” “T reckon your day of grief is pretty close at SOL a og eh Me TRAE Ye Oe OS ee ae bet ee Le et an oh ee Oe an a 2 mm a ee et fe ae em ee 8! oe

Page 177

» 1925 € 45) nake the > said, to new what t's what; 1. So the ogenarian Matthews r engage- cabin out ig a long- ty. The two, and 1 go with k behind, it Bagby doctor’s Gaspar, es lashed two full the pair e sturdy 200 rods, Ss, gaudy vould do. bait, all alse pre- ar would n though nown to red man igh. In bit well, they bit 1ebody’s d under. —half a for the ost fish. gby, al- had he He was ; during irnished killet at rest up. Where yur-gum f bright 2d them ind hot y across nk, and hungry. y were ey had to give d after- 2al and back d cush- d they > dozed nudged | again, Lake’s ing up, he wel- ”” com- I kin r, with under- nce the er ran laid in That’s 1 they it here state.” n it is, gain!” vent in That'll lose at Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 hand, then, from all I hear,” said Doctor Lake, | sinking his voice and glancing toward his ser- | vant thirty feet away. é “How so?” His two hearers cocked their ears. ; “Well, strictly between ourselves, I heard rumors yesterday—on the dead q. t., of course —that Benny Schwartz is about due to suffer from another one of those mysterious robberies down at the Old January plant. It’ll make his third in less than a year, and it ought to clean out the remnants of his stock. Benny’s a depositor with us, you know.” The doctor was vice-president and a director of the Planters’ | National. “And so I’m more likely than some | to hear what’s drifting idly about in certain confidential circles. Well, that’s scandal | enough for one dose. Come on, boys, let’s get adrift, because gassing here we’re wasting the precious hours.” It was almost dark and their arms were all played out before the fishermen called it aday and quit. They came ashore, matching strings and bragging, and they were three weary old codgers but happy and well content; though the thoughts of home and a crackling hearth-fire and a hot supper and a soft bed were beginning to appeal to them witha great appeal. Here, though, the first setback of a hitherto perfect day intervened between them and their wishes. Doctor Lake’s Dick couldn’t induce the car to start. He pressed buttons vainly and he joggled unresponsive levers, after which he got out and he cranked and he cranked her, but no heartening roar from the mechanism re- warded this labor. She only panted and coughed in a debilitated way. So then he un- latched the hood and in a light which momen- tarily failed on him, he tried to find out what ailed her insides. His passengers stood about and offered advice and suggestions and diag- | noses. The clinic threatened to turn‘into an | autopsy. She even quit gasping under treat- ment; she apparently was as dead as Cesar. Still the odd-jobs man thought that given a little more time he could nurse back the breath of life to the seeming corpse. So, in the gathered twilight, they sat down again in their former places near the skiff landing. The colored man contrived for them a snack from the leavings of dinner, then went back to his patient, kindling a bright fire alongside to give him light ‘to work by. Time passed, and they grew drowsy, and Judge Priest’s pipe went out. A lot of time passed—whole hours; maybe they dozed off altogether. Finally Doctor Lake stirred himself. He threw away a stale stub of cigar which he had found nestling in his bosom and he struck a match and fumbled his watch out. “Hey, you two!” he exclaimed. “Know what time it is? Well, it’s twenty past ten and for one, I’m getting cold.” “Well, whut you goin’ to do about it?” de- manded the sergeant, who was sleepy and therefore cross. “There’s only one thing to do. Leave my man here with that baulky she-devil and start on afoot. If he gets her going he can overtake | us. If he don’t, we'll telephone in to town from | the ferry and send out some help for him. If | he has to stay here all night he can bunk on the seat cushions with the robe over him. But we can’t—I’d have two disreputable old ruffians | sick on my hands in the morning.” | “But it’s over three miles back through the slashes to the river, and not a house of any kind in between. It’s the lonesomest stretch in the whole county, purty near it.” “Somebody might happen along with a rig and pick us up. Come on, roust yourselves!” The doctor had his own way about it. Stiffly they hobbled up through the low ground to the small ridge fringed with pecans and scrub-oaks, that marked the highway; and trudging along very slowly they set their faces toward civilization. The empty winding road me a causeway built up out of the swamp lands, and on either side cypress knees showed dimly where they rose out of stagnant pools. The prospect was for a not very cheerful T By ap- pointment to H.R.H ThePrince Lavender to luck amid& The labors of her loom, With mickle rare perfume SSESSGGGFQHGGHHHHLGLHHHHAAH HHH HAH ALA HAMAS AAH SSS GLa Moora Phen — pier Remmi [Pen eunme df Lu .mme yISSSSSSSSESSSSSESSSSEGGGGGS Old Engligh Lavendeér Soap LUXURIOUSLY PERFUMED WITH THE delightful fragrance of the English lavender blossom, associated through the centuries with beautiful things. Exquisitely pure and made of extra fine materials, it is the Luxury Soap of the World and has been used by the leaders of taste and fashion for over a hun- dred years. Box of Three Large Tablets $1.00 or 35c per Tablet THE SERIES ALSO INCLUDES— Lavender Water, $1.00; $1.75; Face Powder, 85c; Compact, $1.00; $1.50; Talc, 75c; Sachet, 25c; Shampoo, 15c the cartridge; Bath Salts, $1.50. Obtainable at all Good Stores YARDLEY & CO., Ltd., 8 New Bond Street, LONDON 15-19 Madison Square N. 145, Adelaide Street W NEW YORK TORONTO, Canada And crown her kerchief clean, QODDDPISIDPOQOOT VPP OTP DVO LALAPOV DODD VIR AIDOPDD LD OVVPODODPALVOLI OTA ora CPP OPA; - = aa || | 72

Page 178

190 Top tile cae gules This 3/4 less 1/82 carat dia- mond solitaire (abs: goatee) of snappy, fiery rilliancy at $57 is just one of hundreds of equally amazing offers in recent diamond bargain list. Never throughout three- rters of a century have we been able to offer more startling values. 7 Yet the reason should be plear. This 75-year-old firm throughits soundest of pol- icies has an ever ss Hundredssf Diamonds all the world has the high- est rating and over $1,000,- capital. We have le loans on diamonds, jewels, ete., in excess of 000,000 and still "an ever ine loan pe Why Pa Full Prices Costs Nothing to See Atourrisk wesend youany bargain on approva! tor examination. You'll be more than satisfied to buy when teh at 60% more. Hundreds of the loans unpaid must be sold —now. Diamonds, jewels, other gems (also watches) of unusual qualities at un- usual startlingly low prices based on loan values not the regular Market values. Also many bargains from big cash deals direct with European diamond cutters, Diamonds as low as aad Ct. Still more desi le ualities at $125 per t. and upward. Loan LIST FREE Now Edition limited, Don’t de- lay. Write at once for latest bargain bulletin—includes loans apes. Entirely dif- ferent listings -—- unpaid loans and other special ad- vantage bargains in vast array pictured d de- Scribed in full detail—ex. act carat weight, color quality, ete. Diamond bar- ains with guaranteed cash oan values. Unlimited ex- change privilege at price paid us. Get Gotette = xamination iga . i Free. Bend posteartie — Mail Coupon NOW ee | Jos. DeRoy & Sons, | Only Opposite Post Office A i 1030 DeRoy, Bldg., Pittsburgh, Pa, | Without obligati d free, latest Bargain : List of Diamonds, Watches and other jewelry. : f Name 6 4 f § Address ' q ) § City State | Foe a ae ee ae ee oe oe os oe oe oe oe oe OWN A, TYPEWRITER The ace of writing machines—at a bargain price! A free trial, and easiest monthly payments if — buy! This Underwood No.5—rebuilt from top to bottom— five-year-guaranteed—removes the last reason for not | owning your own machine. Get our proposition with new and valuable Typewriting Manual, free. | f 7 ypewsting Manual, large catalog, and FREE full particulars of free course in touch | ® writing, if you mail this to SHIPMAN- Warp Merc. Co., 2077 Shipman Bidg., Chicago. Name | Qe ————— Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 journey. Traveling at a rate of not exceeding two miles an hour—that would be a flattering estimate—they had covered perhaps half the distance to the ferry, which would serve in the emergency for a.relief station, when from on ahead of them, and not far away either, came a succession of noises at which instantly they checked and stiffened. staccato of crackling sounds. It was bang, bang, like that, then a pause, then another bang, then several of the reports merging together; and at the end, as though for punctuation to a running skirmish, one solitary bang, spaced off. “Must be a car back-firing,”’ said Doctor Lake, but his explanation was pitched in a dubious key. ‘Where are your ears?” snapped Judge Priest excitedly. ‘You must ’a’ forgotten your war days, too! Boys, that’s pistol-shootin’, shore ez you live. Somethin’s doin’ round that next bend.” Something was doing around the bend. Or at least something had been doing. On the ensuing instant proof of it was offered to them. Out of the gloom in front of them was the pad-pad of pelting feet, approaching swiftly. Instinctively the three veterans took the road- side, vacating its middle. By them, and so close they could hear his forced choky breath- ing, ran somebody, a man, and one traveling at top speed. Passing, he almost brushed against Doctor Lake. “Hold on, there!” commanded that gentle- man. The:runner ducked and gave so convulsive a jerk that his hat flew off. But he neither slowed nor looked aside; rather, he put on a burst of added speed. As he ascended a slight rise a few rods on beyond, in the direction from | which the trio had tramped, they saw his shadowgram outlined for one fleeting bit against the open between two flanking lines of timber, the head tucked in, the back hunched, the arms. swinging like flails, and then he was gone from sight behind them. “Come on,” bade the Judge, and moved for- ward. The others obeyed, but first Doctor | Lake retreated a pace or two and picked up the fugitive’s abandoned hat, and thereafter carried it along. Cautiously the three of them advanced into the curve. As they rounded it they were |aware of the bulk of a heavy motor vehicle | standing in the center of the road at a distance from them of no more than thirty yards or so, and of a stir about it which betokened human presence. Two shapes made a little huddled clump by a front wheel; one might guess that they were watching, waiting before progressing to the next step in a contemplated operation. A third was a little in the rear, its posture vigilant, suspicious; a fourth was clambering up into the car, doing something with great haste; the vague silhouette of the body shifted and one arm seemed to rise and fall as though that one wielded a tool or a weapon. Ac- companying these movements was a brisk hammering thud, then the shriek of a nailed board being pried loose, and a tinkle and jangle of breaking glass. With that the wind brought to the nostrils of the old men a reek that was strong and unmistakable for what it was. “Stiddy!” warned Judge Priest in a taut whisper. “Foller my lead, you boys. I’m goin’ to yell somethin’. Wait till I’m done; then you start whoopin’ and thrashin’ about like all possessed, makin’ ez much rumpus ez you kin.” He cupped his hands to his mouth, and his comrades, knowing him for most of their lives as they had, were startled that from his throat should issue now, so full and so lusty and with | such deceiving mimicry, the voice of an able- bodied youthful man—a voice which even in that tense moment they recognized and marveled at. “Ready, men!” he shouted. ‘‘We’ve got ’em red-handed and outnumbered. Rogers, close |in from your side! Turner, you and Husbands | cut ’em off down the road! And don’t be afraid to shoot, either—the law’s on your side! Shoot to kill! Now rush ’em!” It was a sharp rapid- On cue, as he finished, his confederates joined efforts. There arose a great hullabaloo of commingled outcries, a shuffling and rush of shod feet on the gritty gravel underfoot, g tumultous crackling of roadside shrubbe es the convincing simulation of a spirited and de- termined charge. It was surprising to note how beautifully the ruse succeeded—how beautifully and how in. stantaneously. In the dimness the three con. spirators caught a fleeting suggestion of the stiffening of astonished figures, the relaxing of - those figures, their leaps this way and that, — and a precipitate unanimous flight off sidewise — into the bottoms. The members of the surprise party closed in ? on their prize. All at once, after the excite- ment, the night seemed very quiet and very peaceful. Judge Priest was chuckling to him- self, and Sergeant Bagby was puffing and blow- ing for wind to fill his lungs with, but the very next thing the old doctor did was to go up and study the contours of the captured vehicle at close range. “Does this truck seem familiar to anybody?” inquired the investigator. “T should say so!” Sergeant Bagby bit off a vigorous intake to make reply. “It’s Justus Hooper’s—little old Justus, our leadin’ boot- legger, and none other, by granny! Ah hah, now I begin to see daylight.” “A blindman could if he wasn’t feeble- minded,” Doctor Lake grunted. “Just piece the thing together: Justus and his outfit are moving this job lot of the synthetic poison that he deals out to the retail suicide trade over this end of the state.” He tapped the side of the truck. “The estimable Budge Willingham and his troupe of hijackers get on to it that the convoy will be going through tonight. Maybe Justus has a traitor in his camp. “Anyhow Budge’s tough bunch slip out here to this uninhabited neighborhood and lie in wait and when the truck comes helling along they jump out of cover and hold her up and turn loose a fusillade in the air. Justus prob- ably thought he’d driven into the Battle of the Marne by mistake. So he and his gang, being lily-livered anyhow, hop down and light out in every direction.” “Tt must ’a’ been one of ’em that tore past us back yonder,” supplied the sergeant. “T ain’t so shore of that,”’ said Judge Priest. “Whut’s the reason you ain’t?” countered the sergeant. ‘Who else could it ’a’ been? Here, hold on, Lew, and lemme finish stringin’ the tale together: Then, just at the identical minute when Budge’s gang of scoundrels zre pawin’ over the load to see whut ’tis they've captured so nice and easy, along come you and me and Billy Priest, hoofin’ it in. Talk about your coincidences! And we slip up on ’em unbeknownst and Billy here cuts loose, makin’ out like he’s County Chief Bob Sweet with a whole posse of deputies at his back. T’ll swear, Billy, you’d ’a’ fooled me ef I hadn’t been standin’ there right alongside, listenin’ at you while you done it. So you couldn’t blame Budge and his pardners fur bein’ fooled. “Moreover, they knew that Bob Sweet would count it a blessed privilege to plug a hijacker. Judgin’ by the way they were travelin’ when they left, all four of ’em must be a couple of miles frum here by now.” “T doubt if they had to go that far,” sur- mised Doctor Lake. ‘‘You noticed they all went off in this quarter.”” He waved his right arm. “Well, my guess.is that they left their own car hidden over on the Otter Ford road— that’s less than a mile east of here—and then waded across to this ambushing point. So naturally when we disturbed them they hustled back the same way they’d come. But Justus’s crowd will have to walk in, I expect.” “T wish sore feet fur ’em,” said Sergeant Bagby. “Well, the next question is whut are we goin’ to do with this jag of p’izen that’s fell into our hands so providential-like? How *bout bustin’ it open and pourin’ it out on the ground, boys?” He inhaled deeply and with profound disgust. ‘Ketch the vile and sicken- in’ stink frum that broken bottle up there on Hea. find 3 every lady’ dad’ s Don’ And Sears able such «Tt ny f shall hone day’ such are a lions oul: bit p CH

Page 179

» 1925 nfederates 1ullabalog id rush of lerfoot, a ‘ubbery— d and de- ‘ifully the how in- hree con- mn of the slaxing of ind that, i sidewise closed in 1e a and ve z to hin. ind blow- the very 0 up and ehicle at body?” y bit off ’s Justus in’ boot- Ah hah, t feeble- ist. piece utfit are C poison ade over e side of lingham that the Maybe out here d lie in 1g along up and us prob- le of the g, being ght out ore past > Priest. untered ” been? stringin’ dentical rels zre they've you and k about on ’em makin’ with a | swear, ’t been at you blame ustus’s ‘rgeant 1ut are it’s fell How on the d with sicken- ere on Hearst's International—C osmopolitan for October, Does Happiness mv Cost Too Much? HERE is nocatalog number for‘thappiness,’’ but we sell it just the same. You'll not find it illustrated, but it appears on every page. The frock for the young lady’s first party ; the boy’s bicycle; dad’s radio; mother’s new coat. Don’t they all mean happiness? And could all of them be had if Sears, Roebuck and Co. wasn’t able to sell good merchandise at such low prices? a little happiness they might not otherwise have been able to obtain. Sears, Roebuck and Co. brings the trading centers of the Old World and the New World as well direct to the doors of our nine million customers; they see in our catalogs, at prices they can afford, the things they need, and the luxuries they have wanted, One-fourth of all the families in the United States know that we guarantee them a saving on every- thing they buy; know we sell only quality merchandise, honestly illus- trated and described. They know, too, that we ship all orders in less than 24 hours. Our New Big Catalog for Fall and Winter is ready. It shows 35,000 bargains on everything needed for the family, the home and the farm. Send for it today. A customer recently wrote us: «I take great pleasure in showing my furniture to my neighbors. I shall always advertise you by your honesty and great bargains.” Things like that—and every day’s mail contains a great many such letters—make us feel that we are a real factor in the lives of mil- lions of American families, You could hardly blame us for feeling a bit proud in helping these folks to Sears, Roebuck anaCo. CHICAGO -, PHILADELPHIA + KANSASCITY DALLAS «+ SEATTLE Worw’s Lancest Frore a own and operate Radio Station -S, Tune in on 344.6 meters. 1)] 1925 Send for Your FREE Copy If you haven’t a copy of our New Big General Catalog, send for it today. This convenient coupon will bring you free our great Fall and Winter book, with its 35,000 bargains, Mail the coupon TODAY to the store nearest you Sears, Roebuck and Co. Chicago Philadelphia 72C84 Seattle Kansas City Dallas Send Latest General Catalog. Street and No. Sj

Page 180

Beauty that Lasts All Day! One—two—three— happy mo- ments before your mirror and you need give no thought to your com- slexion! The perfectly natural P p 7s color of your cheeks and lips lasts through the day—lasts all evening long. Never again will you be con- tent with one rouge on cheeks and another on lips! How does this happen? The zew MOIST rouge, JARNAC! A brilliant, but true blood-red—one shade for any complexion, any lips—and with such perfect spread and blend it may not be detected a few inches away. You must JARNAC cheeks and lips to realize what is wrong with your most careful attempts with crayon-like rouge. JARNAC, of pure solidified oils and pure color, is really waterproof and its youth- ful film of color does Jast. JARNAC is really excellent for the skin, not to be compared with old-fashioned dry rouge compacts, the dust from which is rubbed into the helpless pores countless times daily—and, oh, how the soiled rouge Your druggist must have JARNAC by now! Adainty but generous box is 50 cents direct from JARNAC, 540 West Randolph St., Chicago. + Cheek and Lip ( Rouge Nation-wide demand for trained men and women in hotels, clubs, restaurants and cafeterias. Past ex- in our 50-lesson home-study course on hotel work all that the leading hotel experts know about the everywhere. Our students employed, our meth- ods endorsed oy leading hotel men everywhere. puff revolts dainty feminity. —look for the red counter card, or order - — mE a °3500 Hotel Job in20 Weeks A otel Job in20 Wee perience o teach you business, and we put you in touch with positions Write for Free “Your Big Opportunity.’’ Ma Lewis Hotel Training Schools Room X-287 Washington, D. C. FOR DANDRUFF GLOVER’S exercises an antiseptic effect on thescalp. Cleanses, stim- ulates. Send for GLOVER’S HANDBOOK on the Scalp and Hair; free on request. It will tell you many things you should know. Write Dept.*AB2 H.ClayGloverCo.,Inc.» 119-121 Fifth Ave.» Barbers or Hairdressers Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 | top—bound to be just pure deadly rot-gut!” | “Jim Bagby,” quoth Judge Priest severely, “your nose must be defective along with your eyesight. Or else you’re lettin’ your imagi- nation run away with your reason. That ain’t a stink you smell—it’s a fragrant perfume.” In the darkness the other two stared at him, puzzled. Then Doctor Lake sniffed and sniffed again. “By the Lord Harry I believe you’re right!” he proclaimed. Very nimbly, considering his years, he mounted by a wheel and ~‘riking matches took hasty inventory of the pued-up spoils of war. ‘You are right!” he cried, after further brief examination. “Wait till I check ‘emup. Let’s see.” He felt the corners of the small boxes. ‘Six across, five deep, two extra ones on top—thirty-two packages in all, by rough count, and_one dozen quarts in each package.” He descended from the hub and even through the gloom his associates could see the startled gleam in his eyes. “Boys, by some miracle that I can’t fathom yet, we’ve come | into possession of thirty-two cases of the real Old January, and every drop of it old enough to vote! Just priceless, that’s all—just ab- solutely priceless.”” He added this description reverently. ‘But Billy, how did you come to guess what it was? Was it by the odor?” “°Twasn’t so much guesswork ez it was merely figgerin’ things out,” said Judge Priest, with due modesty. ‘Lew, ef I’m not too in- | quisitive, whut become of that hat you picked | up back yonder?” | “Here it is.” The old doctor hauled it, | crumpled, from a coat pocket into which he had wadded it. “Lemme have a look at it. light fur me.” Three white heads were bent toward a com- mon center where a burning match made a tiny circumference of radiance. “Look!” said the Judge. ‘See those initials in the sweat-band. Gentlemen, do the letters ‘B. S.’ convey any meanin’ to your intellects?” “Benny Schwartz! But what would Benny Schwartz be doing ” Bewildered, Doctor | Lake left the question unfinished. “T thought I knew who ’twas when he skelped that rise on past behind us just now,” said Judge Priest. “I only wanted to wait and make | shore, that was all.” “Now that you mention it, I remember too,” declared Doctor Lake. “I knew there was a | sort of something familiar about the cut of that back. But what would——” | “It ain’t such a hard riddle to solve, the way | I see it. Boys, on the strength of the available | evidence let’s frame a hypothetical question 'ez us court-house folks put it. Let’s s’pose, fur the sake of argument, that Benny Schwartz | has been in cahoots all along with that ac- | commodatin’ but chicken-hearted expressman, | Mr. Justus Hooper—in other words, that he’s | been helpin’ to slip his own property out of his own warehouse. Assume further that they’re runnin’ the consignments up to some quiet spot on the river and transferrin’ ’em to motor- boats. “Assume that tonight when they clean the distillery out of the last. batch that’s left, Benny comes along to make sure it’s all de- livered to its proper destination—that none of it don’t go astray on the way. Maybe it’s because he don’t exactly trust Justus’s boys. Maybe it’s just because he’s a careful business- man. At any rate he takes the chance. And then Budge’s gang bobs up and the fireworks start and Benny gits panicky—and he lights out and runs out frum under his hat.” “A regular vicious circle sure enough—and by deduction you’ve supplied the missing links in it,’”? commented Doctor Lake with a most sincere admiration for his friend’s gifts. “Judge, I congratulate you—you’re not only a great mimic but a first-rate detective!” “An imitatin’ fool, that’s whut I’d call him,” stated Sergeant Bagby worshipfully. “But say, that ain’t settlin’ the question I ast a | minute ago. Now that we’ve got it, whut’re we goin’ to do with it?” The sergeant had You scratch a his practical side. ‘The case is altered ¢ we found out this ain’t just a passel of thy there sympathetic stuff. I’d as soon think r smashin’ up my grandma’s tombstone & pourin’ out sich noble licker ez this js,” “Well, we couldn’t carry it back to even ef we had any way of gittin’ it into toot mused Judge Priest. ‘Under the circum. stances and everything considered, such , kindness would be highly embarrassin’ ty Benny. He wouldn’t thank us. And Tj Justus Hooper would also find difficulty jy explainin’ ef it were returned to him in broad daylight, and by dustin’ off so abrupt Budge Willingham certainly forfeited any Proprietary rights he might have.” “I'd hate mightily to have it on my so afterwards that through our interference it had fell into unappreciative hands.” This was from the sergeant. “Why, ef it was tured over to Bob Sweet that conscientious idigt wouldn’t have no better sense than to destroy it utterly!” “Still, ef we leave it here it’ll all be tote off. Somebody’s shore to come along. Ther won’t be an ounce of it left by mornin’.” “Ethically it wouldn’t be proper for us to divide it among ourselves for our own private purposes. That would be condoning at lay. breaking—and worse.” “T regret to have to say it, but there you'r right, Lew!” So confessing, Judge Priest reached up and gave the side of the trucka sad caressing pat of the hand. “It does seem such a terrible pity, though, to think of the last of the Old January goin’ to waste. Whe I think of people I know—old fellers like us, some of ’em, and needy folks too—people that are just perishin’ fur a few daily rations of decent spirits like they’d been used to havin’ all their lives and now can’t git; people that are too poor to buy at present rates or else are skeered to drink the kind of dangerous stuf that’s mainly bein’ peddled on the sly; well, when I think of them——” Judge Priest broke off and looked into space dreamily. “Which reminds me that I’ve got some patients who need alcoholic stimulant regu- larly and can’t afford to pay prescription prices at the drug store. They aren’t topers, either. Some of them were total abstainers when they had their health. Ard they’r really suffering too.” All of a sudc 1 Doctor Lake snapped out of his revery: “Say, you old chin-whiskered rascal, what in thunder are you hinting at anyhow?” “I see you git my drift. We could be makin’ up the list of the favored few while we were totin’ it in—a case to this one and a case to that one. A beneficiary wouldn’t need to know where the gift came frum or how or why. But I reckin he’d know enough to keep his mouth shut about it afterwards. I know I'd keep mine shut ef I was to wake up tomorrow mornin’ and find out that durin’ the night whilst I was wrapped in peaceful slumber parties unknown had come by and left an even dozen bottles of pure Old January on my back doorstep. It’d restore my faith in Santy Claus, that’s whut ’twould do to me.” “T ain’t sleepy,” declared Sergeant Bagby e- thusiastically. ‘“Speakin’ pussonally I couldn't think of no more pleasant way of spendin ‘the rest of the night. I’m recallin’ the names of three or four worthy candidates of my own right this minute. But there’s the problem of transportation still unsettled.” “That’s a fact, Jimmy,” admitted the Judge. “How about it, Lew—got any suggestion about movin’ our liquid freight?” The doctor seemed not to have heard. He threw up a hand for silence. “Hark!” he bade them. “Don’t I hear a cat coming this way frum back yonder?” They listened. “It’s a car, sure enough. What's more, it’s my car or I miss my guess—I know that snort the engine gives on a grade. My man must have got her to start finally. Every- thing seems to have been timed to a minute here in these bottoms tonight.” = “How about him, Lew—kin he be trusted? queried Sergeant Bagby anxiously. split i gen’el jur ye W shiftin we'll limits. Jud embra “ ji tween r Pith think himse goin’ Willit mebbi won't cryin’ throu jovial amus! out b time Worr} I plu mean into t learn Later mate! and ¢ mine Aft music fruitl ings it could the y basis. and | puzzli editec York war t some] gone. my r place pages — Osgi the tr Ab addic to be ie. Was told ; to go

Page 181

ber, 1925 3 altered gj passe] of fie soon think of tombstone 4 — is.” ack to it into hte the circum. ered, such ¢ barrassin’ tg And I judge | difficulty jy him in broad abrupt Budge \Y Proprietary t on my soul ference it had ” This was t was tured lentious idiot an to destroy | all be toted long. There rnin’.” per for us to - OWN private ming at lay. _ there you'r Judge Priest ' the truck a It does seem think of the vaste. When ‘llers like us, —people that ly rations of ed to havin’ - people that es or else are igerous stuff he sly; well, Judge Priest amily. e got some nulant regu- prescription ren’t topers, | abstainers Ard they're Je en Doctor “Say, you in thunder e could be ew while we e and a case In’t need to how or why. to keep his I know I'd p tomorrow ’ the night ‘ul slumber left an even on my back anty Claus, t Bagby en- y I couldn’t of spendin’ the names of my own problem of | the Judge. suggestion heard. He hear a car 1?” They 1. What's ss—I know rade. My y. Every- ) a minute . trusted?”

Hearst's International-—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “Who—Dick? Absolutely. He’s the closest- | mouthed darkey in seven counties. be deaf, dumb and blir L q t I guarantee Dick. Besides, I aim to bind him to secrecy with a couple of quarts for himself gut of that broken parcel. We d better save out a bottle or so for the ferry-keeper, too.’ Oncoming, the car made the turn in the road and as she straightened the headlight picked up the three figures on ahead and brought them out in strong relief. Dick. stopped her fifteen feet from them, his eyes widening as he flung a side glance toward the truck. sniffed appreciatively but said nothing. He can | blind when I tell him to. | He | “Dick,” said his master, “we've got a little job for you. Do you think you could transfer | yhat’s in this machine to yours and still leave | room enough for us to ride?” “Yas, sah,” assented Dick, and his lips | split in an understanding grin, “that is ef you gen’elmen didn’t mind bein’ cramped fur room jur yore laigs.” “We'll risk that. shifting! Now hop out and start limits.” : Judge Priest drew Sergeant Bagby aside and embraced him. : “Jimmy,” he said and chuckled happily be- tween words, “when I think of a lot of our poor but deservin’ friends goin’ round town with rich and expensive breaths; and when I think whut Benny Schwartz is goin’ to think to himself in private and how Justus Hooper is It must be midnight already and | we'll have a lot to do after we hit the city goin’ to feel and whut private regrets Budge | Willingham is liable to have and likewise mebbe one or two others I might name but won’t—why, Jimmy, I could bust right out cryin’ on your shoulder!” $e fO-—_——~ I’ve Been a Fool for Luck (Con inued from page 70) through the generosity of Edwards and the jovial good will of Barbetta, the fat and amusing restaurateur, I could get along with- out hard work. The ease meant that I had time to read, talk, and reflect. Instead of worrying myself sick over my unemployrent, I plunged into life—trying to catch its real meaning, its philosophy. During these years I was thrown constantly into the company of musicians. Unwittingly I learned their life, their dreams, their souls. Later on this knowledge furnished me with material for countless stories and articles— and even now I have only touched the rich mine of these memories. After the downfall of my ambitions in music, I embarked upon another apparently fruitless voyage. I undertook elaborate read- ings in science and philosophy, which assuredly could not have been expected to do much in the way of putting me on a self-supporting basis. But they got me the job I still have, and led me to the good luck of crossword puzzling, It happened that Arthur Bennington, who edited two pages of popular science in the New York World, was sent by the government on a war time mission to Italy, and they needed somebody to run the science pages while he was gone. Friends of mine in the office, saying that my reading in science qualified me, got the place for me. Op this job at the World I ran the science pages and learned to write Sunday mazazine articles under the tutelage of John O’Hara Cosgrave, the Sunday editor. I was paid to the tune of $25 a week for my talents. About this time I had contrived to become addicted to an extremely useless pursuit, the raped of chess, and it was this which caused it 0 be thought, when it was decided to put a pase of ingenious tricks into the magazine, that Was a suitable one to get it up. Mr. Cosgrave told me that the crossword puzzle would have 0 g0 on this page of mine. I did not like that 193

CLEAR speaking is hard with a heavy cold. Ease up the clogged air passages the husky voice the gagged feel- ing- with Luden’s Menthol Cough Drops. Their exclusive menthol blend makes breath- ing easier for colds, coughs, catarrh, and nose or throat irritations. gives quick relief On sale everywhere.

“Hello! Can you hear me? I’ve a bad cold—feel sort of invisibly gagged—sound that way, too. Luden’s? Thanks for the suggestion.”

makes ae breathing easier

WHY BE DEAF? es Stop Head Noises—Ringing Ears I make myself hear after being deaf for 25 years q with my Artificial Ear Drums, I wear them day / and night. They are per- fectly comfortable. No one sees them. Write me and I will tell you how I became af and how I can make

f

vA you hear. nd name to Geo. #. Way, ARTIFICIAL EAR DRUM COMPANY, Inc. 40 Hoffman Bldg., 2539 Woodward Ave., Detroit, Mich.

Of Girlhood Cuticura Will Help You

Retain the Charm

alcohol It cleans and closes the pores. Use it each night, before retiring. Try it! Service Laboratories,Inc. Chicago

Use Cuticura Soap Every Day

FOR ACHING TEETH DENT’S TOOTHACHE GUM Relieves pain instantly. Cleanses and pro- tects cavity. Retards decay. Destroys odor. Does not spill or ery up like liquids. All druggists or by mail, 25¢. Made for thirty- five years by C. S. Dent & Co., Detroit.

Page 182

194 May-Breath FREE Mail the coupon today Pure Breath wherever, whenever you need it A breath pure as Maytime-instantly! MS is science’s new- e.* contribution to protect against a grave social offense. It is an anti- septic mouth wash in tablet form; a scientific purifier, not a mere perfume that cries out your effort at concealment. You carry it with you wherever you go. Let a single tablet diss’ 've in your mouth—that’s all. Your breath will breathe the fragrance of May- time. i ee we Bad breath is a universal offense. The causes are many and hard to avoid. Certain foods cause it. Smoking is another cause; decaying food in the mouth another, stomach disorders, ete. No one is immune. Few realize they have it. Careful people guard against it. This in fairness to themselves and their friends. , , « : The object of May-Breath is to provide constant protection. It comesin thin tin boxes that you carry with you. No matter what the cause of your bad breath, May-Breath corrects it. Never go to a dance, theatre, to any social gathering, without first taking this simple precaution. A box free Let us give you a box totry. You will be delighted. Simply use the coupon. May-Breath is now on sale in Canada. May-Breath FREE 15c box sent—just mail this MAY-BREATH CO., M-196 1104 S. Wabash Ave., Chicago ROE SAMO cay cee re fee Ne Chine Address. . Only one box to a family. a Canadian Branch: 191 George Street, Toronto Hearst's Interrational—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 at all. The crossword puzzle, after having been introduced by Arthur Wynne years be- fore, had been running in obscure corners of the paper, and was despised by all. It ob- viously had some sort of bug following, but was regarded in the office as beneath a sensible | man’s consideration: I was particularly adverse to the idea of putting it on my page. Checking over the miser- able thing was tedious and annoying, and then, | I wanted to get up an attractive pictorial | sheet, and the big checkered square, with its columns of definitions, was most unornamental and could never be anything more than a big, ugly waste on a page. Nevertheless, I had to handle the crossword puzzle. I tried to throw it out, but they would not let me. I did omit it one Sunday, and promptly got many com- | plaints from readers. All I could do was to run | it as small as I could, and give it as little space as possible. Then Mr. Cosgrave got a new secretary, Margaret Petherbridge by name. She was fresh from college and green to the ways of a newspaper office. The new addition to the staff naturally gets whatever extra work the others can shove on him or her, and Miss Petherbridge got more than her share. In particular, she got the job of checking over the crossword puzzle. I maneuvered so as to bring that about. She had a feminine conscience and a gift for detail and, with my hearty encourage- ment, got the crossword puzzle up so neatly and free of mistakes that readers began to take a rapidly increasing interest in it, both in New York and on the syndicate. And now a mysterious philanthropist entered the game. A letter came signed “Radical,” and suggested a change in the numbering sys- tem we had been using for crossword puzzles. It looked to both Miss Petherbridge and me like a great improvement, and it was adopted. The readers took to it at once. That was the making of the crossword puzzle, and it was due to the mysterious “Radical.” We never from him again, and who he was we Never could find out. Soon the intelligentsia, such as Hj Broun, Ruth Hale, F. P. A., Briggs, Gee Burgess, Kathleen Norris and Carolyn W took up crossword puzzling, and the fad was ready to break. We in the office saw the blessed advent vaguely, and often talked about getting out, book of crossword puzzles—but of course ye did nothing. Then one day Max Schuster of the newly founded publishing firm of Simo and Schuster came in and announced that his firm was looking for a first book to print. Incidentally, it was luck that put him on th scent. An aunt of his had asked him to buy a book of crossword puzzles for her and when he looked for one at the book-shops and was told that there was none published, he his idea. At first he thought some such book might have possibly 10,000 circulation. The proposition was put up to us to the puzzles. At that time we had several sand contributions from readers in the files and we—Margaret Petherbridge, F. Gregory Harts. wick, an office bug, and myself—secured pe. mission from the World to use some of these, The book was got together and tossed to the laps of the gods. And it stuck. One single December day, during the Christmas rush, 57,000 copies were sold, Within a year the three of us shared equallyin a gross royalty of $50,000. My good fortune has taken me out of the woods, at least of poverty. I can now try wings at novel writing without the dread of rent day eternally staring me in the face. I am not at all sure that the future will al ways be kind to me, and I have no doubt that I will continue to make costly and stupid mis- takes. But I shall keep on learning, and smil- ing, and when the hour is darkest I know that luck may bring on the dawn. ‘ead The School of Courage (Continued from page 39) all into this film drama—the stark truth of human tragedy and courage. If it didn’t tear at people’s hearts, make them shed tears of blood, then he was no artist. “Tt sounds thrilling,’ I admitted, ‘‘but why are you working in Berlin?” “That studio in the Zeppelin shed is the best in the world for size and lighting. And German labor is cheap and good—though more than I can afford, worse luck. I couldn’t do the job in Londen half as well for twice the money.” There were other reasons why he worked in Berlin. He could get all his types there— Russians, Austrians, Hungarians, all the refugees. Gold wasn’t flowing their way after the stabilization of German money, and they were desperate for jobs. “Y’m doing it on the cheap,” said Harshe. “But all the same, I’m spending every bean I’ve got, and getting worried. If there’s any hitch I shan’t be able to carry on. That’s why I’m driving hard, to get through with it and save expense. That’s why young Robin has to shave his pretty face at seven-thirty in the morning, and why little Rosaline falls asleep over the tea-cups, poor child. Yesterday we worked fourteen hours. Killing!” He asked me to go to the studio one day. He wanted my advice about some tangles in the plot and said he would take it as a great favor if I would help him a little. ‘All I know,” I said, glad to be of any use, and keen to see his show. Later in the evening, after a second liqueur and some yarns about old times, he revealed a side of his character which I had not suspected. “T’d like you to know that Austrian lady, Hilda Freudenberg,” he said casually. “If I get through that job all right I want to marry | her—if she’ll risk it.” I wondered what his people would say if he took home an Austrian wife. They were old- fashioned English folk, as I happened to know, I also wondered a little about that cabaret in which young Hermann Winter had made friends with her. Not a nice place, he had said. “‘She’s very pretty,” I remarked, in a non committal way. y “‘She’s pure gold,” he answered. Then he knocked me edgewise by telling me that she had a little daughter aged seven—“a fairy thing” he said—smiling with a sudden tenderness in his eyes at the remembrance. “A little daughter!”’ I exclaimed in a startled way. ‘What about her husband?” ; Harshe laughed at my anxiety, and said: “Don’t be alarmed. There’s not going to bea scandalous divorce or anything like that. We're a moral crowd in my movie—barring a few.” Then he spoke seriously. ‘Her husband—a Russian lad—was one of the first victims of Lenin and his gang. He was sent from Vienna with dispatches, and joined his father against a white wall. Very rough on his girl wife, wi a baby coming.” He gave a heavy sigh, and then nodded when I asked him if he had met her first in Berlin. “She tried to earn her living here. Not 9 easy. Sang old folk songs in the wine rooms of the Friedrichstrasse. Can you imagine? Twenty marks a night—starvation wages— and every humiliation. Well, I saved her from that, thank heaven! She’s wonderful in ‘The School of Courage.’ ” : He rose from the chair with a sudden glint in his eyes, and I saw that the lady of whom he was speaking was coming across the room, i ing hands with Rosaline Brook, the litde American film star, while Robin Dale followed, with their cloaks on his arm, and looking very elegant in evening clothes. Young Dale hada bright suggestion which he put to Hastie “Come and join us at Oliver’s. Rosy and He must } “Tf Hai struge I mus big sc of trot lately. Wa notice was sl her fa Herm: “He “Mi put y who W Hilc sleeve would little | He

Page 183

er, 1925 C never hearj € Never could as Hi riggs, arolyn Wat the fad Was essed advent getting outs of course we x Schuster of rm of nced that his O print. ut him on the l him to buy er and when a he cae da, he ne such be ation. us to several . the files and ‘egory Harts. ‘secured per- me of these, tossed to the during the were sold, ed equally in e out of the now try the dread he face. iture will al- 0 doubt that | stupid mis- 1g, and smil- I know that 2 39) ey were old- red to know, t cabaret in had made ace, he had d, in a non y telling me >mbrance. in a startled ) , and said: oing to bea that. We're ‘ing a few.” husband—a - victims of rom Vienna ther against rl wife, with odded when in Berlin. re. Not s0 ne rooms of 1 imagine? yn wages— saved her -onderful in udden glint of whom he room, hold- ~ the little le followed, poking very Dale hada to Losy and I Hearst’s [nternational-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 ce or die, and Hilda wants a partner.” got is Mr. Harshe!” said the Austrian lady. Harshe looked tempted, but after a moment’s struggle refused the invitation. “I'd like to. I must have a talk with Anton Rosen. It’s his big scene tomorrow—and he’s giving me a lot of trouble. I can’t think what’s come over him lately. He’s as sulky as a bear.” : Watching these people as an outsider, I noticed that the face of Hilda Freudenberg was suffused with a quick blush which made her fair skin flower-like, as when she had seen Hermann Winter. “He’s a little mad, I think,”’ she said. “Mad jealous,” said Harshe, ‘because I’ve put you in the place of that woman Magda who we all know is his mistress.” Hilda Freudenberg put her hand on Harshe’s sleeve and spoke persuasively. ‘Come! It would do you good to forget the picture for a little while. All those troubles!” He smiled and shook his head. ‘Business first, until the job is finished. Then——” He Jooked at Hilda Freudenberg with eyes that expressed great desire, and then turned to young Dale and the little American girl. “You young people ought to go to bed instead of dancing. Think of that early call to~ orrow!” Robin Dale said that if he didn’t get the smell of the studio out of his nostrils he would go sick. Besides, what was the good of being in Berlin unless one saw something of its life? It was he who suggested that I should take Harshe’s place as Hilda Freudenberg’s partner, and although I’m no dancing man I volun- teered, having nothing else to do that evening. As it happened Hilda Freudenberg and I sat out mostly while Robin and Rosaline danced. The young lady by my side was rather silent until I startled her by a remark I made. “T once knew some people of the name of Freudenberg.” She looked at me with surprise and inquired where I had known them. “In Vienna. There was a Captain Otto von Freudenberg attached to the Court in some way. His wife was an English girl who had gone to school with my sisters.” She drew a quick breath and answered with emotion, ‘“My mother!” 195 T looked at her curiously and searched back | into the memories of my first holiday abroad | as a very young man. “They had a little girl,” I said, “wih a flaxen pigtail. She used to go dancing over the polished floors of the old Hofburg Palace.” “Yes,” said Hilda von Freudenberg —it seemed that she had dropved that ‘“‘von”’ from her name—‘that was me as I remember my- self in dreams, and as I see myself in my little daughter.” T reminded her how even the court flunkeys me human at the sight of her. And one day when I happened to be there the cld Emperor passed, and then stopped a moment | and turned to kiss her with a sudden tenderness | in his dim old eyes. The girl at my side was silent for a moment. Then she spoke very softly, with a break in her voice. “That was before the world changed.” “Your mother and father?” I asked quietly. _ She lowered her head. ‘My father was killed inthe war. My mother died. Pneumonia, the doctor said. It was really hunger. Vienna was terrible after the war.” I remembered Vienna after the war—its unlighted streets, its beggars, its people of despair. In the hospitals and homes I had seen the tragedy of Austrian childhood, withered, blighted, dying. In the dancing halls I had seen pretty girls—girls of good family—selling their love for the price of a meal. “Yes,” I said, “Vienna was terrible after the war.” . Hilda Freudenberg was silent again, think- § back. Then she surprised me by her next words. “And yet,” she said, “I was very happy for a time in those dark days before the end of | . They were the happiest of my life, Perhaps.” vib J ‘Incredible!” I exclaimed. “How was that?” answered with a wonderful simplicity. 6 ‘It was then that love came to me. There was | ee is no substitute in womans seauty Jor a flawless skin IHHOUGH poets and authors in their praise of woman's beauty describe ‘her luxuriant hair, soul- ful eyes, classic features or perfect mouth, all these lose their loveliness if her complexion is dull or lifeless. A clear, satin-like skin creates a daintiness of appearance which height- ens beauty of feature and is in itself woman's chief charm. Many women fail to possess this charm because they do not know how to care for the skin. For proper cleansing, soap should be used once a day—but it must be the right kind. RESINOL SOAP is ideal for every skin and will stand any test of purity. Its part’cular fragrance as well as its rich color is your guarantee for the healthful Resinol properties it contains. No heavy perfume is required to conceal inferior quality. Buy a cake “And on the liquid mirror glow’d The clear perfection of her face.” —Tennyson. from your druggist or toilet goods dealer, and bathe your face with it to- night. Note how readily it lathers, how gently but thoroughly it cleanses the pores, how easily it rinses, how soft, velvety and refreshed it leaves your skin. But don’t let your treatment be too harsh! Many a woman ruins her beauty at the start by scrubbing her face with a rough cloth and hot water, when she should use lukewarm water and a soft cloth—or better still—her finger tips. The rinsing should be thorough, and the skin dried carefully by patting lightly with a soft towel. Where blemishes are already present, apply a little Resinol Ointment and see how quickly it clears them away. This soothing, healing ointment is also unexcelled for the relief of itching, burning skin troubles, boils, chafings scratches, etc. Your druggist sells the Resinol products. No home should be without them Dept. P. Resinol, Baltimore, Md. I have never used Resinol Soap Street or Ointment, so please send me a free : sample of each. City.. State

Page 184

196 rwvvuvv~vewvevvyvvywvyvyyvyvuvvwvvwv*% rvy" only one satisfactory Way THERE is only one really satis- factory method of ‘cleaning the toilet bowl. Use Sani-Flush. It cleans the toilet bowl and hidden, unhealthful trap quickly and thoroughly. There is nothing else that will do the same work so well. Sani-Flush removes all marks, stains and incrustations. It leaves the bowl spotlessly white and clean. It destroys all foul odors. Simply sprinkle a little Sani- Flush into the toilet bowl—follow directions on the can—and flush. It will not harm plumbing connections. Always keep a can of Sani- Flush handy in the bathroom. Buy Sani-Flush at your grocery, drug or hardware store, or send 25c for a full-size can. Sani-Flush Reg US. Pat OFF Cleans Closet Bowls Without Scouring Tue Hycienic Propucts Co. Canton, Ohio i i Li Li Li hi hi Li hi hi hi hi hi i hi hi hi hi Mi hi hi hi Ma hi ho hi hi hi i Ma ha hi a hi hi hi ha hi ha ha hi ha ha ha ha ha he hh he he he he he he hp hp i ip i i i i bp i i he hi hi ha ba ho ha ha hi hi hi a hi ha ha ha ha hi ha ha hn BUNIONS Relieved and reduced Don't suffer the torture of tender, painful bun- ions and enlarged toe joints, or the annoyance of bulging, unsightly shoes caused by them. Dr. Scholl’s Bunion Reducer gives immediate re- lief, removes pressure, hides the enlarged joint and positively reduces the enlargement. Made of velvety, soft, suedicated rubber, In- visibly worn under the stocking. All sizes and shapes. At shoe and drug stores everywhere, 75c. Write for free book, ‘‘The Feet and Their Care,”’ in which Dr, Scholl explains the correct treatment for bunions and other foot troubles. Address: The Scholl Mfg. Co., 213 W. Schiller St., Chicago; or 62 W. 14th St., New York. Dr Scholls Foot Comfort Appliances Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 a young Russian at-the. Embassy, -just .a boy. He fell in love with me. While the world was falling into ruin we loved each other and found life wonderful.” “How long did that last?’”’ I asked, remem- bering what Harshe had told me. “Three weeks,”’ she answered. ‘He went to Moscow with some papers a few days after our marriage. He promised to be back in a month, but there was something in his eyes which frightened me when he went. I think he guessed—or knew.”’ She did not tell me what had happened, but nodded when I said, ‘‘Harshe told me.” “After that,’ she said, “I came to Berlin with my baby girl. You see, I was quite alone in Vienna after my mother’s death. I thought Berlin was still rich, with plenty of food, and I had an uncle there, my mother’s brother. One day I rang the bell of my uncle’s house.”? She asked with a little smile about her lips, “(Have you ever heard the clanging of a bell when all one’s life hangs on the answer, and no one comes?”’ , ‘No one answered?”’ I asked. It was an empty house, she told me. Her uncle had committed suicide on the day of the Armistice, which broke his spirit. “So then?” I asked. Her answer was a light laugh with a little gesture which seemed to explain the inevitabil- ity of the things that happened. ‘TI had a hard time. My baby girl gave me courage. Without her—— I hate to remember those days. But then Mr. Harshe helped me, and now I am well-to-do, and perhaps one day—when this film is shown—I may be famous.”’ She laughed as though that idea amused her and was rather unbelievable. Then she spoke the name of Harshe again, with something like adoration. ‘How can I pay him back?” she asked. ‘‘He has been so good—so good!”? I knew one way in which she could pay him back. That way would be easy when he asked her to be his wife, and the prejudice I had had against her when Harshe first told me of that intention vanished as I glanced at her face again and saw its spiritual beauty—‘‘a fair Madonna,” young Winter had called her. Our private talk ended there, as Robin Dale came back from the dancing floor with Rosaline. “Y’m parched for a drink,” said Robin. “What about a bottle of bubbly?” “Me for orangeade,”’ said Rosaline. There was a tired, lack-luster look in her Irish eyes and she put her hands over them, complaining that the world was dim. “It’s the light in the silly old studio,” she said. ‘Robin and I were in the glare of it for hours yesterday. I’m as blind as a bat!’ “IT have some precious drops,” he answered. “Tf the child will be very good and hold back her pretty head I’ll restore the luster of her little peepsy-weepsies in two ticks. Take grandpa’s word for it.” He pulled a little phial from his pocket, and two Germans with their ladies at the next table to ours were astounded to see the beautiful Rosaline tilt back her head while Robin Dale with the bedside manner of a family doctor poured a little tincture into each eye. ‘*How’s that?” he asked. “Fine!” said Rosaline. “I can see your funny face ever so much better!”’ ee I’m sure the Germans at the next table be- lieved they were in the presence of a new form of vice. But it was explained to me that it was a simple remedy well known for eye-strain in the ‘‘movie” world. Later in the evening Rosaline Brook sneezed twice, and it seemed to alarm Hilda Freuden- berg and Robin Dale out of all proportion to the importance of that natural and not unusual irritation of the mucus membrane. “My Lord!” said Dale with consternation. Hilda Freudenberg touched Rosaline’s hand and said, “You’re shivering, my dear! For e ” ness sak “A slight chill, I fear,” said the little film star in a jaunty way. “Don’t tell Mr. or he'll get scared. If I fall by the way- side——” “Good heavens!” said Robin Dale. “Tt would ruin the whole show.” Rosaline Brook said it wasn’t going to happen. Two sneezes didn’t make a tragedy, “To bed, child!”. said Robin Dale, “We mustn’t risk these dreadful things.” We went back in a taxi to the Esplanade ang Hilda Freudenberg held Rosaline’s hand al} the way, and looked anxious when the little film star shivered and cuddled closer. “Better send for a doctor, dear child,” said Robin. “In any case there'll be no early cali for you tomorrow. I’ll speak a word to Harshe.” Rosaline Brook sat up suddenly in a blaze of anger. “You certainly won’t. I’m wanted tomorrow for the big scene. Do you think I’m the one to lie down on my job? Not if you know little Rosaline!” He had to promise under pain of excommuni- cation that he would say nothing to alarm Gilbert Harshe and he did so when she allowed herself to be led meekly to bed. Robin and I sat in the lounge over a of chocolate, and I spoke my thoughts aloud, “Women have a lot of pluck!” I was thinking of Hilda Freudenberg’s tragic tale and of that hard time which had brought her to a low haunt in the night life of Berlin. But young Dale thought I referred to Rosaline Brook and he answered with warm agreement. “That kid has enough pluck for ten toreadors!’’ He uttered some gloomy fore- bodings. “If Rosaline gets a real chill it will be the devil to pay for poor old Gilbert Harshe. She’s in the picture all the time and if she has to drop out for more than a day or two the whole blooming show will go smash.” ““As bad as that?” I exclaimed. Robin Dale nodded, and blew a very perfect ring with his cigaret smoke. ‘Between our selves,” he said, “dear old Gilbert is working on a very close margin. He may have to doa nose dive before he finishes his flight.” “Meaning what?” J asked. “Well, speaking frankly,” said Robin, “I reckon he can last out for another week. After that he’ll have to close down whether we've shot the last scene or whether we haven’t. A poisonous shame if that happens! It’s a great picture as far as it goes.” “So if Rosaline were to fall sick it would be rather serious,”’ I remarked. “A Shakespearean tragedy,” said Dale. He began to whistle a lively tune and put on a merry and bright expression which I saw was intended for Gilbert Harshe, who came strid- ing towards us. “Back again?” he asked, as though surprised to see us so soon. “What have you done with the ladies?” “Too sleepy to dance,” said Robin Dale cheerfully. ‘Both retired to their chaste little beds, leaving us in the lurch.” “Very wise of them!” remarked Harshe good- humorediy. “I’m going to work them tomorrow, poor darlings.” Young Dale shot a glance at me as though to say “What a life!” Neither of us said a word about the health of Rosaline Brook—those alarming sneezes— which might jeopardize the fortune of Gilbert Harshe and the fate of a great film drama. I drove out next morning to the Zeppelin shed which had been turned into a “movie studio. Going through a narrow door I came into a vast hall in which there were stacks of scenery, a tangle of wires, a smell of wet plaster, and a chilly atmosphere which revealed my breath like a white mist. Beyond a high of canvas there was a blinding glare of yellow light, and I lost myself utterly down long cor ridors trying to reach that vivid illumination, which I guessed was on the central stage of Harshe’s film drama. German workmen in plastered overalls pushed me on one side to make a passage for a piece of scenery eighty feet high, which Hear recogniz in Mos Velike © dodged wedged came int faced ac was star A cro They we three ye skin CO: officers i tops of and tat women, jackets | there ar kommis% Stand into the Iberian of time: guarded in that | scene to aristocré in shabl cut, dit guise as One ¢ with a h his back look of with slu All th yet so I during t it made A yol form of stained, archwa} cheerful dimly r face anc “Excl “T’ve ju and ha catches and I’r He le went de charcoa were do came a with da lips, vi was sur very gr: “Wh Helo look a Hilda ] yesterd: ing lady to be | going t Dear o grease novels ¢ were pil to the f “Tak that lus Task my mir Not

Page 185

er, 1925 Mr. 'y the Way- Dale. “ff 't going to a . Dale. “We S ” planade and ’s hand all en the little er. child,” sai d no early cal] to Harshe.” y in a blaze I’m wanted yu think I’m Not if you she allowed over a hts aloud. eudenberg’s - which had e night life it I referred | with warm k for ten oomy fore- rill it will be ert Harshe. d if she has or two the Re very perfect tween our- is working ave to doa it”? Robin, “I eek. After ‘ther we've vaven’t. A It’s a great t would be 1 Dale. and put on 1 I saw was ‘ame strid- h surprised done with obin Dale haste little she good- them hard though to e health of sneezes— of Gilbert lrama. Zeppelin . “movie or I came stacks of et plaster, ealed my high wall of yellow long Cor- mination, | stage of overalls sage for a which I Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 recognized instantly as a part of the Kremlin in Moscow where the tall tower of Ivan Velike overlooked the battlemented walls. I dodged them, tripped over some coils of wire, wedged myself between two plaster walls, and came into the Red Square of Moscow as I had faced across it in a year of famine. The scene yas startling in its realism. A crowd thronged across the open space. They were the very type I had seen in Moscow three years before—old peasants in their sheep- skin coats, fur caps, bast shoes; Cossack | officers in astrakhan cloaks reaching below the tops of their black top-boots; Gipsies in rags and tatters of many colors; laughing-eyed yomen, and straw-bearded men in leather jackets with rags round their feet; here and there an officer of the Red Army, a Hebrew kommisar, a long-haired student. Standing underneath an archway leading into the Red Square, by the Shrine of the Iberian Virgin, exactly as I had seen it a score of times, was a group of men and women guarded by Red soldiers. One glance at them in that lurid glare which lighted up the whole scene told me that they represented Russian aristocrats and “intellectuals” of the old régime, in shabby clothes but once of good cloth and cut, dirty, but with faces no dirt could dis- guise as people of education and good family. One of the men, dark-eyed, deadly white, with a handsome, tragic face, was leaning with his back to the wall, smoking a cigaret with a look of disdain at the Red soldiers who stood with slung rifles in front of him. All this was pantomime, a scene for a movie, yet so much like the real tragedy in Moscow during the time of the Terror that for a moment it made me feel uneasy. A young man with tousled hair in the uni- form of a British officer, all torn and blood- stained, moved away from the crowd in the archway, came towards me and gave me a cheerful “Hullo!” It was young Dale, whom I dimly recognized in spite of the paint on his face and this disguise. “Excuse my abject appearance,’ he said. “T’ve just escaped from the Bolsheviki. Come and have a drink before dear old Gilbert catches sight of you. This studio is stone cold and I’m frozen to the marrow-bones.” He led me rapidly through an iron door. We went down a dark corridor warmed bv a little charcoal stove, but still damp and cold. There were doors on each side and out of one of them came a tragic-looking girl in ragged clothes with dark rings round her eyes and carmine lips, vivid against her yellow-white skin. I was surprised when she said “‘Good morning” very graciously before flitting away from us. “Who’s that?” I asked of Robin Dale. He lo¢ked surprised, and then laughed. “We look a bit different in our make-up. That’s Hilda Freudenberg, who was at tea with us yesterday. A wonderful actress and a charm- ing lady. Even if I didn’t like her I should have to be polite because without a doubt she’s going to be Mrs. Gilbert Harshe one day. Dear old Gilbert worships the ground she treads on and lets everybody know it.” He took me into his dressing-room, a small boxlike chamber with a deal table littered with grease paints, shaving apparatus, French novels and tins of tobacco. Two kitchen chairs were piled up with clothes, which Dale pitched to the floor. “Take a pew,” he said. “I’m certain you can do with a whisky after that long drive. As for me——” He poured out a stiff dose for each of us and drank his own neat, after wishing me good luck. “The best preventive of influenza, pneumonia and all the diseases that lurk in dark corners for delicate souls.” lasked a question which had been nagging in my mind. “How’s Miss Rosaline?” ‘ Not at all well,” he answered gravely. She ought to see a doctor and go to bed. But she’d rather die than let down dear old Gilbert. Let’s go and cheer her up.” He took me down the corridor again and tapped at one of the doors d tl t hi Bia oors, and then put his 197 ARMAND brings out the natural beauty and charm of your skin... try it... OU will understand when you put Armand Cold Cream Powder on your powder puff and rub it care- fully into your skin, what a very noticeable difference this face powder, used as we direct, makes in your com- plexion. Make the most of the loveliness of your skin. Bring out the natural beauty and charm by using Armand Cold Cream Powder... . There is in it a magic touch of cold cream that keeps the powder on, till you wash it off. Armand Cold Cream Powder is a heavy powder, very dense and fine, fra- grantlyscented,always$1.00 a box. Armand Bouquet Powder, medium dense, is 5oc a box. Send coupon with ten cents for guest- room packages of Armand Powders. Men- tion the tint you wish. Address Armand, Des Moines; address in Canada, Armand, Ltd., St. Thomas, Ontario. Guarantee: No mat- ter where purchased, if any Armand product does not entirely please you, you may take it back and your money will be returned. PEDODYNE, the marvelous new Solvent, banishes rees as pough by magic. THEN YOU W. SENT ON TRIAL 1 want t you to have relief from Bunions. I want you to Se ey CS roua . tnd’say, “'l want to ry PEDODENE.” Address— KAY LABORATORIES Dept. N 671 186 N. Salle St. Chicago, Illinois CANDY. GUM AND MINTS* I will put you in business as my DIRECT FACTORY AGENT AND JOBBER, to take orders for my fuil line of candies, chocolate bars, mints and chewing gum. Unlimited opportunities for hustlers. No experience needed. I furnish evervthing. Every store and everybody buys. Work spare time or fulltime. Write today for catalog, selling plan and FREE SAMPLES. Exclusive territory. ACT QUICK. MILTON » 804 Jack St., Cinci i. O. He selection of a school for your boy or girl should not rest on uncertain or biased information. The Cosmopoli- tan Educational Department is quali- fied to give you reliable data concerning | the best schools in the country. See | | page four. i - he i jimi a mi i kimi a iw COLD CREAM POWDER In-The - PINK -& ‘WHITE - BOXES ARMAND—Des Moines x I enclose ten cents (] stamps [] coin. Please send me : the guest-room boxes of Armand Cold Cream Powder : and Armand Peridore in the shade checked below. : White Pink Creme Brunette Tint Natural : Armand Flame (double brunette) 3 UNIONS Bunions. The pain stops almost instantly. The Hamp | AN ILL-SHAPED NOSE IMPAIRS BEAUTY M. Trilety’s Latest Nose Shaper, Model 25, U. S. Patent, enhances Beauty. Testimonials and free illus trated booklet which gives full de- y tails as to how disfigured noses of ¥ Men, Women and Children can be reshaped without cost if not satis- factory, from: M. TRILETY, 2482 W. U. Bldg., Binghamton, N. Y. "Reduce 8 #0 15 I; Two Weeks * _ \ EUROPEAN discovery makes f +1 it possible to reduce by Nature's met od FLORAZONA Ai “ and 8 ounces to 1 pound of weight melts away! y Absolutely Harmless—Nothing Internal — Physicians, nurses and thousands of users recommend this natural way to reduce. Contains no epsom salts, no alum. Simple, safe, sure and naturall Fourteen treatments postpaid with full directions, only $3.50. Money- back Guarantee. FLORAZONA coRP., Dept. 60, 100 Fifth Ave., N. Y. Cc.

Page 186

198 Indigestion vanishes ~ but digestion goes on! Fa — TABLETS

ASTROGEN Tablets give you prompt relief from indiges- tion, heartburn and gas— and without interfering with the normal digestive process. The stomach, you see, should be slightly acid—it’s the normal condition for proper digestion. And bicarbonate of soda, good as it is for many things, leaves the stomach with an alkaline residue which interferes with digestion. How Gastrogen Tablets do their work Gastrogen Tablets promptly relieve hyper-acidity. There they stop! That’s their work. In a few minutes after taking, your stom- ach will be normal—“in neutral,” —free from alkalines, and digest- ing your food as it should. Your indigestion will vanish, your heartburn and your distress will be gone and, even if you ate a hundred Gastro- gen Tablets, there can be no bad effect. When they sweeten your stomach they cease to work and pass through your system unchanged. Gastrogen Tablets are mild, safe, effective and convenient. They combat digestive disturbance without retarding digestion. They are pleasant to taste, they purify the breath and they are prompt in the relief they give. Your druggist has them in handy pocket tins of 15 tablets for 20c, also in cabinet-size bottles of 60 tablets for 60c. If you wish to try them be- fore you buy them, send the coupon for free introductory packet of 6 tablets.

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “Ts it well with the child?” he asked, and then beckoned to me to enter. It did not seem to me that it was at all well with the child. She was lying on a horsehair couch, dressed as a dancing girl such as one sees in the Russian cabarets with their national head-dress, and in spite of the paint on her face she looked ill and feverish. She coughed in a way that rather frightened me, though I was no doctor, before holding out her hand and saying: “Make your- | self at home. There’s a chair with three | cracked legs in the corner over there.” I was left alone with her when a call came for | Robin Dale and he had to rush away. | ‘Look here,” I said, in a fatherly way, “you | ought to get out of this cold studio or you'll get | pneumonia or something. Can’t you lie up for |a week?” | She laughed at me and cried: “A week? Good heavens—the man doesn’t know how im- portant I am! If I drop out everything will stand still. And Mr. Harshe can’t afford it. He’s working against time and money.” “Yes,” I said, “I know all that. But your life is worth more than a movie—the best ever made.” She kissed her hand to me and said “Merci, Monsieur!” I spoke bluntly, as she shivered a little. “I believe you’re really ill. Let me tell Harshe to send for a doctor and give you a rest. I insist!” She sat up on the sofa, looking exceedingly pretty and very angry. “Say!” she asked in her American way, “‘who gave you authority over my little life?” I smiled at her, but was not to be daunted. “Well, I’m going to tell Harshe anyhow,” I said stubbornly. ‘“He’s not a baby-killer for the sake of business.” The little film star jumped up and caught me by the arm. “You mustn’t tell Mr. Harshe! Please! He’s working on his nerves, | with a million worries. I don’t want to be the last straw to break his dear old back.” “T like your loyalty,” I said ungrudgingly. “All the same, it’s foolish.” She spoke to me seriously, putting her hand in mine in a childish way. “It’s kind of you to worry. But you see it’s like this. I’ve been drawing a mighty big salary from Mr. Harshe week after week. It’s been draining him ever so much. And he can’t afford to go on with this expense. The least I can do is to play |up to the end, which is only a week or two | more.” | ‘Harshe is lucky in having such good friends,” I said. “He’s the best producer I’ve ever worked for,” she answered, “as good as gold, and I’d feel terribly bad if I let him down with a heavy bump just before the picture’s finished. See what I mean? Loyalty!” I saw what she meant. I also thought she was looking more ill than I had imagined, when she leaned up against the wall, coughing with a handkerchief to her mouth. It was a little red stain oozing over the handkerchief at her lips which alarmed me horribly. | “Good Lord!’ I said in a frightened voice. | “Don’t be scared!” she laughed. “It’s only | lip-stick.” | But I didn’t believe her. It was one of her | plucky little lies. The child was spitting up | blood with that cough of hers. But I could say | nothing more, because there was a bang at her door and a woman’s voice called out,‘“Wanted, Miss Brook! Mr. Harshe is waiting for you.” “Coming!” the girl called out gaily. When I next saw her a few minutes later she was standing under the walls of the plaster Kremlin in a blinding light, trying to rescue Robin Dale from a crowd of Bolsheviki, while | Harshe was shouting out directions and a | camera man was shooting the scene. I felt sorry for Harshe. I felt certain that his little film star would break down before the job was finished and hold up the whole show. But as it happened I was wrong. At least, some- | thing else happened before Rosaline sent for a , doctor.

On the outskirts of the scene the crowd of Russian aristocrats, peasants, Red Soldiers Kommisars and children stood in Stoups talking German, Russian, English and French, A little apart, but not far from where I sto I noticed the figure of Hilda F reudenberg, why had passed me in the corridor when I had to Robin’s dressing-room. She was listen to the conversation of the tall young Russian whom I had seen standing with his back to the wall smoking a cigaret in a disdainful attitud, He’ was talking to her excitedly, even wit, passion as it seemed to me, and involuntari) I overheard some of his words—in German, ' “If you consent to play Magda’s part, I wil tell Herr Harshe what I know about you.” She drew herself up and answered coldly. “There is nothing I have to hide. In any case you forget yourself, Anton Rosen.” He hesitated, and then spoke with a harsh laugh. “I do not forget your lover, Hermann Winter. In that dirty cabaret! Everyone knew, except this stupid Englishman who thinks you so much more virtuous than Magda, whose part you have stolen.” I did not hear Hilda Freudenberg’s ansyer, Perhaps she didn’t answer. I only saw her slip away from that Russian actor as if he had struck her in the face. I was painfully distressed. Because of my remembrance of her childhood in the ol Hofburg Palace in Vienna, and my visit to her people—all those years ago—I felt a keen interest in her, beyond idle curiosity. Espe- cially now that Harshe was in love with her, The words of that Russian stirred me witha sense of rage. What a blackguard thing to say! What a skunk! I was boiling with this indignation when Harshe discovered me at last between a change of scenes and led me to a charcoal stove where Robin and Rosaline stood warming themselves, “It’s a strange crowd here,” he said. “If] could get their life stories on the screen it would make more drama than any film picture yet produced. Only, the censor wouldn’t pass it.” He laughed, and looked at the crowd of “extras” gathered outside the Kremlin wall as though he were thinking of their private histories. “Who are they all?” I asked. “From what class do they come?” “Mostly Germans,” said Harshe, “with just a sprinkling of Russian refugees, a few Aus trians, a Hungarian count—poor devil!—and some Poles. All of them—except the stars— desperately in need of th+ starvation wages.” He seemed to find some spiritual comfort in the thought that his “movie” was supporting so many people. “They’re my characters,” he told me. “I mean they’re the actual types I’ve introduced into my story. They’ve lived the things I try to show. They’ve known the agony I can only suggest. They’ve starved, suffered, sold them- selves, struggled, despaired, like the people I put on the screen. ‘The School of Courage! Well, these people—or some of ’em—have needed a lot of pluck to pull through.” He nodded his head in the direction of the tall young Russian who had spoken such brutal words to Hilda Freudenberg. “See that fellow? He calls himself Anton Rosen. He’s one of those innumerable princes. Lay for six months in a Russian prison, starving and lousy, before he escaped by killing his guard and getting out as a Red soldier. A surly, temperamental sort of chap— I’ve no end of trouble with him—but just the face and figure I want, and a first-class acto! when he gets my idea.” Perhaps the Russian was aware that Harshe was speaking about him. He suddenly at vanced towards us and spoke to Harshe 2 fairly good English, and in a_ passionate temper. “Mr. Harshe—I will play my part 1 more! I walk out of this studio. I wish you4 very good day.” 2 He turned on the heels of his long Cossack boots and would have walked straight away i Harshe had not caught him by the arm swung him round with rough good nature.

Qa<ct 4 Sedans @ a am a at fee be ee ee — ens tA Pe ee a ne: hee ee om ok oe ak mee

Page 187

er, 1925 the crowd of Red soldier, | in 2 | and French, vhere Ig nT had gone was listenj ung Russian S back to the rful attitude 5 even With involuntari}, 1 German, 8 part, I wil ut you.” ered coldly, Jn any case with a harsh [agda, whose rg’s answer, nly saw her as if he had cause of my in the old y visit to her felt a keen sity. E ve with of 1 me witha thing to say! lation when en a change stove where themselves, said. “If] een it would picture yet n’t pass it.” e crowd of remlin wall heir private ‘From what , “with just a few Aus- devil !—and the stars— ion wages.” | comfort in supporting Id me. “I introduced things I try 7 I can only sold them- ne people I f Courage!’ *em—have sh.” ‘tion of the oken such self Anton inumerable a Russian escaped by as a Re t of chap— ut just the class actor hat Harshe ddenly ad- Harshe i passionate my part no wish you 4 ng Cossack ht away if e arm jature. Lcarst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 199 “What’s all this nonsense, Anton? I thought we had finished the argument yesterday.” “That is true,”’ said the Russian. ‘There is no argument. I have decided. 1 go away.” He struggled to release his arm from. the tight grip, but Harshe kept hold of him and spoke sternly. “You’re not going just yet. I want you for the next scene—in five minutes. Please remember your loyalty, to say nothing of your salary, and play the game.” The young Russian flung up his arms in a rage. “Loyalty! Play the game! That is very English. A nation of hypocrites! What was your loyalty to Magda Yronska? Why did you give her part to that Austrian woman?” Harshe’s voice was cold and hard when he answered. ‘‘Magda Yronska liked her bed too much. She was never to be found when I wanted her. In any case, that is my business as producer.” “Tt is my business,” said the Russian. “What affects her affects me. We work together or not at all.” “In this company,” said Harshe quietly, “I don’t engage actors with their mistresses. In any case, the part is now being played by Fraiilein Freudenberg, to my satisfaction.” The Russian who called himself Anton Rosen flung his cigaret away with a gesture of rage. “To your satisfaction!” he repeated scornfully. “Yes, you despise my poor Magda because she is my mistress. You are a moral Englishman. You employ only very virtuous people in your company, is it not? Like Fraiilein Freuden- berg, from the Wein Stube of the Friedrich- strasse!”” I saw Harshe clench his fist, which was a little inconsistent with his principles of peace. “Let us keep that lady’s name out of our conversation,” he said, with a rather deadly anger. “She has stolen Magda’s part!” cried the Russian. “Or rather, you gave it to her be- cause you love her. That virtuous lady who was the mistress of Hermann Winter——” I looked at Harshe and saw his face flame with rage. He raised his fist as though to smash the Russian’s face. Some little veins in his forehead swelled out, and the line of his mouth hardened. Then he lowered his fist and spoke in a low voice. “Get out! If you’re not outside this studio in three minutes [ won’t answer for my— self-control.” The young Russian saluted gravely and courteously, turned on his heel and walked in a slow and stately way to the iron door leading to the dressing-rooms. Harshe was breathing heavily until with a strong ¢flort he mastered himself and spoke to me calmly. ‘“That man is a Russian prince. Did I tell you? He is also a Russian cad.” He stood staring at the boards with a frown on his face, and then laughed. “ ‘The School of Courage,’” he said. ‘Well, I’m afraid this puts the lid on it. All my efforts gone to waste. All the loyalty, art and industry of this good crowd.” I questioned him anxiously, and used the last word in the title of his play. “Courage!” Harshe turned round and smiled at me, and put his hand on my shoulder as though to steady himself. “Courage isn’t good enough now, except to cut our losses and keep smiling. That fellow’s departure knocks me edgewise. He was the chief character in the last scenes—some already shot.” “What difference does that make?” I asked. He was amazed by my ignorance. “I shall have to shoot ’em all over again! Keep all | these big sets standing—at enormous expense— | | until I can get another actor of the right type | to replace that—swine! It can’t be done, and | that’s all there is about it.” He passed his hand | over his forehead with a gesture of weariness— | or resignation—and then smiled again. “It’s | en a good try all the same. I don’t regret it. | The only thing I flunk is telling the crowd that I’m closing down.” | He moved away a few paces towards the MANON LESCAUT* Face Powder Ashes of Roses* Rouge—Rouge Mandarine* Your complexion takes delight in this aristocratic family of French toiletries. Being of equally great purity and fineness, they are at their best when used together. At the better stores Bourjois *Reg.U.8.Pat.Of. O-37 West 34th St., New York City I enclose 15c (stamps or coin) for sample box of MANON LESCAUT in shade checked: White 0 Flesh Rose Brunette (] or Peaches* Powder Peaches-and-Cream* Powder 0 — ALSO sample of Ashes of Roses Rouge [ or Rouge Mandarine 0 Name. : Address "PERSONAL | Appearance is now more than ever the key-note of suc- cess, both in social and business life. Bow-Legged and -Kneed men and } women, both young * and old, will be glad to hear that my new appliance will —_sue- one? cessfully straighten, ro ot within a short time, COLORS bow-leggedness and le knock-kneed legs, your gray hair in safely, quickly and permanently, without PPLICATION pain, operation or discomfort. Worn at night. My new Not affected by salt water bathing, “Lim-Straitner.” Model 18, U. & Patent. ie easy to adjust: | . 5 s . its results will soon save you from further humiliation, an perspiration, oils, hair tonics, shampoos Resiat seek cectaal coceuaaae 100 per! eet, Gitedsl 18 is not like old-fashioned splints or braces, with bothersome or previous dyes. Will not stain scalp or rub off. Composed Henna and Herbs; Harmless. Easily —_ ied at home. 14Shades. P.P. $1.60 Henna Blond or White Henna for lightening hair grown dark $2.25. Free advice and booklet. B P AU Dept. U, 21 W. 39th St., New York le r) At All Beauty Shops, Drug & Dept. Stores OTR LP BR SEP YO ED straps, hard to adjust, but a scientific, modern device of proven merit, used and recommended for the last three years by physicians everywhere. Write today for particulars, testimonials and my free copy- righted physiological and anatomical book, which tells you how to cortect bow and knock-kneed legs without any ob- ligation. Enclose a dime for postage. M. TRILETY, SPECIALIST 1316 W. U. Bldg. Binghamton, N. Y.

Page 188

200 Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 Best time #0 feed scalp is when you CLEAN it Double formula makes treatment easy and cheap WILDROOT TAROLEUM HAIR-WASH be years, crude-oil has been famous as a healthy food for the scalp. But so dificult! Women have anxiously waited for a simple crude-oil treatment. And hereit is! A double- benefit shampoo, called Taroleum, makes it easy -. to wash your hair, and » feed it with crude-oil f atthe same time. Scalp experts pronounce it perfect. Quick Massage sends life to hair-roots The secret of Taroleum lies in the method of application. Before using any water, Taroleum should be rub- bed into every part of the scalp, with the finger tips. This gives Taroleum a chance to feed and stimulate the hair-roots. Only a short massage works the life-giving crude-oil into the hungry scalp. Clean scalp is healthy After this quick massage—wet the hair with warm water, and in a second you have a luxurious lather. Taroleum’ssnow-white suds quickly gather up the dust, and grime, and dandruff—all } so dangerous to the scalp— and leave the hair free and clean. Cannot discolor— not smelly Taroleum is splendid for the fairest hair— it absolutely cannot affect the beautiful, natural color of any hair. White-haired mothers, and golden- haired daughters are among the most enthusiastic users of Taroleum. The fresh, delightful odor of cleanli- ness is all that Taroleum leaves. This freedom from ‘¢smelliness’’ has endeared Taroleum to people of dis- criminating taste. Antiseptic—also Taroleum’s mild ingredients are a real protection to the scalp— because they have a desirableantiseptic action. The healing pine-tar in Taro- / = leum is one of Na- eT ae BAe % ture’s best dan- ,f ? 2 & el L druff removers. ~==-==== a Si Guaranteed to please — or money back Here is the fairest sort of a test. Get a bottle of Taroleum at your druggist’s today. If it isn’t the best hair-wash you ever ‘| used — we'll return your money. Wildroot Company, Inc., Buffalo, N. Y. 1 Want 700 Age At? 9Os week Men and Women! Write me today : and by this time next week I can place you in a position to make $2.00 to $5.00 an hour in your spare time, up to $15 00 a day full time. Thousand of our representatives are making that a: with our New Plans. Simply introduce and take orders for famous World’s Star Hosiery and Un- ar direct from mill to home—a com- ae line ~~ —~ es pene gg frag pee and repeat orders make you steady, big income. No delivering or collecting. No capital required. H 4 It’s a chance to make thousands Write Quick of dollars. Your profits begin at once. Exclusive territory. No experie , needed. Write today and I’!\send all facts and tell how to start Free. (Established 29 years.) World's Star Knitting Co. 606 Lake Strect Bay City, Mich. SLENDER ANKLESS CAN BE YOURS ! People Admire Dainty Ankles Thick or swollen ankles can quickly be reduced dain ender shape by new discovery Cc 3 3 les Actually Look Thin Ank\snile Getting thin Different in reducing action fromall th e! on wi THICK “ d yo will “| you Lenor Ankl | fa : SPOIL fnplain Package sub; ject to your inspec- YOUR eS sb peatierhumeanicanlaeacesy: APPEARANCE LENOR MFG. CO., Dept. 10-C 503 Fifth Avenue, New York | groups gathered on the edge of the lighted | space, as though he intended to tell them there |and then. But I grabbed his arm and spoke with some emotion. “Look here, surely you can get some more capital? A cable to America?” Harshe shook his head and seemed to see a joke somewhere. “I’ve tried all that. America doesn’t believe in my scenario. I hawked it from New York to San Francisco and couldn’t raise a thousand dollars.” “German money?” I suggested. ‘Some of these people seem to have a lot.” He shrugged his shoulders. “German money is hard to get unless I cut my plot to pieces, which I’m hanged if Vil do. They think I’m anti-German, whereas I’m _pro-peace. Nothing doing—except to face the music. I’m down and out.” I could only say “Hard luck, old man!” but felt desperately sorry because he would have to haul down his flag after this gallant adventure. We joined a group of principals around a charcoal stove. They were drinking coffee out of thick cups placed for them on a rickety table. Rosaline was standing on a hot brick which Robin had heated on the glowing charcoal, with considerable pride in his patent | foot-warmer. Hilda Freudenberg was the first to see some- thing alarming in Harshe’s strained face and serious eyes. “What has happened?” she asked, with great anxiety. Harshe made a gesture of resignation. ‘The end of this adventure. Anton Rosen has thrown up his part.” There was a moment’s silence until Robin Dale spoke. ‘“‘Chucked it altogether?” “‘Ratted!” said Harshe. “Swine of swine!’’ cried young Robin. Harshe smiled a little at this outburst and answered quietly. “I agree. The curse of it is we can’t do without him, and it means that I’ve shot our biggest scenes for nothing. Just | wasted a mint of money.” | “Could you set the law against him?” asked | Robin. “Sue him for breach of contract?” | Harshe didn’t think so. As a matter of | fact he had told the fellow to go, though he | seemed to forget that. | Rosaline Brook became excited, and there | was a flame of anger in her big dark eyes. “T just can’t belicve it. I’d hate to think a man could be so mezn. After all our work!” “Yes,” said Harshe. ‘“That’s what hurts.” It was Hilda Freudenberg who asked a ques | tion about the motive behind Anton Rosen’s act of treachery, as it seemed to them all. She put her hand on Harshe’s sleeve and her words came rather breathlessly. ‘Why does | he leave us like this? For what reason? What did he say?” I could see the anxiety with which she asked those questions, and remembered—and tried to forget—some words spoken by that Russian, Anton Rosen. Was she afraid that he had made that accusation about her relations with Hermann Winter? The thought came into my mind, with a momentary suspicion which I knew to be unworthy. Harshe did not show by the flicker of an eyelid that Anton Rosen had spoken out- rageous words about her. He had just wiped them out of his mind. “He had no reason except temper—and silly jealousy. It was because I sacked that woman Magda, for whom he’s ruining himself, poor fool. These Russians!” I saw Hilda Freudenberg’s candid eyes scan his face as though for any shadow there, un- revealed by his words. Then her voice thrilled with anger. “He is mad, that Anton Rosen. wicked also.” “Forget him,” said Harshe with an impatient gesture as though obliterating the man. Then he spoke again in a frank, manly way which re- newed my admiration for him, considering how much this business meant to him—“every- thing,” as he had told me. “The truth is, my dears, that I can’t go on. You see how I’m fixed. And you know all the He is an ok elt om eet eee oe eee a a i ae,

Page 189

[925 ighted | there spoke more see a nerica ced it uldn’t me of Tman lot to think eace, I’m ” but ve to ture. nd a e out kety prick wing itent yme- and she The has ybin er eS at Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 201 difficulties I’ve had, and my lack of capital. I | bit off more than I could chew—to put it vulgarly. I mean, I underestimated the cost of things. The idea was too big for the cash. Well, it’s been a great game while it lasted. I’ve enjoyed every minute of it, and your) friendship best of all. You’ve been wonderfully patient, magnificently loyal, with all my, nagging and slave-driving. I’m desperately grateful to you all. I can never pay back. “Tt’s hard on the poor people here who’ll be out of work again. I’m sorry about that. Now I thank you—from my heart—and if you'll excuse another speech, which you needn’t listen to, I’ll tell the crowd.” Hilda Freudenberg was weeping, and Harshe saw her tears and lifted up her hand and put it to his lips. It was Rosaline Brook, the little American film star, who stopped Harshe from making his second speech. She had her hand on Robin Dale’s shoulder and cried out excitedly: “This is all poppy-cock! We’re just going to finish this picture. That’s all there is to it!” Harshe smiled at her and shook his head, but she was not to be silenced. “It’s my loveliest part. Do you think I’m going to miss my chance of the biggest hit in the world? Not on your life, dear people!” “What’s your idea, sweet child?” asked Robin. Rosaline’s eyes were feverish. “If it’s any help,” she said, “you can have my idea for what it’s worth. I’ve been drawing a big salary as a film star. Just robbing poor Mr. Harshe. Well, I’m handing it back—all I haven’t spent—and playing—for love—until the last shot.” Robin Dale went down on one knee and kissed her hand with mock gallantry which was more than half sincere. Then he rose and shouted: “Bravo! Bravo! That’s a sporting offer and a fine lead. I’m doing the same. And so say all of us!’ He began to sing the old chorus, as though at a public banquet: “And so say all of us! For he’s a jolly good fellow ” Harshe grinned at him, but there was a glint of moisture in his eyes, and I could see that he was deeply moved. “It’s fine of you,” he said. ‘Good and generous! But saving your two salaries won’t help me much. There’s all the crowd to pay— they can’t afford to work for nothing—ard if I have to shoot those scenes again I shall want a lot more capital. No, my dears, the game is | up.” “Give me a week,”’ said Rosaline Brook. “Tf | I don’t get some capital out of the United | States I’ll never play in a movie again. [ll cable to all the men who sent me flowers when I sailed, ‘Say it with dollars? That’s my message to those who love me!” She laughed, and yet was desperately in earnest. Even now I remember the child’s courage with the glow of admiration that came | to me in that cold Zeppelin shed. She was offering her health as well as her salary. Per- | haps even her life, if she felt as ill as I thought | she looked. Robin Dale backed her idea. “TI agree with Rosaline. Don’t let’s haul down the little old flag until we’ve moved heaven and earth, | Jews and gentiles, for the price of victory. Give us a week or two, dear old Gilbert. Put it to the crowd. Tell them exactly what has happened, the treachery of thats wine Rosen, and the state of your treasury. Ask them if they will put their salaries into the pool while you hustle round for new capital.” Harshe was impressed, and I could see that he was thinking out the possible odds of luck which might save his venture by any fluke. He stood quite silent, with his head on one side, staring at the floor boards, while the little veins on his forehead throbbed. “Tf I could find another type like Rosen,”’ he said presently, ‘some one who could step into his shoes quickly——” Then he thrust the idea away from him. ‘No, it’s only playing with false hope.” “What IT FITS ! ur eyes see- and what your tongue feels You trust your eyes. Dr. West's Tooth Brush sells on sight— because your eyes tell you these three things: (1) It is small. (2) It fits the teeth. (3) Its pointed bristles are spaced to pick the crevices clean. For your own good, we ask you — first, to consider the shape of your teeth — hen look at Dr. West’s Tooth Brush. appeal to common sense. That's why Over 14,000,000 people have bought and are now daily users of this tooth brush that cleans inside, between, and outside. There’s a Dr. West’s Tooth Brush for every member of the family. Prices: Adult's, soc; Youth’s, 35c; Child’s, 25c; Gum Massage, Canadian pric > 2S Same This is simply a frank WA as U.S. A. 7 roll IT FITs! Built to the pattern of the human mouth, Dr. West’s Tooth Brush contacts every curve and angle and crevice. While almost any tooth brush will clean outside surfaces, Dr. West's cleans INSIDE, OUTSIDE, AND BETWEEN. TOOTH BRUSH

Page 190

202 EARLE E. LIEDERMAN The Muscle Builder Author of “*Muscle Building,’’ **Science o ” Pa) -gedal

**Secrets of Strength,’’ ‘Here's Hea Get Off the Earth And Let a Real Man Do Things That's what they are saying to you. That’s what the big robust two-fisted fellows of strength, muscle and health are saying to the weakling—the weak, narrow-chested chap with the shifty eyes, who can- not concentrate and who just cannot carry cn <s this battle of life, where only the strongest surviv Look here, young fellow, just sit down and “think this thing over. Are you going through life taking orders and obeying the commands of the other fellow? Do you want to be stepped over and left on the bot- tom of the pile with the ringing cry in your ears “Get Off the Earth” DEAD OR ALIVE Do you awake in the morning with the dread of the day's work ahead of you, and after managing to per- form your duties, you go trudging home with droop- ing shoulders and dead tired—good for nothing but the bed? - Do you aw: ake n fully refreshed, tickled to death to be alive? Do you spring out of bed, thrilling with vitality and anxious and ready to meet your esponsi- bilities with that spirit that ‘“‘cannot be beat’’? That's living! Let me repair that body of yours. / am a muscle builder. build exergy. I make go-getters. I make live Ae-men. 1 will clear your brain and put that healthy sparkle in your eye. Then you can tell the whole world you will come out on top when it’s all over. Before you realize it, people will begin noticing you. They won't pass you by again. Opportunities will spring up and you will start climbing the ladder of success. I will make you a big, broad-shouldered, two-fisted fellow who gets there. Everyone will like you. Only the fellow who is alert, wide-awake, gets the opportunities. Your abundant strength and thrilling vitality will stimulate your ambition and fire you on until you are bound to succee HEY—WAKE UP How do you expect to go through life half dead half alive—a sort of “half man,” who cannot stand out from the crowd? Come on, straighten those shoulders, broaden that back. soe something to fill out that suit of yours—GET SO SC In thirty days or even less I guarantee to add one full inch to your arms, yes and two more inches to your chest. Not only that, but you will b-gin to live all over again. You will breathe deeper, sleep like a rock, enjoy every mouthful of food you-eat. You will feel and act altogether like a new person and that’s only the beginning. That’s where you start. From then on you will enjoy the work. You progress will amaze you. You will wonder why in the world you have been asleep so long. And remember, fel ows, I absolutely guarantee to do these things for you and guarantee ‘them in the fullest sense of the word. You will feel like shouting to the whole world—"I am a man and I can prove it.’ What do you say? Do you want to go on dragging yourself about or do you want th big, robu _ life with a real he-man’s body and power? Are you with me, fellows? Hot dog! Let's go. Send for My New 64-Page Book ‘‘Muscular Development’’ It contains forty-eight full-page photographs of myself and some of the many prize-winning pupils I have trained. Some of these came to as pitiful weaklings, imploring me to help ther. Look them over now and you will marvel at their present phy: siques. This book will prove an impetus and a real inspiration to you. It will thrill you through and through. All I ask is 10 centa he cost of wrapping and mailing and it is yours to keep. health and happiness, do not put it off. Send to-day—right now, before you turn this page. H EARLE E. LIEDERMAN Dept. 8010 305 Broadway New York City Ce =e EARLE E. LIEDERMAN Dept. 8010, 305 Broadway, New York Ci:y Dear Sir:—I enclose herewith 10 cents, for which you are to send me, without any obligation on my part whatever, a copy of your latest mar “Muscular Development.’ (Please write or print plainly.

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 Robin Dale pressed his arm. “It’s idiotic to throw away the finest picture ever screened in sight of the last shot. Bad business, old man! As for the crowd—just try them! Put it up to them. It’s only fair. I’ll bet I know their answer!” i funk:.it,”’ “The humiliation It was the little film star who made him jerk his head up as though her words had stung him. “Weren’t you one of the heroes of the Great War? What about the white feather in time of peace?” For a moment Harshe was offended, almost angry. Then he looked at the little painted lady and laughed. “It’s my pride,” he said— “not lack of pluck. Well, I'll go through with it because you’re all so generous. It gives me more faith in human nature. Keeps me humble.” He stepped away from the group, picked up the megaphone and called out some words in German. It was a call to the company to get together. He had an announcement to make. Would they come up and listen to what he wanted to tell them? I shall never forget that scene as the crowd of film actors came forward and pressed close on all sides, some of them standing on chairs and boxes to look over the heads of the others, some in the half darkness of the great scene outside the Kremlin walls, some in a vivid glare of yellow light. Harshe spoke in slow, deliberate German which all that mixture of races could under- stand. I need not repeat his words. He just told them simply his trouble and his faint hope. Anton Rosen had deserted him, for reasons best known to himself, and that would mean shooting a lot of scenes again and delaying everything. Unless he could get more capital he couldn’t go on. In any case he couldn’t pay their salaries for more than another week, unlcss new money were forthcoming. After that week, would they stand by himand wait— perhaps without payment—on the off chance that he might raise the extra money? I watched the faces of that crowd as he spoke to them. At first they looked stunned by the news he gave them; then frightened and dismayed, as though the future held no luck for them. They whispered to each other. A few women began to weep silently. Towards the end of Harshe’s speech I saw some of the eyes that were watching him light up with hope, or enthusiasm, or, perhaps, comradeship and loyalty. One of the young Russians was spokesman for his own people. Then an old German, dressed as a Russian refugee. The answer was the same in both cases. On behalf of the crowd they offered their services to the end of the picture, with wages or without. “Herr Harshe could count on their perfect loyalty.” Then they cheered him again and again, and I have never seen a man more moved by the loyalty of good friends. Tears stood in his eyes, and he did not trouble to hide them when he thanked them with broken words. Before I left the studio that afternoon he took me on one side and put his arm through mine. “T’m glad you saw what happened,” he said. “The world doesn’t think much of movie actors. A rotten crowd! That’s the usual verdict. Well, you and I don’t think so after what they’ve done today. I’d go through fire for friends like that.” Poor old Harshe! He was as pleased by that said Harshe in a low voice. ”

| demonstration of loyalty as though he had found the capital he wanted, and I saw that he was buoyed up with new hope which seemed | to me illusory. It was not so much the money he hated losing but the big idea with which he had hoped to touch the heart of the world. It looked as though luck were dead against Harshe. I did a little scouting round in Berlin, but there was nothing doing in the way of capital. The film business, I found, was not in good odor in financial circles—or any other. The risks were too great, and there had been a heavy slump in the movie market. Apart altogether from money he was, as he admitted, “up against it.” He would have to replace that fellow Anton Rosen by another actor of his type and style, and at the moment Berlin didn’t seem to provide the right kind of Russian who could step into Rosen’s shoes and carry on. But a worse thing had happened, as I guessed it would. Little Rosaline had cracked up at last and taken to her bed, willy- nilly. She was in the hands of a German doctor and two nurses. Whatever happened, nothing could be done until she was well enough to face the camera again. It was at this time that Harshe showed his mettle most finely, I think. In spite of his worry—and the nerve strain must have been severe, and the constant disappointment would have sickened a weaker man—he never revealed any irritability or bad temper or forgetfulness of the little courtesies of life. He was much more distressed about the illness of Rosaline Brook than the failure of his life’s ambition—as the unfortunate film picture cer- ‘tainly was. What he was doing at this time to get hold of new capital I don’t know, but he was spending a lot of small change in taxicabs and I have an idea that he was interviewing every German financier who had any interest in the film in- dustry, and others besides. Meanwhile poor young Robin Dale was dis- consolate without that little American star who had teased him so unmercifully. With no work doing at the studio, he found time rather heavy on his hands in the city of Berlin, and he fell back on my company for lack of better entertainment. It was while we were dining together in a chic little restaurant in the Kurfurstendamn that we were both surprised to see Hilda Freudenberg at a table in the corner of the room with a friend who sat with his back towards us, so that we could not see his face even when he was talking with a waiter. There was a little girl sitting next to the lady, with a table napkin tied under her chin—a fairy princess aged six years or so, whose grace and daintiness attracted the attention of the other diners, who kept smiling in her direction. “Hilda’s baby,” said Robin. ately in love with her.” Because of that love he left his own dinner for a moment and went over to the other table. I saw him kiss the little girl in his charming way and say something which made her laugh before he turned to Hilda Freudenberg and raised her hand to his lips. It was then that I saw the man who had his back turned. He shifted sideways to greet Robin in the friend- liest manner. It was my friend Hermann Winter. I confess that seeing him there with Hilda Freudenberg gave me a sense of uneasiness and even distress. Certain words spoken by that Russian fellow came into my mind poisonously. “Hermann Winter’s mistress,” he had said. “Everybody knows.” The man, no doubt, was a liar, and was certainly a cad. And yet, for Harshe’s sake and my own admiration of a charming lady, I wished that Hermann Winter had not been in that restaurant with Hilda Freudenberg. I had a sense of suspicion which I could not overcome. Dale was obviously telling them that I was in the room. They both turned and greeted me, young Winter by a little wave of the hand, Hilda Freudenberg with a gracious smile. Then Robin came back with a message. “They want us to join them for dessert. It’s luck finding them here.” I think he saw a shadow on my face, and was conscious of my rather gloomy silence afterwards. ‘Little Anna is wonderful!” he said. “It’s a privilege to know such a darling of the gods.” I could not refuse the invitation, and that abominable suspicion of mine was stifled by the perfectly natural and simple greeting of both Hermann Winter and the lady. It was only for the shade of a moment that I saw a faintly deeper color creep below Hilda Freuden- berg’s fair skin and that in her eyes I saw, or thought I saw, a guarded look. “I’m desper-

Page 191

er Ly rh \d le 1- d it Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 203 She put her arm round her little daughter and spoke to me above her head. “History repeats itself! I must have been like that when you came to Vienna as a boy and saw me dancing through the Hofburg Palace.” Yes, she had been exactly like that, as I remembered, with a kind of pang because of the swiftness of time’s passage. I twisted one of little Anna’s flaxen locks round my finger | and stooped to kiss her. “I hope she won’t see so much unhappy his- | tory as you and I,” I said. “Perhaps we’re getting out of the shadows now. It may bea brighter world for the children of tomorrow.” They were rather heavy-going words for a dinner-table conversation, aad I was aware of that, but spoke to hide a sense of nervousness. My remarks led to a general discussion in which Hermann Winter proved himself to be a light-hearted pessimist, and Hilda Freudenberg an optimist because of her belief in an idealism which Winter denied. And then, when that discussion languished a little, young Winter startled me by something he said about Harshe’s movie. “Miss Freudenberg is trying to persuade me to finance your friend’s film drama. I have had to confess that my old father keeps me on so tight a string that I cannot even pay my debts.” Hilda Freudenberg spoke to him eagerly, as though he had revealed her secret and pas- sionate hope. “Could you not persuade your father? It would be good business for him— and he could spare the money—so easily. Out of all his millions—it would be so little.” She turned to me, and in her eagerness put her hand on mine. “Help me to persuade Mr. Winter to ask his father! It would be so splendid for the whole world and the cause of peace.” Hermann Winter laughed in his careless way. “You don’t know my old father. As hard as his own steel. As mean as one of Balzac’s misers. And very suspicious of his prodigal son.” “He would be pleased to see you taking an interest in business,” said Hilda Freudenberg. Young Winter didn’t seem to think that argument would work. “He would suspect that I was trying to touch him for—other pur- poses. He might think my interest in the movie world somewhat influenced by the attractions of a little star, perhaps. Oh, he is a very sus- picious old gentleman, is my honored father!” He was smoking a cigaret, and through its bluish haze he looked across the table to Hilda Freudenberg with a smile that seemed to hold some secret understanding. “And yet,” he said thoughtfully, “I’m rather tempted to put the idea before the old man. Id like to sup- port a high ideal. It would make me feel less of a parasite.” Robin and I took up the argument. I felt curiously elated now that Hilda Freudenberg had revealed her reason for dining with Hermann Winter that evening. She was doing her bit to get capital for Harshe. What a fool I had been not to think of the same idea! * Young Winter listened to the arguments of young Dale and myself with smiling patience. Then he asked a question, but his eyes were upon Hilda Freudenberg. “Speaking in a strictly business way, what do I stand to get out of it? You see, as the son of my father, I speak selfishly. What profit shall I get? What reward?” “Kudos,” said young Robin, “and a hand- some share of profits in a big success.” “What do you say, gnddiges Fraiilein?” asked young Winter. She looked at him with a little smile about her lips, and a heightened color. ‘Gratitude as well,” she said. “The whole company would bless your name. Please!” Young Winter was staring down at the white | table-cloth with a queer smile, as though thinking the matter out. ‘I’m rather scared of my old father,” he said. “But I’ll have a | go at him. For purely selfish reasons, of course. Those benedictions, and that grati- tude! They appeal to me more than the other uncertain profits.” For 15 years the favorite Note the extra arm to of millions. hold ends while rolling. Slides out of hair without disturbing curl A Professional Curl —in a few minutes — no heat—no sticky lotions—small cost Here’s a pleasant surprise for women who are accustomed to paying high prices for a weekly curl or wave. You can now do your hair just as attractively at home—without fuss, bother or expense—and do it quickly and easily, with the famous West Electric Curlers or Wavers. The West Electric Curler for Bobbed Hairnow . For long hair, the West Electric Waver has been enables you to curl the shortest hair clearto the “famous for 15 years. Millions used by delighted very end. Simply dampen the hair—slip the ends Nonaltil — ar aa a paper ra onal-like wav ingle day without the ——e camdage sce = = _ rn slightest damage to your hair. The whole process ew minutes drying and you slip the cur! o is so quick, convenient, so thoroughly satisfac- without disturbing or unwinding it. Youhavea tory, you'll be amazed. Start today curling your * lasting, beautiful curl, just as you want it. hair the West way. If your dealer cannot supply you, fill out and mail the coupon below The West Electric Hair Curler Corporation _ . 133 Columbia Avenue Philadelphia, Pa. Price (Either Style) 5 on a Card, 25¢ _—— ap CY a ee t aq Sp Q@ a > J NI «on y yc phil 2 » Hair Curlers = ss * A Sure Way to End Dandruff There is one sure way that never fails to remove dandruff completely, and that is to dissolve it. Then you destroy it entirely. To do this, just apply a little Liquid Arvon at night before retiring; use enough to moisten the scalp and rub it in gently with the finger tips. By morning, most if not all, of your dandruff will be gone, and two or three more applications will completely dis- solve and entirely destroy every single sign and trace of it, no matter how much dandruff you may have. You will find, too, that all itching of the scalp will stop instantly, and your hair will be lustrous, glossy, silky and soft, and look and feel a hundred times better. You can get Liquid Arvon atany drug store and a four ounce bottle is all you will need. This simple remedy has never been known to fail. | LIQUID ARVON .. City State Se IK aos Ts Sell Spare Time | for CASH! Right now you can think of a score of things for which you would like to have extra money— a home of your own, a car, a European trip, a college education. Any of these is within your grasp if you simply follow the successful course of thousands of men and women, boys and girls, who are turning their spare time into cash through the easy IMC plan—without experience, without capital, without interfering with their regular duties. Try it out! No cost to get details, and no obligation. Profits from the beginning in proportion to the time you spend. ssn Mail the Coupon Today! Dept. C-S1025, INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPANY, INC., 119 West 40th Street, New York, N. Y. I would like toknow the detaiis of your Spare Time Money Making Plan. Without obligation to me, please send me com- plete information. Name. St. and Number.

Page 192

| membranes of the human body. 204 F certain scientific facts-that are known to every well-informed physician—could be explained to all women, the use of poisonous, burning disinfectants in feminine hygiene would cease abruptly and forever. Here are the facts: Poisonous, caustic com- pounds, even when heavily diluted with water, corrode, irritate and harden the tissues and The con- | tinued use of such poisons, at any real germi- cidal strength, produces an area of scar tissue, with lasting, irreparable injury to the delicate membranes and tissues with which they come | in contact. 4 The one excuse for the use of poisons in feminine hygiene was this: All known anti- septics with great germ killing power were of a poisonous, irritating character. Women were forced to use such things or do without pro- tection from germs. The above is no longer true. As the result of a discovery made during the World War, we now have an antiseptic with great germ killing power that is non-poisonous and non- irritating. Zonite is this new form of antiseptic, pre- pared for general use. It has far greater germ killing power than any dilution of carbolic acid that can be used on the body, and yet it is ab- solutely non-poisonous and safe to use. Au- thorities are urging its adoption for feminine hygiene for all women. Zonite has many important and necessary uses in the practice of preventive medicine in the home. Ask your doctor. Write for free copy of the Zonite Feminine Hygiene booklet. Address Zonite Products Company, Wo- men’s Division, Postum Building, 250 Park Avenue, New York, N.Y. In Bottles 50c and $1.00 Druggists Everywhere Slightly higher in Canada

Zonite Products Co., Women’s Div. Postum Bldg., 250 Park Ave., New York, N. Y. Please send me free copy of the Zoniie Feminine Hygiene booklet. (G-41) PVeeUTUCOOOCOOeC CeCe eee eee ee, Serrreer er errr ee rr rer rrerr errr ier ieee eee Oe eeereeesceee COPPER OES eee eee een eeeseseresereeee® Hearst's International-Cosmopolitcn jor October, 1925 We were all rather excited by this new hope. I could see that Hilda Freudenberg had set her heart on it, though young Winter suggested that the odds were against success. Then, soon afterwards, we all rose from the table when little Anna snuggled her head against her mother’s arm, and looked too sleepy even for Robin’s playfulness. Hilda Freudenberg asked the head waiter.to call a taxi, and it was Hermann Winter who saw her home. Robin and I walked back to our hotel on a starlit night, and it was something the boy said which spoiled the rest of the evening for me. “I hope that fellow will drag the money out of his profiteer papa. But I didn’t like that question about his reward.” “Why not?” I asked. “It sounded natural and businesslike. Anyhow, he was half in joke.” Robin Dale glanced at me sideways. “I didn’t like Lis smiling eyes.’ There was a fellow in one of Shakespeare’s plays who ‘smiled and smiled.’ ” warmly. “Tomorrow he’s going to show me the poverty side of Berlin. He pretends to be a profligate, but I believe he’s a good chap.” ““Glad to hear it,” said young Robin. “And I withdraw all insinuations.” But he could not undo the effect of his words on my mind. They had reawakened that sense of uneasiness about the friendship between Hermann Winter and the lady upon whom my friend Harshe had set his heart. After saying good night to Robin Dale, I found Harshe waiting for me in my room. He was rather despondent at having no progress to report and I did not care to buoy him up with hopes about Hermann Winter which might lead to nothing. Besides, I felt a little con- strained about the whole matter and preferred that Hilda Freudenberg should tell him, if she cared to. But I mentioned casually that I had just seen her at dinner with young Winter, and wondered if he would be startled or annoyed. But it was obvious that it had no such effect upon him. He did not show the least sign of jealousy or suspicion, though Ariton | Rosen’s words, “Hermann Winter’s mistress,” must have been in his mind as poignantly as they were in mine. It was splendid of him, I thought, that his nature was incapable of harboring the least suspicion of truth in that accusation. “She told me she was dining with him,’’ he said simply. ‘He was kind to her in those old cabaret days.” I wondered if I should give him some kind of warning, or tell him of my own uneasiness. But 1 simply could not bring the words to my lips. Phe must have had a rotten time,” I said evasively. “I know those cabarets.” “She hates to remember that time,” he told me, “and I want her to forget. As soon as that business of mine is settled—one way or the other—I want to take her away for a long rest in Italy or France. A honeymoon, with a little daughter, ready-made!” He looked at me shyly, as though he had given himself away too much, and then laughed. ‘You used to call me a sentimentalist. Well, I haven’t altered, you see.” “Good for you!” I told him, but I spoke in- sincerely. At the back of my mind was the nagging thought that this old friend of mine, with his idealism and sentiment, might get a worse blow from fate than the failure of this film picture. I was not so certain as he was of Hilda Freudenberg’s purity of soul, though I hated myself for that suspicion and tried again to stifle it. Harshe came with me to that Nacht Asyl which young Winter had promised to show me as “the other side of the picture” in Berlin life. | We agreed to dine afterwards at his father’s | house off the Thiergarten. Some ladies would | be there, and he had invited Hilda Freuden- berg to join us. Locking back on that evening, I find it | extraordinary that this chance visit to a night

“Young Winter’s an idealist,” I said, rather‘ shelter in Berlin should have led to the most astonishing development in the drama of that ‘School of Courage” and the lives of its actors, Yet it is, as I have always found, by such accidental threads that the web of life is woven. They seem to join in a haphazard way, a stitch here, a stitch there, until one sees the pattern of that plot in which our human adventure is recorded. And behind it, surely, is Design—not merely chance. On the sidewalks were crowds of German Jews of the humblest class. I noticed a number of young men still wearing the green tunics of war time, without shoulder straps or buttons— six years after war! One of them was nearly run down by our car and Harshe drew his breath in sharply as we just dodged past him. “Blind,” said Harshe. ‘One of the victims of war. Poor devil!” Young Winter laughed and studied Harshe’s face with a kind of admiration. “You feel things still? That is wonderful! Most of us have given up pity and a sense of shame at life’s inequalities. If I hadn’t killed my conscience a long time ago I shouldn’t be driving through these slums in a high-powered car paid for by my rich and dishonest father.” Harshe searched his face and his smiling eyes. “TI think your conscience is not quite so dead as you make out. I rather suspect you of sympathy and idealism.” “You astound me!” said young Winter. “What makes you accuse me of weaknesses like that?” “Because you’re taking us to the Nacht Asyl,” said Harshe, with a smile about his lips. “You want us to see the realities of poverty in Berlin. And I think you want to go there again for your own sake—to keep in touch with pity and refresh your sympathy, which seems stifled by a life of luxury. That’s how I read you. Excuse me if I’m wrong.” He was uncannily right, as young Winter confessed to him with consternation. “Yes, that place puts a spell on me. I’ve been there six times. The director thinks I’m a philanthropist because I hand him out paper money. But it’s really a kind of morbid dis- gust at the contrast between my own life and the life of those poor wretches who are down and out. Once or twice—in a low state of health—I’ve been seriously tempted towards idealism. But the mood passes; I return to the husks of the prodigal son.” “You’re maligning yourself,” saic Harshe. “T believe you’re a philanthropist.” Hermann Winter wanted to know his rea- son for such an astounding asserticn and Harshe had a good one. “One knows a man by his friends, an< es- pecially by his women friends. Hilda Freuacn- berg is dining with you tonight, and she’s a shrewd judge of character.” That remark silenced young Winter utterly. I saw him blush. After that he stared out of his car with an occasional sidelong glance at Hayshe, who had become absorbed in his own thoughts, until we came to the Nacht Asyl. It was an immense stone building divided into wings like a barracks, and I shall never forget my impression of that house of refuge for homeless folk. Inside the building, as on every night, were nearly five thousand men and women who were so utterly destitute, so irrevocably caught between the wheels of life’s industrial machine, that they had nothing between them and starvation but the little bowls of thin gruel which we saw delivered to them, and no shelter for their bodies but this free lodging where they lay in crowded quarters until, at six o’clock next morning, they were turned into, the streets again. We stood outside one of the long dormitories in which four hundred men or so were densely crowded between lines of wooden bunks. Some of them were undressing. Others lay on their beds. Here and there a couple were playing cards. They had come in from rain-swept streets. It was suffocatingly hot, and a sicken- ing stench of wet rags, human bodies, foul breath, struck me in the face as I stood there, so that I reeled back.

Page 193

025 most f that Ctors, such oven. ay, a Ss the uman urely, rman mber ics of ons— early v his him. ctims she’s rful! se of cilled ’t be rered her.” iling te so Du of nter. 2SSes ‘acht Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “From what class do these men come?” asked Harshe. The Director shut the door and locked it. and then answered: “From every class! Professors, students, journalists, laborers, doctors, merchants, clerks, hawkers, mechanics —and aristocrats.” Harshe raised his eyebrows and repeated the word “aristocrats” with incredulity “Last week we had a Freiherr,” said the Director. ‘‘What you would call a baron. This is the wreckage of a nation’s manhood. These are the human derelicts of our national defeat. Perhaps it is as bad in other countries. War made many victims among all the peoples. You have your own unemployed in England.” Harshe gripped my arm and whispered to me: ‘This is another picture for my ‘School of Courage.’ Think of the tragic lives in these ghastly rooms—the adventures that brought them here! This is a House of Despair.” We went to room after room, eight or ten | of these long dormitories, in which other men, hundreds of them, were undressing, coughing, talking, whispering, groaning, stifling and sweating in a mass of human misery and de- jection. It was as we stood at the door of one of these rooms that Harshe gripped my arm again and whispered: “Look! That young fellow— standing by the bed there. How extraor- dinary! Amazing!” I saw the man at whom he was gazing. It was a young man, with a dead-white face and black hair. One lock fell over his forehead. He was staring at us with a kind of sullen disdain. “Who is he?” I asked. Harshe whispered his reply. “A Russian, certainly. And remarkably like Anton Rosen. The same type, anyhow. With a little grease- paint ” Some idea seemed to excite him. “By Jove, yes! If he could act—or let me coach him—TI could replace that swine who let us down. It would save shooting those scenes again.” He spoke to the Director, glancing from time to time at the young man in that suffocating room with its crowd of bedfellows from the underworld. “Certainly!”’ said the Director. ‘Let me speak to him.” He went into the room alone and we saw him go up to the young man and talk to him. He looked startled—almost afraid, I thought— and shrank behind a group of men. But presently, with evident reluctance, and a timid look in his eyes, he came with the Director to the door. Harshe spoke to him in German, very courteously. “May I have a word with you?” The young man looked at him with moody eyes. “What for?” “Tf you are wanting work and a good wage, I might help you,” said Harshe. “Are you a Russian, by any chance?” For a moment the young man did not answer. He seemed to suspect some trap, and I won- dered if he were afraid of the police for some crime which had brought him to this Nachi Asyl as a good hiding-place. He was cer- tainly a gentleman, or had been one. I noticed his delicate hands and his fine haggard features. It was no peasant or laborer who stood before us. “T am a Russian,” he said, after that hesita- tion. ““What then?” Harshe explained his purpose simply and briefly. “I am producing a film picture which deals with Moscow. I want a Russian of your type. Dll pay you twenty marks a day for a week if you’ll let me teach you how to act a bit. Does the idea appeal to you?” It did not appeal rapidly. It seemed to take some time for the man’s mind to grasp the meaning of this,astounding offer. Then he answered with a slow smile softening the line of his mouth. “There are many men here who would sell their souls for twenty marks a day. I will sell my face for that, if it’s any use to you.” “And your figure,” said Harshe. “It’s the ; Vain regrets won ¢ restore lost beauty Prevent tooth decay below the gum-line As the soil nourishes the tree roots, the gums nourish the teeth. And as the tree decays if you bare the roots, so do the teeth decay when gum shrinkage starts in. This condition—one of the first stages of Pyorrhea—is very com- mon and something that ordinary tooth pastes are powerless to pre- vent. If not checked promptly, it will lead to loss of teeth and seri ous organic diseases. If used in time and used consist- ently twice daily, Forhan’s will prevent Pyorrhea or check its progress. It will preservethe gums in their pink, normal, healthy con- dition, safeguard your health and keep your mouth clean, fresh and wholesome. Forhan’s is more than a tooth paste; it checks Pyorrhea. Thousands have found it beneficial for years. For your own sake ask for Forhan’s For the Gums. All druggists, 35c and 60c in tubes. Formula of R. J. Forhan, D. D. S. Forhan Company, New York orharys FOR THE GUMS More than a tooth paste— it checks Pyorrhea She neglected her gums He found out too late 4 out of 5 are marked There’s no way to get around it. Dental statis- tics show that four out of every five over 40—an thousands younger, too —are victims of Pyorrhea. Do you want to avoid this dread disease? Just as the stability of alighthouse depends upon a firm founda- tion, so are healthy teeth dependent upon healthy gums

Page 194

206 Resta and Refreshing No other skin-tone has the immediate lifting, cleansing, beautifying action of Boncilla Beautifier. It will draw out every impuri- ty, refresh and rejuvenate you, and impart to your face the healthful glow of YOUTH. At All Toilet Counters

Clasmic Beautifier SPECIAL OFFER—TEST PACKAGE—10c ae eed A Inc.,

Cos.-10-25

Send me your Special Test Package contain- ing liberal trial sizes of all four items in the complete Boncilla Method, for which | enclose 10c. to pay postage and packing. Name... Street No............

Learn

1S eles Some of the highest paid men in the world are advert.si. time. Bigger opportunities now in ee than ever before. Constant aeoene for our graduates at big pa: Send for FREE Book. Giving interesting information and vital facte—just what you want to know about advertisinz. Write today PAGE - DAVIS SCHOOL OF ht ag 3601 Michigan Ave., Chicago, U. PARKERS HAIR Dept. 1837

BALSAM . REMOVES DANDRUFF _STOPS HAIR FALLING WS Has been used with success for more than 40_years ) RESTORES COLOR AND yak BEAUTY TO GRAY » AND FADED HAIR mm) 6O¢E F122 at all druggists HISCOX CHEMICAL WORKS PATCHOGUE, N Y “When ashin hau, alw ouewe use

Hearst's [nternational-Cosmopolitan jor October, 1925 | way you stand and move. Exactly right. Against the white wall The young Russian started, and then | laughed with a note of irony. “A good many | Russians have stood against white walls. In Moscow and other places.” “Yes,”’ said Harshe, “that’s what I mean. It comes into my film picture.” He gave the address of the Zeppelin shed to his new acquaintance and asked him to be there at a certain time. Then I saw him hold out some paper money. The young Russian didn’t take it at once. “T haven’t earned it yet,’”’ he said. “I may be a failure at the job, as I’ve failed in most others.” He looked back into the long dormitory from which the human stench enveloped us. Then he took the money and said, “T’ll do my best.” Harshe’s eyes lighted up. “Good! And now you might give me your name.” he young Russian hesitated again and then gave a name which Harshe scribbled on a card. At the time I didn’t hear it, but now I know it was Serge Detloff. We left him standing there in the corridor, a tall figure with a tragic, handsome face. On the way back to the center of Berlin Harshe said, “He’s just the height and figure of Anton Rosen, and the same type of face. If he can only act a bit I can finish the last scenes and nobody will guess the change of actors.” Then he gave a quick sigh which ended in a laugh. “I’m talking as if I had the cash! And I haven’t got a hope.” I looked over at Hermann Winter. He made no sign that any capital might come from him. But that evening Harshe had all the money he wanted, and Hermann Winter was promised his reward.

By the sudden breakdown of a wrist watch I made a mistake in the time and was the first to arrive—twenty minutes too soon—at the house of old Otto Winter, after dressing for dinner. Two footmen in plain livery let me into the hall—a spacious place with pillars of dark marble and a statue of Mercury in the center on a high pedestal. An elderly man told me the geehrie Herr Winter was up-stairs dressing, but would no doubt be down in a few minutes. He showed me into a handsome salon, divided by curtains from another room beyond, and directed my attention to a box of cigarets on a little table. I had come almost straight from the Nacht Asyl to this private palace, and the contrast was rather overwhelming. While I was busy with thoughts of this I was startled by the voices of a man and woman speaking in the room beyond the heavy curtains. I recognized the voices of Hermann Winter and Hilda Freudenberg. They had come in through a door farther down the hall. “Put your cloak here, gnddiges Fraiilein,” said young Winter, speaking in German. “We can talk a little before the others come.” There was a moment’s silence, and I won- dered whether I should go to the curtains and announce my presence. But I expected that Hermann Winter would bring Hilda Freuden- berg into the salon where I stood. They began to speak in low tones until I think they must have moved closer to the curtains. Then the lady spoke a sentence which I heard quite clearly. “Then your father will advance the money?” “Ves,” said Winter. “I’m expecting a final telegram. I’ve explained the whole scheme, and the old man seems satisfied.”” I heard him strike a match and then laugh quietly before he spoke again. “TI haven’t told him my motive for going into the film industry. That romantic little bargain we have made! My wonderful reward!” Hilda Freudenberg’s voice trembled a little as she answered: “I will keep my side of the bargain. But I want you to understand. It will be friendship, but not love. If you want me on those terms——” I was in the unhappy position of being an eavesdropper against my will, and the words I had heard were disturbing and alarming. [ strode quickly towards the door, but before I left the room Hermann Winter spoke again, with a thrill in his voice. “On any terms. Your beauty and your grace I went out of the room with a feeling of guilt at having heard so much. In the hall Harshe was arriving with Robin Dale and some of Winter’s other guests. We were announced together, and Harshe, in his simple way, did not seem at all surprised to find Hilda Freuden- berg already in the room with Hermann Winter. He kissed her hand with his usual reverence and was not aware of the unusual pallor of her face. It was only I and Hermann Winter who knew that she was saving his movie at the cost of herself . . . and I hated to know. Harshe was astounded, delighted and deeply moved when, towards the end of the chic little dinner, Hermann Winter rose from his chair, holding a telegram which had just been handed to him on a silver tray, and made a speech in his excellent imitation of Oxford English. “T am very happy to say that I have pre- vailed on my dishonest but affectionate father to provide the extra capital which Mr. Harshe needs for the completion of his artistic enterprise. Here is a telegram in which he gives me that authority. It took a bit of doing, as I must admit. But when I persuaded him that it was for a business proposition out of which he might get considerable profits for his cash, he was delighted to think that at last his prodigal son had turned over a new leaf and was true to the family instinct for making money. Well, that’s how it happened! It’s a real pleasure to me to be the means of saving a work of art which may be a powerful influence towards world peace, and is, anyhow, filled with beauty and grace because of those who move through the pictures. Mr. Harshe! I am very proud, sir, to be in this slight material way your collaborator and assistant.” I need not give Harshe’s reply, his astonish- ment, his gratitude, his idealism, his joy that the work of all his artists should be rewarded, as it would be, by world recognition of their genius and beauty. I was watching Hilda Freudenberg curiously, not without pity, and I saw there, in her won- derful eyes, the sadness, and yet the joy also, of a woman who had made a great sacrifice for the sake of a man she loved beyond her own happiness. Her eyes were on Harshe’s face, and as he spoke of his joy and gratitude, they were luminous with an inner light which seemed to me mystical. For a moment I fancied she might be going to faint, because of her pallor and emotion, and Hermann Winter was also watching her, I noticed, with anxiety; but she smiled and her face flushed when Harshe, in his speech, turned to her for a moment and spoke of how much he owed to her beauty and talent in the pictures which would now be completed. Old Otto Winter’s servants had provided a rich banquet for us. His footman filled our glasses. After dinner the guests danced in the salon where I had heard a conversation not meant for my ears, and Harshe, seeing the ful- filment of his life’s ambition, was in a gay mood and unsuspicious of any tragic price to pay for the success that was within his reach at last.

There was a great scene of enthusiasm when Harshe called his crowd together again in the old Zeppelin shed outside Berlin and announced the glad tidings that he had sufficient capital to finish the story and pay them their arrears of wages. They cheered him tumultuously, and some of the women kissed his hands in their foreign way, much to his embarrassment as he was essentially shy. Hermann Winter was there for the first time as part proprietor, and was very much amused with that glimpse of movie life behind the scenes. He had driven out with Hilda Freudenberg, but soon after her arrival she had gone to her dressing-room,

evasiv Rob things, For ir berg’s asked left he: her fro “Shi to be |! Win the ch glad te “y inquir He | and w said, ‘ too tit Her Hilda him t aT" could shoul mf cours: bougl Rosal spoil Ih lunch

Page 195

025 vords ae: | ore [ gain, your guilt irshe ie of nced did den- ann sual sual lann his ated eply ittle lair, ded h in pre- ther Mr. stic he ing, 1im - of his his ind ing sa ga nce ith

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 from which she did not appear again until her | in the afternoon. cst some time with Harshe in his private | nom, going through a section of the scenario | ich wanted, he thought, some alterations. | iter that he left me, to arrange about the jghting of the big scene he was arranging to “shoot” that afternoon, and I worked for a | couple of hours in his room on the last part of | the scenario, in which there were one or two | yeak points. : ; After that I went round to Robin Dale’s iressing-room for a little conversation and a nip of his excellent whisky, and found that young man with all his make-up on ready for an immediate appearance before the camera. “This is a great day,” he said, bringing up a cane chair and making room for me in his den. “Dear old Gilbert has all the money he wants, fittle Rosaline is crawling back to health. ‘God’s in His heaven, all’s right with the world!” He poured out some whisky and made a slight amendment to his rosy view of life. “Barring one or two mysterious and un- happy episodes which spoil the comedy of life to a sensitive soul like mine.” I inquired his meaning, and he lowered his voice. “Tf there’s one thing I hate, it’s to see a woman in tears. It distresses me abominably, brutal fellow though I be.” “Who’s been crying?” I asked. He told me that he had gone to pass the time of day with Hilda Freudenberg, and had found her with her head down on her dressing- table, crying her heart out. “Not even the sight of my bonny face cheered her up,” said Robin. “None of my little witticisms could get a smile out of her. | Joking apart, I feel rather hipped about it. | She’s a charming little lady, and I hate to see her so sorry for herself.” I did not answer, but sat putfing at a cigaret. I was wondering whether Hilda Freudenberg was weakening about that bargain of hers with | Hermann Winter. Young Robin was watching my face, I found. He asked a question which rather embarrassed me. “Ts there anything happening between Hilda and our new financier—that Winter fellow?” | “What makes you think so?” I asked evasively. Robin Dale said he couldn’t help noticing things, putting two and two together and so on. For instance, upon leaving Hilda Freuden- berg’s room he had run into young Winter, who asked the way to her dressing-room. Having | left her in tears like that, Robin wanted to save | her from casual visitors. “She’s not very well,” he said, “and wants to be left alone.”’ | Winter had not taken the hint. He had had | the cheek to suggest that the lady would be glad to see him. “IT think not,” said young Dale. “I'll inquire.” He tapped at Hilda Freudenberg’s door again and when she answered, opened it slightly and said, “Some one wants to see you. If you’re too tired ——”” Hermann Winter called out to her, “It is I, Hilda!” and after a moment’s silence she asked him to come in. “A snub for me!” said Robin. “They’re old friends,” I told him, but he could see that I was troubled, and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t like his air of proprietorship. Of course we’re glad of his money, but he hasn’t ught the crowd. If he tries to come into | Rosaline’s room without an invitation, I'll spoil that good-looking face of his.” Thad work to do in Berlin, and after a merry | luncheon with Robin and Rosaline, who slanged tach other like Beatrice and Benedick, I left the Zeppelin shed and drove back to the city, ereby missing an extraordinary drama which Was not in the scenario of “The School of | rage.” It was Robin Dale who described it to me that evening when he came to my hotel with a

ACER <3 : cueloyas ALBRIGHT BROS A PRODUCT OF UBBERSET CO. Ask Your Dentist! “The Perfect Tooth Brush” was designed by 4,118 dentists and has the endorsement of over 20,000 more. The wedge-shaped, wide-spaced tufts of bristles reach between the teeth, on the uneven grinding surfaces, an the backs of the back teeth. The Albright Tooth Brush is different in design and different in results. Made in three sizes 45¢ LARGE 35¢ MEDIUM 25¢ SMALL Handles in five distinctive colors for quick identification of your tooth brush -White, Light Amber, Dark Amber, Ruby, Blue RUBBERSET COMPANY, NEWARK, N. J., U.S. A. BRIGHT Ooo Tre vi meg BER SEF 7 It gets in between~ where decay begins ALBRIGHT

WEDDINGS Engraved INVITATIONS and ANNOUNCEMENTS—VISITING CARDS Correct in form. Perfect in execution. Direct from the Nation’s Capital. Mod- erate prices. Samples on request. Est’d 1906, HAUSLER & CO., Dept. C. Washington, D. C. 20 Steel Die Engraved Christmas Cards with Envelopes to match $1.00

Home decoration | i

- Ty made easy! re } This new, free year- ae <8 e)\l\\| complete assortment f of artists’ china in t } this country; many new } g } designs for parchment i shades and lamps: tells Oa how to paint china with- Hl oD x out firing, with Prof. ‘dil lia ft nal Oriental Lacquers; This 80-page yearbook describes Lustrcraft wax- is yours, FREE work: explains Gesso Polychrome, and many absolutely new and “different” ideas in handicraft decoration. To complete our service we have three illustrated in- struction books, the best yet, but only 25c each: “China Painting Without Firing-and Lustrcraft”’ **When and How to Use Oriental Lacquers” These three books tell about all there is to know on these subjects. They’re profusely illustrated. Any- one can follow their instructions without previous experience or training. We make things easy and x enable you to book shows the most } 3 Hibbard’s new and origi- **How to Do Parchment Shades’”’ make these beautiful dec- orations at ever sO much less than stores charge. he — yearbook is FREE—the 32-page in- struction books are 25c each. ° Write today and enclose 50c Special Offer! for the complete 80-page yearbook and the three instruction books—you thus get one instruction book absolutely free! Send today! ! Thayer & Chandler,Dept. 14,913 Van Buren St.,Chicago

Buy it in the Red Box

- RUBBERSET

Mental strain calls for steady nerves — youll find the use of Beeman’s ‘a semsih ha b JL

| Pepsin | AMERICAN CHICLE CO.

Page 196

Vanitie of Vanities Thy Name is Norida! OW the heart of the modern girl thrills to this wonderful Vanitie! No more gritty cake powder—just that fragrant, downy loose powder that you can carry in a Norida Vanitie without spilling. Now you can be radiant and charming always —carry a Norida with you every- where—just — to s lip in your purse gilt or sil- ver,and filled with Fleur = (Wild- flower) Poudre. Refill it yourself with your own Favorite Loose Powder. Worth many times its cost. Buy one at any toilet goods counter. If your dealer can’t supply you, order direct from Norida Parfumerie, 630 South Wabash Avenue, Chicago, Illinois. Double Powder and Rouge, $2 Single. Powder only ATENTS~ “PROCURED- I mnpocnensive, experienced, and de velopment of your ideas. RADE MARKS REGISTFRED~. rompt service for the protection klet of information, aaviee an orm for disclosing idea, free on request. . OWEN, 4 Owen Bidg., Washington, D. C.. or 41 ¢ Park Row. N. Y. Lily Bobbed Hair? Lovely! But— Unsightly hair on the back of the neck spoils the effect. Thisis easily and harmlessly Overcome in a few minutes with Del-a-tone, the reliable, scientific preparation. For fifteen years millions of women beauty specialists, and physicians have preferred Del-a-tone for removing unsightly hair from face, neck, arms and limbs. Apply in smooth paste, wash off and marvel at the result. Don't experiment—be sure to get The Depilatory for Delicate Skin DEL-A-TONE) Removes Hair At Drug and Department Stores or sent prepaid in plain wrapper for one dollar. Sample in plain wrapper, ten cents. THE SHEFFIELD COMPANY Dept. 510 536Lake Shore Drive Chicago, Ill. strange excitement in his eyes. thing to tell you,” he said. believe it. It beats everything. Incredible and amazing!” It was some time before I could get him to tell me a straight story, after a series of ex- clamations which conveyed nothing. Then it all came out, and I remember his words almost as he spoke them. “Tt was after that luncheon we had. Things went wrong with the lights. They always do. ,I wandered about with that deadly boredom which is the special disease of the movie trade, and stood among the crowd watching a scene being shot. Harshe was there, of course, and busy as usual, with a megaphone in one hand and that look of intensity which he always wears when he is in the midst of production. “He was putting the new Russian through his paces. The fellow was made up exactly like Anton Rosen in his big scene outside the Kremlin, and I swear to goodness I couldn’t tell the difference! As like as two peas. And he was playing his part jolly well. It’s where he’s arrested as a Russian aristocrat and nearly torn to bits by a crowd of Russian Bolsheviki. “He looked the part perfectly, a haughty young swine, hiding the fear in his eyes— disdainful of the rabble, and yet scared. Harshe was pleased with him. ‘That’s good,’ he smiled. ‘Well done, Detloff! Hold it like that!’ “Then suddenly he turned to Hahn, the assistant producer, and said, ‘Where’s Miss Freudenberg? She comes on here.’ “Hahn shouted out her name, but of course there was no answer, as she was still in her dressing-room. I noticed something go wrong with that Russian fellow, the new man. He dropped his pose and looked as startled as a rabbit. His hand went to the place where his heart ought to be, and he held on to a bit of would go for Miss Freudenberg himself, and saw him stride away. “He was away for quite a time, while the scene was held up. The young Russian was whispering to two other men of his own race. They all looked excited about something, as though a miracle had happened. Then Harshe came back, followed by Hilda and young Winter. Harshe was looking like nothing on earth, with all the spirit dead in his eyes, if you know what I mean. Like a fellow who has had a knock-out blow. He must have over- heard something between young Winter and Hilda, something that had hit him pretty hard. Or they must have told him something. But he pulled himself together and spoke in his usual businesslike way. “*Now we'll shoot the new scene. That lighting is ail wrong! Miss Freudenberg, stand here, please. Detloff, you go to meet the woman who rescues you. You wipe the blood out of your eyes. You stagger a little.’ “The young Russian staggered a little, but not because Harshe told him to. He was staring at Hilda like a madman—clean daft! Then he called out her name in a strangled sort of way. | she saw a ghost. “Hilda was staring back at him as though scenery. I thought, ‘What’s' the matter with the fellow? Everybody seems very edgy today!’ Then I heard Harshe say that he | Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “T’ve some- | “Vou’ll never | Her face frightened me. She gave a queer cry, which froze me to the mar- row-bones. Then she went forward a little, seemed to turn dizzy, swayed, and fell bang on the floor with a frightful whack.” Young Robin halted in his story and drew a | deep breath, as though seeing that fall again | and sickening at the sound of it. I sat forward, listening to the strangest | story I have ever heard, incredible but for its | truth, and impossible except in Europe after | war and revolution. “What happened then?” I asked. Robin talked like a man who sees the thing he tells. “The young Russian went down on his knees before her. He lifted up her head and | kissed her whité lips. He was whimpering and dropping tears on her face. Harshe seized him | Why Be Gray’? Quickly — Easily — Safely Tint Your Hair Why endure unjust criticism when pre- mature gray, streaked or faded hair marks you old before your time. To overcome the handicap of gray hair is now gener ally admitted to be one of woman’s priv- ileges. But be sure to use a hair tint that is guaranteed harmless to hair, scalp, and skin; that is immediate in effect, easy to apply and lasting in results. GUARANTEES HARMLESS BROWNATONE TINTS GRAY HAIR ANY SHADE This popular hair tint has qualified as tne best with thousands of women throughout the United States and Canada. It acts quickly and is lasting—just brush it onto the gray hair and almost immediately the exact de- Sired shade from lightest blonde to deepest brown or black will be obtained. Don’t ex- periment with so-called ‘‘restorers’’ which take from a week to ten days to color the hair. And by all means stay away from dye that might be poisonous to you. Use sai: Satisfactory Brownatone and obtain the mu beautiful results you ever saw. For sale by all drug and department stores. 50c and -50. Two colors: lightest blonde to medium an and dark brown to black. For to cover postage and packing . trial bottle, send 1 We recommend NaTone Lemonated Shampoo for washing the air. At dealers or direct, 8c. THE KENTON PHARMACAL CO., 1088 Coppin Bldg., Covington, Ky. Canada Address, Windsor, Ont . BE COMFORTABLE— Wear the Brooks Appliance, the modern scientific invention whic fier i rupture sufferers immediate re It has no Rey spri OF oe gf draw together the broken - signature of C. E. rooks which appears on ev liance. None other genuine, Full information eas sent free in plain, sealed envelope. BROOKS APPLIANCE CO., 224-B State St., Marshall, Mich. For reliable information about schools and colleges. consult Tue Cosmopouritan EpucationaL DEPARTMENT 119 West Fortieth Street, New York City Women Will Welcome This Method Immediate relief for women from aggravat ing Periodic Pains and vealed per e penetrating thermic clectrie BA UE CREEK PHO i ORHORE. ding hospitals and 3 i in. ected bys physician, it draws a Eating blood to teh pected parts, relieves internal cons a and stimulates the circulation. Thous@ are in daily use. Every home needs one. r ook of Treat- ments’’ Beets deserib- ing this wonderful reser sent you on yin for SCIENTIFIC LABORATORIES Room 73, Good Health Bldg., Battie Creek, Michiga” Hear by the ‘What

Page 197

er, 1925 ¥ Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 —= ay? afely en pre- t marks ercome ' gener- 1's priv- int that scalp, t, easy E as tne out the quickly e gray act de- deepest n’t ex- by the shoulders and shook him and said, What the devil!’ Young Winter stood by looking scared. All the crowd gathered round, not knowing what to make of things. Who = Harshe who carried her back to her dressing-room, like a child. Then young Winter turned to the Russian, who was still on his knees, and asked a question. I didn’t hear the question. I only heard the answer.” Robin Dale was silent again. Then he gave a queer laugh and said, ‘‘You wouldn’t guess the answer in a thousand years.” As a matter of fact I guessed, though it seemed impossible. “What was the answer?” I asked. Robin told me what I had guessed. “‘She’s my wife,’ said the man, and after that began to jabber things I couldn’t hear.” That was the story Robin Dale told me of the scene in the studio that day. There had been no more work done, and Robin had driven back to Berlin with Rosaline, who was vastly excited. : . I made only one comment on this am zing narrative. It came from my heart. ‘Poor old Harshe!” I said. Robin nodded agreement. ‘Pretty rough!” heanswered. ‘First she sells him for the son of Otto Winter, and then she springs a husband on him. With the face of a Madonna!” Robin’s judgment was too severe, for I knew that Hilda Freudenberg had made her | bargain with Hermann Winter not for wanton- ness or greed, but so that Harshe, who loved her, might fulfill his great idea and win suc- cess. It was to pay him back by a loyalty that would break his heart—so strange are women! I think Harshe must have walked all the way back.to Berlin that evening—it was a} good ten miles—for when I met him in the hall of the Esplanade Hotel he looked dog-tired, and his boots were covered with dust. “Can you come up to my room?” he asked. “I want a yarn with you.” He spoke in a normal tone of voice, but I could see that he was suffering from some mental shock, and when we had gone into his room he took no notice of me for a few min- utes, but paced up and down with a gloomy frown on his forehead. Then he turned to me with an apologetic laugh and said: “Sorry for being uncivil. Have a drink, won’t you?” Ishook my head. “I don’t want a drink. I want to know what’s happened. You don’t seem pleased with things.” He smiled faintly at that remark of mine, and there was a flash of humor in his eyes for a second before the haggard look came back. “A man isn’t pleased with things when he’s in the middle of a moral hell.” “As bad as that?” I asked. Harshe seemed to search for the exact truth. “Well,” he said, “I don’t want to play the wounded egoist. That part doesn’t suit me. But two things have happened today which have knocked me edgewise for a time. I'm telling you because I want your advice as a good pal.” I told him that he could count on my friend- ship anyhow, whatever the value of my advice. He plunged abruptly into the middle of the ale. “You know how young Winter persuaded his father to put up some money to finish my show? Well, I thought it was a young man’s generosity. An interest in art. A sporting oer. Simple fellow, wasn’t I?” “What was his motive?” I asked, concealing my own knowledge, which I had gained behind some heavy curtains. ‘Tll tell you,” said Harshe. His voice changed and hardened. “It was to buy the favor of the girl I happened to love. Hilda Freudenberg, with the Madonna-like face, | whom I had idealized, put on a pedestal, | 9 feverenced—in my simple, sentimental way! He laughed bitterly and began to pace up down the room again, and then stopped and spoke huskily. 209 THIS booklet tells you how to pre- serve feminine daintiness ~A womans three requisites are health, youth — daintiness ODAY Ss standard of woman- hood is contained in three words, health, youth, daintiness. Ar perhaps the last of these has been. irdest toobtain. The charm of feminie immaculacy is contin- ually ti:reatened by the results of fatigue and weakness—results that take their toll of health and youth as well, in little lines and listlessness, a general letting down of physical tone. Fastidious woman struggled blindly with this problem until at last a great antiseptic came to her relief. Feminine daintiness is assured by the regular practice of feminine hygiene, a practice that is recommended by physicians everywhere. The antiseptic your physician recommends THE antiseptic which your physician will advocate as standard for feminine hygiene is “Lysol” Disinfectant. “Ly- sol"’ is soothing to delicate membranes. Physicians recommend it because it is absolutely trustworthy—100% effec- tive as a destroyer of germs. It provides you with complete anti- sepsis and at the same time it is so we ae a is ferninine The Scientie Side of ieygiene- finely blended that in proper proportion it is actually soothing and lubricating. It leaves you with a comfortable feeling of general well-being. “Lysol’s”” gentle deodorant qualities. Once you have adopted this health and daintiness precaution you will use it regularly. In addition are You will want to read this free story of feminine hygiene OnE of the three volumes in the “Lysol” Health Library is devoted to a frank discussion of the important subject of feminine hygiene, of the great comfort and protection it can be to you. You will be interested in this little pocket library and we will be glad to send it to you without charge. Simply fill in the coupon and mail it today. Your druggist sells ‘“‘Lysol” in 3, 7 and the economical 16-ounce bottle. Every package contains full directions for its use. If you have never used it, get a bottle today. Be sure you obtain the genuine ‘‘Lysol.” Manufactured only by LYSOL, INC., 635 Greenwich Street, New York City. Sole Distributors, Lehn & Fink, Inc., New York. Canadian Agents, Harold F. Ritchie & Co., Ltd., 10 McCaul St., Toronto. Send coupon for to LEHN & FINK, INC., Dept. B21, 635 Greenwich Street, New York | (Print your name and address) \ “Lysol”? Health Library ; i Bll Name Address City State

Page 198

SAY “BAYER ASPIRIN” — Gonuine Unless you see the “Bayer Cross” on tablets, you are not getting the genuine Bayer Aspirin prescribed by physi- cians and proved safe by millions over 25 years for Colds Headache Neuritis Lumbago Pain Neuralgia Toothache Rheumatism Accept only ‘Bayer’? package oo which contains proven directions. Handy “Bayer” boxes of 12 tablets. Also bottles of 24 and 100—Druggists. Aspirin is the trade mark of Bayer Manufacture of Monoaceticacidester of Salicylicacid OOK MANUSCRIPTS WANTED. All subjects Now Earn $15 a Day Easy —Fiction (novel length), Verse, Business, Travel, igces » 7 ade! ‘ok , History, Medicine, Science, Politics, Sports, Humor. nine yr . ar wh ge ; ns o_o x *. ta Immediate Reading. Prose (40,000 words up): Verse o “ie y o eens a shir - . ac i prices. om- (book size collections), vlete sample outfi ven. rite quick. FASHION WEAR SHIRT CO., Dept. M-461, Cincinnati, O. Dept. C, DORRANCE & CO., Pub., Drexel Bldg., Phila., Pa. HAT REAL companionship and ¢ Sweetness of declining years can ‘ rarely be enjoyed by those in failing health. Grow old healthfully and you will grow old happily. Mother Nature has supplied all the components in the vegetable laxative, Nature’s Remedy (M Tablets), which has aided millions of older people to enjoy health and happiness, If you are suffering from constipation, loss of appetite, rheumatism, sick headache, indiges- _ tion or auto-intoxication, Nature’s 4),/ Remedy will afford great relief by restoring and maintaining Grow old HEALTHFULLY gp, Send stamps for Sample. Dept. 7-C St. Louis, Mo. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “She was late for her call this morning, | went to her room to fetch her. He Winter was there, holding her hand. [| gj ‘What are you doing? Clear out or [J hit you i ” ‘And did he clear out?” Harshe allowed his lips to smile, but ther was no mirth in his eyes. “It appeared that he had a right to be there. He told me that Hilda had promised to be his wife. His wife he said not his mistress! «The follow is a humorist, yoy gee ” . ‘ 7 : ¢ Harshe laughed horribly, as though he saw a deadly humor in his words. He told me that when he turned to Hilda and asked her whether it was true she confirmed the fact, all right. She had promised Winter, “So that’s that!” said Harshe, but there was | no look of resignation in his eyes, in which there was a savage irony. I was silent for a while and then put my hand on his shoulder with a friendly touch. “Do yoy know why she promised him?” I asked. He answered with a shrug of the shoulders, “Young Winter is the son of the richest man ip Germany. An excellent reason. Also she was his mistress before I knew her. Another good reason!’’ His voice rose to a higher pitch in | sudden anger. “Can I doubt what that Russian fellow said? Anton Rosen, ‘whom | called a liar. Why, it’s obvious! I was blinded by her innocent eyes. She was like the rest of them in that stinking cabaret—rotten to the soul!” I kept my hand on his shoulder, though he tried to shuke it off. ‘Steady, old man! Play fair! You may be doing the lady a great in- justice. I think you are. I swear you are!” He looked at me with a gloomy surprise, “What do you know about it? What’s your idea?” I spoke with a conviction that shook him and startled him. “You’ve got it all wrong. There’s no proof at all that Hilda Freudenberg was young Winter’s mistress. I don’t believe it. L utterly refuse to believe it. There’s a look in her eyes Anyhow, I can tell you this as the truth. She doesn’t care two pins for Hermann Winter, beyond a little friendship. She wants to sacrifice herself for your sake—to pay you back for your kindness, to give you the chance of winning success. It’s her idea of loyalty. All wrong—but somehow with divine un- selfishness!” Harshe stared at me with a searching intensity. “Good Lord!” he whispered. “If I could believe that “ I assured him, with a faith that was quite sincere: “I’m certain of it. I know it. It was her love-offering to you, old man. The price of success for ‘The School of Courage.’ ” Harshe stood there with his head bent, staring at the pattern of the carpet. It was quite a time before he answered me, and then he laughed. “It sounds good, what you say. | I’d like to believe it. I’d go down on both | knees Anyhow, it doesn’t make much difference now. I forgot to tell you. Some- | thing else happened. There’s a man who says he has a prior claim.” “T heard about it,” I said. “The man from the Nacht Asyl. I can’t believe it.” Harshe was not so unbelieving. There was nothing that couldn’t happen in modem Europe. The things that he had heard and seen since the war made fools of fiction writers. And then he said something that sounded alittle mystical. . “I was guided to the Nacht Asyl. It wasnt by accident I went there with you. Those things are arranged.” “By whom?” I asked, and he looked at me strangely and said: “By the Providence of the funny old film drama which is human life.” We were silent after that, and Harshe dropped into a chair with an air of weariness and sat there with his chin on his chest until, after ten minutes or more, he spoke again mm great dejection. Hear “[’'m : al an jim a li “Hav take W motive | ing to veated the Nac Stran Winter He sent few mit He wou bring U anxious “Tell more V1 For am his stres ® suddenl own e wAsk th Tom “Tt’s want tc I hac ness of glad wl to leav Winter whom | Hern us per amuse¢ laid his drew 0 plained ‘Tt affects for whi Hars answer reputa about into m You thougl accour matter morali Hes with a do not Her: and tl admit I hav ordina The Harsh Why | you? be—w

Page 199

morning, I Herman nd. I said t or I'll hit e, but there ared that he e that Hilda wife he said; lmorist, yoy ugh he saw o Hilda and > confirmed d Winter, it there was 3, IN which ut my hand h. “Do you ced, : Shoulders, rest man in Iso she was other good er pitch in what that 1, ‘whom | s! I was vas like the ‘et—rotten though he nan! Play 1 great in- ou are!” ’ surprise, hat’s your k him and S no proof ‘as young I utterly ok in her his as the Hermann She wants ) pay you he chance f loyalty. vine un- searching | I could vas quite t. It was e price of ? ad bent, It was and then you say. on both ke much . Some- who says 1an from here was modern ard and | writers. d alittle t wasn’t Those d at me old film Harshe eariness st until, gain in § suddenly his old will-power and his sense of Hearst's [nternational—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “J’m finished this time. It’s the end of my and the end of my film.” Icouldn’t see it, and told him so, which made jim a little angry because of my density. “Haven't I told you? Do you think I can | tke Winter’s money now that I know his | motive for lending it? And do you think he’s | ging to pay up anyhow, now that he has been | cheated out of his passion by a husband from | the Nacht Asyl?” : : Strangely enough, as it seemed, it was young Winter himself who answered that question. He sent up his card and asked the favor of a jew minutes’ conversation with Mr. Harshe. He would also be favored, he said, if he could bring up Mr. Serge Detloff, who was deeply anxious for an interview. “Tell them to go to !” said Harshe, with more violence than I have ever heard him use. For a moment he was out of control because of his stress of emotion and jangled nerves. Then chivalry prevailed over that possession and he spoke quietly to the page boy, in German. “Ask the gentlemen to come up. To me he explained his change of mind. “Tt’s only fair to see them. And anyhow I want to know the truth of things.” I had no right to be in that room as a wit- ness of the scene that followed. And yet I was glad when Harshe said “Stay!” as I was about | to leave the room when the door opened and | Winter stood there with the young Russian whom I had first seen in the Nacht Asyl. Hermann Winter was the only man among us perfectly at ease, and, I think, slightly amused with the situation. Very calmly he laid his hat and stick down on the table and drew off his fawn-colored gloves while he ex- plained the object of his visit. “T think this conversation is necessary. It aflects the happiness and reputation of a lady for whom we all have a high regard.” Harshe’s brows drew together and he answered icily: “I do not discuss any lady’s reputation. If you have something to say about the money your father promised to put into my film production ne Young Winter made a quick gesture as though waiving out that idea. “That is of no account at the moment. This is not a money matter. It is a question of—shall I say high morality?” ; Hesmiled amiably at Harshe, who responded with a glare and some very sharp words. “TI do not admit your authority on that subject.” Hermann Winter started and flushed a little, and then laughed good-temperedly. “No, I admit that I am not a saint or a Puritan. Still, I have moments of—let me say sensibility, ordinary human decency.” There was a moment’s silence, broken by Harshe impatiently. ‘“What’s all this about? Why have you brought that young man with you? Does he bring any proofs of his claim to be—what he says he is?” For the first time the young Russian spoke. “I have no proofs, sir. Not here in Berlin.” “Where, then?” asked Harshe. “In Vienna,” said the Russian. “We were married as boy and girl. I was the son of the first secretary to the Russian Embassy. My father was Prince Mikhailoff.” Harshe answered with a sarcasm which I think was only a mask for his emotion. “All Russians are the sons of princes. There must have been ninety-nine millions of them.” The young Russian smiled. “It seems so in | Berlin and other cities. But I cannot help | ing the son of my father. It would have been better if I hadn’t been—in the Russia of Lenin.” You left Vienna?” asked Harshe, with less intolerance in his voice, as though the story of suffering stamped on the young man’s face touched his sympathy a little. 5 few weeks after my marriage,” said etge Detloff, as he called himself. “It was in 1917. I arrived in Russia in time for the Revolution. J was one of its victims, because (my father’s name. That scene in your film Picture—against a white wall! During four SILI > y SS OS PRR Kae he SB SSBESBBSB ~ S35 = ‘- SxS KS: ~ = LEE: SSB SS S = Ko VAAL: 23 BAS a! Suppose You— suddenly appeared in a hoop skirt By ETHEL K. BANNISTER, Graduate Nurse What a flurry you would cause! But of course you wouldn’t do it—hoopskirts are so grotesque and old-fashioned! Yet, it is amazing how many women carry into life hoopskirt ideas—through no fault of their own. Custom, tradition, prejudice and prudishness have shut out from them knowledge and light indispensable to their health, happiness and charm. Take feminine hygiene and personal daintiness. Foremost gynecologists point out relentlessly the need for revealment to women of effective, hygienic means of preserving internal health. Ignorance of method is predominantly the cause of many ailments peculiar to women and periodic distress. Internal membranes lie in a series of folds. And within, or between these folds lurks ill health. For here harm- ful bacteria and germs usually find lodg- ment. Ordinary cleansing methods, irre- spective of the antiseptic employed, can not reach them. But the Marvel, or Whirling Spray, can . . . it dilates the folds by its whirling action, and flushes them thoroughly. It cleanses and anti- septicizes every membrane surface. It purifies. It dislodges and kills militant bacteria. It is, in truth, a fountain of health. —But Send for Booklet Read the virile and forceful facts on feminine hygiene as set forth bya promi- nent physician. These are available ina booklet which we have printed. A copy will come to you on receipt of the signed coupon below in a social correspon- dence envelope. THE MARVEL COMPANY New Haven, Conn. EE: oS Ke = O33 = eee ae 5 OS Ss. 5% OK CS ASKS S EE: SKS | Ox MA Re HYGIENIC The famous Marvel Spray is obtainable ~ at any drug store for ¢ 3.50. Should your A local druggist not y. it send direct a sign and send coupon

Page 200

pesigere ~ Broken-out Skin Cleared hy Sulphur Just the moment you apply Mentho- Sulphur to an itching, burning or broken out skin, the itching stops and healing be- gins, says a noted skin specialist. This sulphur preparation, made into a pleasant cold cream, gives such a quick relief, even to fiery eczema, that nothing has ever been found to take its place. Because of its germ-destroying properties, it quickly sub- dues the itching, cools the irritation and heals the eczema right up, leaving a clear, smooth skin in place of ugly eruptions, rash pimples or roughness. You do not have to wait for improvement. It quickly shows. You can get a jar of Rowles Mentho-Sulphur at any drug store at small cost. FREE SAMPLE Send coupon for sample of Rowles Mentho Sulphur Whitehall Pharmacal Co., Dept. 2-A, New York, N. Y. Send me free sample of Rowles Mentho Sulphur Name

Street

Gray Hair in 15 Minutes In THE privacy of their own homes, hundreds of thousands of American women are regaining the youthful glory of their hair by using INECT © RAPID NOTOX. And the success of these is guiding thousands more to use this, the one tint that is perfectly natural and perfectly safe; strictly scientific, conforming with the most ex- acting laboratory standards. It is specifically guaranteed to impart to gray, streaked or faded hair all its former harmonious beauty of lustre, of silken texture and shade. Its use cannot be detected. It is guaranteed perma- nent;its color withstands any condition ortre< - ment that Nature’s will— brushing, rubbing, shampooing, sunshine, salt water, perspiration, Turkish baths, permanent waving, marcelling and curling, Itis safe, it cannot injure texture or growths it contains no paraphenylene diamine. The ease of application enables anyone to apply it with invariable success. If you cre concerned about your hair, Jeanne Ruere, expert of the greatest hair coloring manufacturers in the world, is ready to give confiaential advice on your particular problem. Send No Money. Merely fill out the coupon below. INECTO, Inc., 33-35 W. 46th St., New York

“INECTO, Inc., 33-35 West 46th St., Now York City Pleas ithout cost or obligation full details of f Anseang yes i ge Ae the Beauty Analysis Chart Form Y-21

4 Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 | years in prison I saw many men shot against a white wall, through the bars of my little window.” “But they didn’t shoot you!”’ said Harshe, rather brutally, I thought, though I made allowance for the stress under which he was suffering. “They took pity on my youth,” said Detloff. “T was only eighteen when I was put into prison. I am now twenty-five, though I feel a hundred.” Harshe said something in a low voice which I thought was more in character than the stern words he had spoken. ‘You have suffered, if what you say is true.” “Yes,” said the young Russian gravely, “I -have known suffering.” It was Hermann Winter who broke the silence that followed again. “I must vouch for something which our friend here did not know. It was published in the papers that Prince Mikhailoff and his son had been shot by order of the Cheka. It is true that the Prince was shot, though the son was spared. You see, there was every reason for the lady who had married that boy to believe in his death.” Harshe stared at young Winter and then at the Russian as though he searched for the truth in them. The young Russian moved forward a little into the room and spoke in a curious monotone. “In my prison, where I lay in dirt and lice, I lived only in remembrance. I had only the |memory of my wife and our dear love. I | thought of her beauty, her grace. You cannot | imagine, sir 4 “T think I can,” said Harshe gently, and then suddenly the young man burst into tears, leaning against the wall with his arm across his | face, as perhaps he had leaned against that | prison wall in Moscow. Hermann Winter now spoke to Harshe in a quiet, unaffected voice. “I think it’s true, all that. From what he tells me, he escaped from | Russia a year ago, and searched for his wife in | Vienna and here in Berlin. He found her today! It would have been sad for him if he had found her—a little later. Perhaps after all we did well in going to the Nacht Asyl that night. It is possible that ‘Herr Goti’ had some- thing to do with it—though I speak as an infidel. Who knows?” He smiled as though speaking flippantly, though I think he was serious, and took up his hat and gloves as though going at once. But he had something else to say, and I am glad he said it. | “It was a little caddish, you think, that I | should use my money as the son of a rich man | to persuade a certain lady to be my wife. I | said wife, sir, and not mistress, strange as it may seem! Yes, I admit that. The strange passion we call love makes men rather— caddish—sometimes. Men like me, without morality. But the lady—our beautiful Hilda —there was a very generous spirit behind her promise to me. It was her loyalty to you that made her accept me as her partner. Can friendship go further than that? I was jealous of you because of that. To have a friend like that I would go willingly to the Nacht Asyl.” I saw a tide of color sweep into Harshe’s face, and then ebb and leave him pale. It was caused by the shame of his unbelief in the woman he loved. Hermann Winter moved towards the door and said a few words more in a genial, casual way. “Of course that money will be all right. Good luck to the movie!” He held out his hand with a friendly gesture and said “Auf wiedersehen!”’ Harshe hesitated, looked at young Winter in a troubled way and then took the offered hand. “I’ve been an egotist,” he said, with a strange humility. When Hermann Winter had left the room, a cloud seemed to have lifted from Harshe’s face. It looked serene again, and there was the old friendly light back in his eyes. I think the | restoration of his faith in Hilda Freudenberg’s |purity of soul had overwhelmed the selfish passion of his desire for her. He had accused

himself of egotism, but I have never met ama of so strong a character who had g0 jj selfishness. Certainly at that moment alter the struggle which had torn and tortured i a put self on one side and reached beyond itts tuman charity. He went over to the young his hand on his shoulder. “T believe your story,” he said simply, “Ty's God’s luck that you’ve found your wife agai after all this time. I'll ring up to her room, jf she’s well enough——” ; He crossed over to the wall where the tel. phone was fixed, but before he took off them ceiver Serge Detlofi, as he had called himself and as his name appears in “The School of Courage,” strode towards him quickly ang spoke eagerly in his broken English, which] only faintly reproduce. “Sir, a moment, please! I wish to say some. thing which lies much on my heart.” breathed heavily, and I could see that he was terribly excited. Harshe moved away from the window and said, “We are friends here.” Serge Detloff had some difficulty in finding his words, not for lack of English, I think, but because what he wanted to say was a supreme act of sacrifice, hard to make and hard to say, “Tt is like this. I do not wish to behave like a brutal fellow. It is possible that I come back too late, that I find my little wife too late. Jp that case I go away again. Back to the Nacht Asyl—if you will. It is perhaps better so.” Harshe’s eyes flashed across to mine. He seemed to ask whether I was as much a. tounded as himself. ‘I don’t get your mean- ing,” he said. The young Russian threw his hair back from his forehead as though to clear his mind. “Itis not easy to give my meaning—though it is clear in my heart. Down in the underworld— that hell!—I have been alone with my thoughts, always thinking life, trying to see the truth of things, to find the purpose of life itself. There is not much in it, except perhaps love. I see nothing else but that. I do not wish to claima love which may not be mine, or to spoil a love which may belong to others. You sec?” Harshe answered after a moment’s puzzled thought, “‘No, I don’t see.” The young Russian made a gtsture of despair. “How can I say? It is plain to me. I have stared at it for seven years. I have tried to get courage to meet it and accept it. All that time I was a prisoner, I thought. A year goes by, and I think of nothing but my little wife. Perhaps for six months she thinks: of me, remembers our love, yearns for me. After that she begins to forget. She meets other men, kind, human, alive, while I am dead. Then two years, while I am still dead. Then later, four, five, six, seven years. “T grow more dead and dead in prison. She thinks me dead. She remembers with a little sigh—our passing love. But in the world sheis young, gay, wanting love. I search for her when I come out. Search until I weep and weaken because I do not find her. But all the time I am afraid of finding her. You under- stand? I am filled with fear to find her.” The fear was in his eyes now, visible, and I think I understood. But Harshe seemed pet- plexed and said: “What fear? afraid?” Serge Detloff put his hand up to his head and then let it drop. ; “Tt was seven years,” he said. “That is time to love again, after a few weeks of mar- riage. A beautiful girl need not wait so long. It would be cruelty. There was a poem I rea about a shipwrecked sailor. You know it? He came back to find his woman married t0 another. He went away and drowned himself, I think. That was best. But you understand my fear? Perhaps I come back too late, like that sailor.” p Harshe and I were silent. I do not think I have ever been so moved by any spoken words. I understood the tragic fear in this mans mind, after all that agony of waiting, searching Russian and put Why should you have been

Page 201

lever meta ) had so in moment, 1 tortured }j ed beyond itt, ussian and put | simply, “Ip, ur Wife again— o her room, If vhere the tek. ook off reg called himself The School af quickly ang glish, which | n to say some heart.” fe e that he was - window and Ity in findj ve! think ha aS & supreme | hard to say, 0 behave like t I come back too late, In to the Nach etter so,” 0 mine, He 4S much as. . your mean- ‘ir back from mind. “Iti though it is nderworld— ny thoughts, the truth of tself. There love. I see sh to claima spoil a love see?” nt’s puzzled gesture of slain to me. ts. I have d accept it. hought. A ing but my ; she thinks: ns for me. She meets vhile I am 1 still dead. Ts. rison. She ith a little vorld she is ch for her weep and But all the ‘ou under- her.” ible, and I emed per- have been ; head and “That is s of mar- t so long. em I read wit? He arried to iderstand late, like t think I on words. is man’s searching Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for-October, 1925 ‘; girl who had been his dream in prison, bn the Nacht Asyl. , ict. He spoke again, with that direct simplicity of “You have been kind to me, sir, and Iam ‘teful. If it happens that I arrive too late for my Wife’s love, because perhaps it is you she loves, I will go without any kind of trouble. \fter seven years I have no claim. I am ill a gentleman, I hope. In my mind, I Wie looked down at his shabby clothes as though they disguised his claim to be a man. — strode over to him and put his arm sround him, with sudden emotion and almost fatherly sympathy. 3 “My dear lad! You needn’t worry your head as far as I’m concerned. Your wife and I are good friends. I shall always be proud and gad of that. Seven years 1s a long time! But I think she has waited for you—kept herself for you. I hope you’ve come back in time!” “How can I know?” asked Serge Detloff. “Ask her,” said Harshe, and he laughed sincerely for the first time since his walk back to Berlin. He went to the telephone and rang up a room. It was Rosaline Brook who answered, as afterwards I learned. “How is Hilda?” asked Harshe. I did not hear the answer, but only Harshe’s comment, which was, “Good!” He hesitated for a moment and then spoke again: ‘‘Ask her to come down to my room. Or shall we come up? There’s some one here who wants to see her. It is the young Russian whom she saw today at the studio. If she wants to see him again—if she is well enough, I mean—he is waiting in my room.” He held on to the receiver and listened, and then put it down and turned to Serge Detloff. “She is coming,” he said. I saw a kind of thrill pass through the young Russian. His dark eyes were luminous, but his face was dead-white. “We'll leave you,” said Harshe, and he beckoned tome. But Serge shook his head and said: “No, no! Please!’ We waited for what might have been two minutes. It seemed like half an hour. Perhaps to the young Russian it seemed like eternity, though he stood motionless, hardly breathing, with his head slightly raised. Then the door opened, and Rosaline Brook ha it so that Hilda Freudenberg could pass er. She too was white, and she looked at the man who was her husband as though he had come back from the dead. She came forward a little = then stood still with a strange troubled smile. “Serge!” she said in a low voice. “My dearest love!” The young man went towards her, and dropped down on his knees and wept over her hands which he clasped and kissed. Harshe beckoned to me again and Rosaline took his hand, and we went out of the room, leaving those two alone. “Not ‘too late, after all,” said Harshe. “Well—I’m glad.” It was in London that I saw the first pro- duction of that film called “The School of Courage.” The spectators followed its drama with intense interest, moved by emotion at this sweeping picture of all the human agony, hope, usion and sacrifice that had followed in wake of war and revolution. I don’t know whether they understood its plea for greater ty. It doesn’t seem to have changed the heart of the world . . . Isaw more than they did. Those faces on the screen were the people I had met. Their story was more vivid to me than the drama in which they acted. I was aware of their share in “The School of Courage,” which is life. Out m the street again I took off my hat to the movie crowd, and especially to Gilbert Harshe, had not been seen at all upon the screen. 213 4 t forty how old will your skin look? » Beauty—the charm of a youthful, smooth, clear skin is not a matter of age but of skin health. If you are in your twenties, begin at once the daily use of Ingram’s Milkweed Cream. Then your skin at forty will still be young looking— healthy—firm. If you are older, the nourishing and renewing properties of Ingram’s Milkweed Cream will soften your skin, give it new vitality and smooth out the tiny lines of tiredness. Cleanses, Protects, Corrects. Ingram’s Milkweed Cream is more than a thorough cleanser, more than a protection and powder base. It combines certain remedial properties which correct rough- ness, tan, freckles,sblemishes, blackheads and such imper- fections. The purpose of these nourishing, beautifying properties is not to cover up defects, but to correct them. Make This Convincing Test. There is a booklet ‘Health Hints’ wrapped around each jar of Ingram’s Milkweed Cream which every woman should read. It tells you the most effective way to use Ingram's Milkweed Cream, how to use it in treating the common troubles of your skin. This booklet is written by specialists to make sure that you get from Ingram’s Milk- weed Cream the fullest possible benefit. Go to your druggist today and buy a jar of Ingram’s Milk- weed Cream in the fifty cent or economical dollar size. Begin its use at once. The improvement that will come to your complexion in just a few days will surprise you. Frederick F. Ingram Company Established 1885 Windsor, Canada. 540 Tenth St., Detroit, Mich. Ingiams Milkweed Cream Keeps Complexions Clear “I Look at Least Ten Years Younger Than My Friends —some of whom have done everything known to beauty culture. I know Ingram's Milkweed Cream is responsible for my smooth, fresh looking skin because I have used nothing else for nearly 15 years.” This is just one of thou- sands of voluntary appre- ciations that come to us every year from women everywhere in society, in business and on the stage Chere is in Eve Beauty Jar’ ¥e ee oo Adi justa- | ein Free very way Sizes for Pa all types desired of nos s. : # ANITA NOSE ADJUSTER : en! Wie Shapes while you sleep. Rapid, mx less and safe. The ANITA ts a Gen. fya-) uineand most Comfortable Nose Su rter. Absolutely GUARANTEED. ighly recommended by Physicians. Write for FREE Booki ‘‘Nature’s Way To Happinee’* ~ > The ANITA Co The wearing of these wonderful medicated rubber anklets and stockings (in either light or dark rubber) will not only reduce and shape the limbs but give excellent support and a neat and trim appearance. They relieve swelling varicose veins and rheumatism promptly. Worn next to the skin they induce nat- ural heat and keepit inthe body. They stimulate the circulation and are a great protection against cold and dampness. Anklets, per pair Stockings, per pair $12.00 $7.00 Reduce Your Limbs with DR. WALTER'S Medicated Rubber Stockings Fi Send ankle and calf measure “ Dept.1074, Anita Building, si - Warnld Motel. 29 Spri field AN GEFORE-AFTER WRITE FOR BOOKLET TO Po DR. JEANNE C. WALTER, 389 Fifth Avenue, New York

Page 202

214 wonderful !” he whispered... And so will he whisper to you when beauty radiates, and your skin is soft and smooth as a result of your having abolished every trace of superfluous hair with ZIP. Lasting Results ZIP does more than merely remove surface hair. It destroys the growth by gently lifting out the roots quickly, pain- lessly and harmlessly, — and- cannot strengthen fine hair. Like magic your skin becomes adorable.

The Epilator — Infinitely Better It is infinitely better to actually lift out the roots and destroy the growth than to continue using ordinary surface hair de- pilatories. It is dangerous to experiment with the action of rays on hair roots — and incidentally their action on your skin. Use ZIP ONCE and you will never resort to any other. method, oe Sold Everywhere = Mones-back Guarantee

pre 562 Fifth Peo Si tel ayie Flabeheiwa ne gid gn yo Shiai BE jyMadame Berthé, Specialist 5 I Dept. 788, 562 Fifth Ave., New York City 8 2s I Please send me FREE BOOK ‘‘Beauty’s Greatest Secret,*’ Bs [telline how to > be beautiful and panned the three types of E2& pcunerfiucus air; also a FRE ple of your assage 5 2™ and Cleansing Cream, guaranteed aoe on grow hair. cE 2 ERS I Name eee a eae $< = i Please print your name Eee, i s3 Adar gant | i e88. eS I 1City & State Q i et |

CREATIONS FORMER) new vor: a

|

| ooked out over the smiling world. The sun | was coming up over the hills, shooting long | shafts of light across the landscape. | with stars shining serenely overhead and only |a pale luminousness in the east. | were finished now. Two round tin milk buckets Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 Pig Iron (Continued from page 23) farm and hand the paper over to Ezra in order | to wipe out the swollen figure. But times were going to be better now that peace had come. All the farmers in the countryside were agreed on that, and the| Boston papers were full of bright promises for the future. Prices for farm produce were rising, good years were ahead, and it was understood between Smith and Hornpipe that the latter was to hand back the paper which gave him right and title to part of the Mendon | farm, whenever Theophilus was able to repay | | the borrowed amount. When he was seven years old, Sam seienat| | |to attend the village school, two and a half miles from the farm. During the fall and | spring months he and Narcissa walked this | distance morning and afternoon, taking cold lunches which Cora put up for them. In winter | time Jonathan usually drove them over in the | sleigh. He was a boy of nineteen at that time, Julia two years younger, and Narcissa ten. It was one morning upon his return trip | after driving the children to school that Jonathan suddenly and terribly met his death. A tree branch, heavily laden with snow, pro- | jecting over the road, without warning snapped, precipitating its burden upon the passing vehicle. The horses bolted straight | across the road into the woods, the sleigh up- | set, and the unfortunate boy, in some way | entangled with the robe, reins or runners, was | | dragged to an unsightly and frightful end. | They found his bruised and broken body late | | | | in the afternoon, and the neighbor who came | for Sam and his sister at the close of school gently told them the news. Once more grief stalked through the Smith household; another of the boys had been taken | by an inscrutable God, and it was following | this new bereavement that Theophilus Smith’s | gray hair turned white, and the dark and | brooding melancholy descended upon his wife | which was never wholly to lift from her to the | day of her death. : In April, Mendon was heavy with the scent of spring. The twisted branches of the apple trees which. had lifted their black nakedness against the gray skies of winter for five bleak, | | | | interminable months burst into a glory of pink | and white lovel’ness. The cover crop. of barley stood knee-deep, fresh and luxuriantly green awaiting the plowshare to turn it back into the soil, fragrant now with heavy earthy smells and soggy with soft rains. A film of young grass shimmered along the surface of the cowyard, buttercups lifted their bright faces above last year’s stubble in the fields. Sam felt like shouting as he stood in the wide doorway of the barn one early morning and The boy had been up for nearly two hours already, | stumbling out a little after five into cold night His chores foaming to the top stood on the ground on either side of him. He had set them there a moment to look out over the valley tinted everywhere with shades of green and to inhale the lush odors of the early morning. At fourteen, he did not grasp its full glory nor appreciate the loveliness of the prospect. But beauty pierced the casing of his young soul on this morning. Forever afterwards spring | was to mean something more to him. There was no need of a teacher at his elbow as he stood in the barn doorway. Something | stirred within him; thé animal in his hard young | make-up roused; beauty illumined his soul; his | heart swelled; a ‘shout trembled in his throat. Great longings suddenly possessed him; he wanted—with all the yearning of which his mind and body were capable—something, he ‘did not know what.

Children’s EYES Need this Care Children’s EYES, even more than your own, require daily cleansing. Since 1895, careful mothers the world over have used Murine to keep little EYES clean, bright and healthy. Murine removes the irritating particles rubbed into baby EYES . tiny fists. It frees the EYES of school children from chalk dust, and from foreign matter accumu- lated during outdoor play. This hygienic lotion contains no bella- donnaor other harmfulingredients, Our illustrated books on ‘‘Fye Care’ or “Eye Beauty” are FREE on request The Murine Company Dept. 22, Chicago RANE EYES How to Have Soft, Pretty White Hands

Many women will undoubtedly be glad to know how they may have beautiful, white, soft, pretty hands regardless of the work they have to The secret lies in rubbing a little Ice-Mint into the hands occasionally preferably just before Tetir- ing at night. In the morning you will be agree- ably surprised at the pleasant transformation that has been wrought by even a_ single application. Ice-Mint is made from a Japanese product that is simply marvelous for its beautifying properties whether used on the hands or face. Regardless of what kind of work a woman does she should ap pretty hands as they are really the true_ marks of refinement. A few applications of Ice-Mint will actually make any woman proud of her hands and skin. It costs little and is sold and recommended by good druggists everywhere. United Sales Manufacturing Co., Midnight Eyes fascinate the imagination because of their luxuriant sweep of shadowy lashes. Darken your lashes with Winx to give your eyes magnetic lustre. Winx is a harmless water- proof liquid that makes the lashes seem much longer and heavier. It dries at once and lasts for days. Winx, black or brown, 75c. At drug, dept, stores or by mail. Binghamton, N.Y.

Send 12c for sample ROSS COMPANY 240 West 17th St. Waterproof New York a ———

Page 203

ES ire re than ansing, ers the {urine bright ‘itating Y EYES YES of k dust, “cumu- This ) bella- dients, Care’’ ‘equest ad to know soft, pretty ave to e-Mint into before retir- ll be agree- mation that application. roduct that z properties egardless of should have e marks of Mint will hands and commended nton, N. Y.

2c for sample COMPANY st 17th St. w York Tell

-other pressing matters would have to wait.

Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 It seemed to him at the moment that he must ! rush down the hill with outstretched arms, | giving vent to that repressed shout, clear the | stone wall at the bottom with a bound, fling | himself into the tall grass and the spring flowers | beyond, roll in them, bite them, plunge on| again and leap naked and free into the clear glittering water of Miller Creek. ; For a moment he played with the idea. Why shouldn’t he do this? Why shouldn’t he do for | this once just what he wanted? To be free on such a morning, to do as he liked, to think of other things besides chores and grubbing in the earth, to satisfy this urge which now so completely possessed him . . . ee “Sam-mie!”’ It was his mother standing in the kitchen door. “Don’t moon out there; it’s late already and there’re a lot of things I want | you to do before you go to work.” “Yes, ma, I’m coming.” He picked up the handles of the milk pails and moved toward | the house. Of course it was not possible. They couldn’t get along without him; they depended upon | him, needed him—needed him for the tasks his hands could do, for the errands his legs could run, for the work his brain and body could per- form. There was always tomorrow to think of. The future! Provision for the future! He knew well the fight his parents were making to keep the roof over their heads, the little family together. He had been taken out of school two years before in order to help at home. Since David had gone, it was more than ever a struggle, for hired men were hard to get and their wages still harder to pay. No, there was nothing else for him; they couldn’t spare him. There was work to be done—lots of it—and he must be busy from morning until night. That was it: work— work—work! He enjoyed it well enough; he had not a great deal at which to grumble; only there was always so much more work piling up. At the sink his father was washing in a tin | basin his mother had filled from the kettle, | and as Sam entered the kitchen, the old man squeezed his white beard with a large hand and the water ran from it in a trickle. He began to | tub his face vigorously with a towel. Narcissa was slicing bread on the cheese chest, and Mrs. Smith frying cornmeal. Cora, crippled with rheumatism, could no longer help and the mistress she had served so long and faithfully, with the aid of her| daughter, now took care of her in turn. Mrs. | Smith would not hear of her being taken to a hospital or an asylum. As long as the Smiths had a roof to shelter them, she declared Cora should share it. The old negress was a great burden, for she was utterly helpless and had to be washed, dressed and tended like a baby. Theophilus Smith used to frown and shake his head. He hated to see his wife with | this extra care upon her shoulders—shoulders | which carried far too great a load as it was. He drew up his chair now and poured his | china cup full to the brim from the coffee-pot ... Well, better times were coming. He | heard it on every side; the new trees would | bear heavier and heavier each year; the price | of hay was climbing. In particular, he had re- | ceived word from Ezra the day before of a| young fellow, good and reliable, who wanted to hire out for the summer, and he planned to | drive to Framingham immediately breakfast | was over in the hope of engaging him. This, unfortunately, would interfere with the day’s work; he had meant to start plowing that morning. There was no help for it; this and

The opportunity of obtaining a dependable ired man for the summer was too important tolose. He sighed nevertheless; the spring was upon them. He wished Sam was a few years older. The yy, when he had more strength, was going to an incalculable help. He glanced at him now, plunging his face and handsinto the basin at the sink: a good boy and a steady one, he would have a fine body in a year or two. Already the chest and shoulders under the cotton shirt would make many a full-grown

The Game of Life Nature, With Whom We Play the Game of Life, Wants You To Win. But She Plays According To the Rules

| ovata who live to old age, enjoying good health, usually : attribute their well-being to a few wise rules faithfully ept. Some of the rules which you might keep are: Do not eat between meals. Walk, at least part of the way, to and from work. Breathe deeply from time to time. Golden as these rules are the benefits they confer depend on yet another—thoroughly and punctually clearing the system of the waste products of digestion. This is wisely regarded as a key rule to health. For more than fifty years, the morning draught of ENO has been one of the important rules of living a healthy life. ENO promotes and assists this daily cleansing process, not by forcing Nature, but by acting gently and naturally. EN® TRACE MARK THE WORLD FAMED Effervescent Salt At All Druggists Handy Size—v75c. suitable for the travelling bag and should, on no account be forgotten when you travel. Household size—$1.25 EFFERVESCENT SaLT PLEASANT, COOLING REFRESHING LAXATIVE Sales Agents: HAROLD F. RITCHIE & CO., Inc. 171 Madison Avenue, New York Toronto Sydney Wellington Prepared only by J. C. ENO, Limited, London, England ENO first thing in the morning ee ee ak a’ <

Page 204

216 Plain Girls Can Multiply Beauty | if they will. By Edna Wallace Hopper Most girls can multiply their beauty. I did it, and I made myself the rage in society and on the stage. Most women can keep youthful bloom indefinitely. I am doing it at a grandmother's age. I have searched the world since girlhood to find the best of beauty helps. For 40 years I have kept in touch with all the new discoveries. So I believe that I have secured the best beauty aids in existence. I have seen them bring to countless plain girls quick and amazing results. Now I am placing those same helps at every woman’s call. I am combining many aids in one, to make them easy to apply. Toilet counters every- where now supply Edna Wallace Hopper’s aids to beauty exactly as I use them. One is my Youth Cream. Not an ordinary cold cream, but many great helps in one. These include products of both lemon and strawberry, also all the best that science taught me to feed, preserve and protect the skin. You will be amazed at what a cream can do—a multiple cream like this. I can do no greater kind- ness to a girl or woman than to urge a test. A trial tube will come free if you send coupon. My | latest beauty book will come with it. new beauty or new youth, clip the coupon now. If you seek | For Trial Tube Mail this today to the Edna Wallace Hopper, 536 Lake Shore Drive, Chicago. Enclose 10c for postage and packing. Name Ye oe | | Ana The | Never Mar So many charming girls had failed to attract him, that people thought he’d never marry. Then he | met this girl. She had : , | read‘‘Fascinating Womanhood,” % oe i | a remarkable new book which ee | shows how any woman can multiply her attractive | ness by using the simple laws of man’s psychology and | human nature. She could just as easily have fascinated any other man. You, too, can have this book; you, | too, can enjoy the worship and admiration of men, and be the radiant bride of the man of your choice. Just | cut out this ad, write your name and address on the margin, and mailto us with 10 cents. The little book outlining these revelations will then be sent to you. postpaid, in plain wrapper. Knowledge is power. Send yourdime today. « THE PSYCHOLOGY PRESS, 119S. 14th St., St. Louis, Mo., Dept. 42-Z Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 man envious. In a little while Narcissa too would be more useful; she was seventeen now and did a great deal of the house-work, but in a year or two she ought to be able to take the management of everything into her hands. Sam joined his father at the table and began to eat hungrily; Narcissa presently sat down, and after a time, when the frying was finished, Mrs. Smith drew up her chair. They ate in silence, each busy with his or her own thoughts. A homely picture they made about the square table with its red-fringed cloth in the littered odorous kitchen, the morning sunshine slanting obliquely though the window, casting a bright parallelogram on the wall: a farmer, his wife and their two children, partaking of the first meal of the day. The man, white of head and beard, was still vigorous despite his sixty years. The hair was a trifle thin on top, but it curled abun- dantly about his ears and grew thickly upon his temples. His cheeks were leathery, the features heavy, the face deeply lined, but there was a leonine carriage to his head and a large- ness and magnificence in his manner. His wife, upon his left, looked frail; she was thin and angular; beneath her cotton gingham the two bones at the base of her neck made ugly lumps; her face was drawn and her eyes sunk into deep pockets of sadness. But there was a touch of sweetness to her mouth, folded in a little venerably at the corners now, that softened her expression and gave it a quality of benignity. When she smiled there came to her face a rare sweetness, as though a light illumined it. If there had ever been hardness or disdain there, it had long disappeared. The smile did not come often; generally a shadow of intimate sadness lay across her features. Narcissa, opposite, abounded in health and high spirits. She was always merry; a laugh, sweet and joyous in quality, was ready at all times on her lips. She was stout of leg and arm, and her bosom was rounded. She was not pretty, but she had a likable, attractive face, full of sparkle and vivacity. She was a rare prize for some man, her father, watching her, used soberly to think; please God, he always added fervently with the thought, he would prove a good one and worthy of her! Sam was like his sister in many ways and like his father in more. He had none of Narcissa’s ebulliency or sunny radiance. His face was sober and dark; responsibility already had put its mark upon it. At this particular age he was inclined to be gruff, almost surly in his manner. But like Narcissa, his flesh was | hard and smooth and he had the same wide | mouth and big teeth. His black eyebrows | were heavy and well-defined, and his dark | eyes deep-set like his mother’s. From his father he had derived his physique, his broad shoulders and chest, but he would never attain the other’s height or his large proportions. At fourteen, Sam was square and compact and gave promise of great strength in years to come. Already a film of soft black down covered his cheeks and chin. Now, as he bent over his plate, devouring his food with a hasty spoon, his hair falling over his eyes and ears, he gave the impression of an animal. Toward the end of the meal his sister left the table and disappeared up-stairs. She returned almost immediately and leaned over her father’s shoulder, one arm about him, her cheek against his bearded face. In her hand she carried a bit of red dress material. “Pa,” she said coaxingly, ‘“‘when you’re in Ezra’s see if he has some ribbon to match this, won’t you? Two inches wide. I only need a yard and a half.” . Her father cleared his throat with a doubtful sound. Narcissa kissed him and rubbed his | cheek with hers. “Now, pa—listen,” she said hastily. ‘It won’t cost more than ten or fifteencents . . .” She continued her entreaties, and presently Theophilus tucked the sample into his wallet with a sigh. Sam glanced at his father’s attire with in- terest; he had not noticed his town clothes. “You going to Framingham today, pa?” he asked. ‘How about a hame for Dolly's harness?” “And I'll need some rice, sugar and a can of all-spice, Thee,’”’ Mrs. Smith remarked with little hesitancy. Theophilus Smith frowned, pursing his lips and bringing down his heavy white brows, byt he made a note of these things without com. ment. He turned to his son. “The Calvin boy—that limb of Satan!— stopped here last night with a message from Ezra. He has a good man down there, he says and I’m going to have a talk with him. The orchard will have to wait, and as I’ll have to take one of the horses, there’s nothing to be done until I get back. You might start hoeing that truck garden, and if this individual proves of any account, the tenant cottage will have to be cleaned Zs “The roof leaks like a sieve,” Sam growled, “T am well aware of that, my son,”’ said his father, knitting his brows. ‘Your statement adds nothing to my information. The roof must be made to serve. I’m not going to in. volve myself in this expense until I am thor. oughly satisfied it is necessary.” There followed a general breaking up of the group. Narcissa busied herself with Cora’s breakfast, and presently carried it in to the patient old cripple. The negress had been established in the dining-room, of which the family in recent years had made no use, Narcissa jerked up the shade, pushed the window higher, and with cheerful gossip sat down on the side of the bed and began to feed the invalid. Mrs. Smith turned to the breakfast things and her dish-washing. Sam disappeared in the direction of the barn to harness the horse and drag the old surrey from the shed. Half an hour later his father was jogging along the road toward Framingham. At ten o’clock there was a creak of wheels in the road and the sound of a stopping vehicle. Narcissa glancing from a window saw it was the postman and hurried out to the mail-box. There were two letters. One was from Boston, addressed to her mother in Julia’s well-known hand, and would be full of welcome news about the absent daughter; the other was postmarked “New York,” and Narcissa, reading the print- ing in the upper left-hand corner, said aloud, with a kind of wonder: “Uncle Cyrus!” It was close to noon when Theophilus Smith turned the mare’s head in at the picket gate, drove the surrey round to the réar of the house and brought it to a standstill outside the kitchen door with a resounding “Whoa!” Sam, glanc- ing up from the truck beds where he was work- ing, saw he had brought the new hired man; a young fellow he looked, younger than any they had ever had, and as large as the boy’s father. Sam dropped his hoe and ran to take charge of the horse. As he came up, his mother appeared at the kitchen door. “(Oh—I’m glad you’re back so early, Thee,” she said. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be here in time for dinner.” Her husband wrapped the reins about the whip-socket and ponderously alighted. “This young man is Nick,” he said. “I don’t remember what your last name is, sir, but I reckon that won’t make much difference; you'll always be Nick here. He’ll want some- thing to eat, too, Mary.” Narcissa came to the door, ran down the steps, threw her arms about her father’s neck and kissed him fervently. ‘Did you get it, pa?” she asked. ‘Could Ezra match it?” Her father stared at his daughter puzzled, then scowled, pushed back his broad-brimm hat and tapped his forehead with a penitent finger. “T declare, Narciss—that ribbon went com- pletely out of my mind! I’m sorry, my dear. T’'ll be going in again next week.” The girl’s face clouded for the fraction of a second, but she hugged her father again, kis him and led him indoors. Dinner of boiled beef and boiled potatoes was He on t whel whe! wasl bein A daus scho all t natu her | his | ove!

Page 205

er, 1925 day, pa?” for Dolly's and a can arked wae rsing his lips © brows, but vithout com. of Satan!— lessage from ere, he says, - The T’ll have to thing to be Start hoeing idual proves se will have 1M. growled, in said his r statement The roof Zoing to in- I am thor. i up of the vith Cora’s t in to the ; had been which the le no use, ushed the gossip sat zan to feed fast things ared in the - horse and alf an hour t the road f wheels in ng vehicle. aw it was > mail-box. m Boston, vell-known ews about ostmarked the print- aid aloud, Cg lus Smith cket gate, the house he kitchen im, glanc- was work- ired man; than any the boy’s n to take up, his y, Thee,” e in time bout the “T don’t sir, but ifference; nt some- own the penitent nt com- ry dear. ion of a 1, kissed floes was Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 on the table, and the family already eating, when Sam joined them after showing Nick where to put the horse and surrey. As he washed up at the sink, he heard the letter being discussed which had arrived from Julia. A little less than a year before the older daughter had secured a position in the public schools of Boston. Narcissa envied her with all the passionate intensity of her strong young nature and was constantly talking of following her example; Theophilus Smith was proud of his daughter’s achievement; his wife worried over the dangers and temptations of the city; Sam had no feeling about the matter one way or another. Julia was ten years older than himself. Her letter today contained the satisfactory news that she had at last been permanently assigned. All winter long she had been acting | as substitute, taking charge of classes in | different parts of the city whenever a teacher fell ill or was forced to be absent. She was very comfortably situated, sharing a room with one of the other teachers—a Miss Crombe—in a quiet, refined boarding-house in the neighbor- hood. She planned to come home in June as soon as the school term closed. Narcissa rose abruptly in the midst of the talk and brought her father the other envelop that had arrived that morning. ‘Look, pa,” she said as she handed it to him, ‘‘it’s from Uncle Cyrus.” Her father took it from her, adjusted his nose-glasses carefully, pushed back his chair and slit the envelop with a table knife. His family was aware of his feeling toward his brother, and no one spoke as he deliberately read. When he had finished, he laid the letter on | the table and poked it with the knife. “My brother Cyrus,” he said with another dry cough, “has a habit of appealing to me when the force of circumstances makes it appear advisable.” “Why, what’s the trouble with Cyrus?” Mrs. Smith asked as her husband returned to his dinner. Theophilus pointed at the letter. “I wish you’d read it, my dear,”’ he replied. ‘‘I con- fess I don’t understand my brother.” Mrs. Smith picked up the letter and in turn scanned its closely written pages. “But why not, Thee?’’ she asked at length. “He offers to pay for the accommodation; he says much depends on the little girl getting into the country; we have a spare room and I think we'd enjoy having them.” “T do not propose to be beholden to Cyrus.” | “From his letter, I think he would feel be- holden to you,”’ Mary Smith offered mildly. “That may be or may not. I desire to have | no dealings with my brother.” “Tell us about it, ma,’”’ Narcissa begged. It was explained that some four or five years previously a niece of Sarah Smith’s—Cyrus’s wife—had come to make her home with her aunt in New York. Recently the little girl had been sick. The doctor advised a change of air, the country if possible, and Cyrus Smith suggested that Ruth and his wife should come to Mendon as soon as the weather grew warmer and board with his brother’s family for a few weeks. My circumstances have improved [he wrote]; I have done moderately well since I came here and I am in a position to offer what I hope you will consider ample com- pensation for the board of my wife and small niece. Before seeking suitable sur- roundings elsewhere, it occurred to me that you and Mary might care to take in the two. I am familiar with the healthful con- ditions around Mendon and satisfied they would be ideally suited to Ruth. Besides this, I have thought a companionship between her and your daughters might prove mutually agreeable. Julia is per- haps too old for our little girl, but your younger daughter, I fancy, is about the Same age .. . Narcissa exploded. 217 The Fresh (lear Radiance of Winsome Youth EXQUISITE is the bloom on a soft young cheek, so expressive of the glamour, the romance, the eternal yet fleeting charm of youth. Such beauty is every woman’s dream—every woman’s right. And quickly and simply may its ardent loveliness be yours. PERT is a scientific, greaseless cream rouge with a natural coloring that stands the most critica! scrutiny. At the lightest touch of your moistened finger it instantly imparts a lasting, healthful glow that only cleansing cream or soap will remove. To add vivacity and animation to the delicate bloom of cream Pert, you may heighten its warmth with the fascinating tints of Pert compact Rouge. Your complexion is at once invested with a youthful bril- liance and liveliness. Pert compact is delightful also as a separate rouge. By applying it directly to the skin before powdering, you make it waterproof. To accent your type of loveliness: For a fair skin, light orange cream Pert (changes to pink on the skin) and blush Compact. Fora medium skin, dark orange cream Pert and blush Compace. For an olive skin, rose shade cream Pert and rose Compact. . For artificial light, a new shade called evening (bright red). For enhancing the beauty of the lips, Pert waterproof Lipstick. Cream Rouge or Lipstick, 75¢ each. Compact, 5oc, U. S. and Canada. Mail the coupon today with 12¢ for a generous sample of Pert cream Rouge. Another 12c brings a sam- ple of Winx, the waterproof lash-darkener. ROSS COMPANY 240 West 17th Street New York Pert Rouge Name Mi tt a State ge my S r city « ilvertone Stationery With YOUR name and address printed a Hair Roots—Phelactine Plan A boon to women disfigured with hairy or fuzzy pr Ape re, emeed and Boas growths is Phelactine—for it actually removes stone Lae oe eee anon re the roots! Easily, quickly, harmlessly. Not a ing surface takes ink fine. Roomy sheets. Dis- tinctive envelopes. 200-6 by 7 in. sheets with 106 envelopes $] -00 West of Denver $1.10. Printing freeonly 2 Prepaid } Don’t buy ordinary kind at stores. Use snappy per- | sonal stationery. Costs no more to be distinctive. People everywhere praising Silvertone. Print name and address plain. Send cash for box—now—today. Silvertone Stationery Co., 1001 Gay St., Miamisburg, Ohio caustic, to merely burn off the surface hair. Not a paste, powder or liquid. Not electrical. It is ‘‘different,’? and truly wonderful. No odor, no irritation, no scar—skin is left clean, white and smooth. Get a stick of Phelactine today, try it, and with your own eyes see the roots come out! At drug stores and toilet counters, $1. Dearborn Supply Co., 2350 Clybourn Ave., Chicago | Really Removes Superfluous | “Heavens!” she ex- Claimed, “how old is the child?” She Get Pretiy Home Turnishin This Popular Way gga ie from our big new Fall Catalog all the lovely things you desire—then pay while you enjoy their use. On our famous Better Homes Plan you can take a year and a half to pay— down payment as little as $3. Furni- ture, Rugs, Curtains, Blankets, BIG Lamps, China, Silverware CATALOG can be yours. Also Pianos, Phonographs,Radios. Send coupon for this new Cata- log TODAY. i “ BUFFALO, N. Y. Lettkttt CO lec Peoria, Ill., Chicago, II. Gentlemen: Please send me at once your new Fall Catalog No. 221 with all details of your Better Homes Easy-Payment Plan. 0 "1 The new Catalog al- jee ee Street and No. Gisb” “and & Save Money At a Our Low Prices peasy TAR iscsoranacalancercetcnenpon on SIN cFiancctataqrenmcnsiantonnies

Page 206

. : - ; 218 Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, r925 Hea' Ss, A calculated quickly. “Why, she isn’ chores \ o ten?” . : nan seven \ oe “People forget how children grow up.” hg He = {| | mother reminded her. . bs he fresh @ “Oh, I think it would be fun to have them | present Narcissa went on enthusiastically. “It would broiling be company all summer, and goodness knows sleet a it’s dead enough round here! What kind of g strugell woman is Aunt Sarah?” ~*~ ) | of your © |. “Not much like your mother,” her father vo informed her. ‘“As I remember her she was a wee sour religious fanatic——” work bi “Fie, Thee!” his wife interrupted. “Sarah to do} Smith’s a good God-fearing woman.” at Gm “Good and God-fearing though she be the glo she’ll not spend the summer under my roof.” ” mee “But, Thee, consider a moment, my dear He sav We have the spare room up-stairs, and the brighte money’s really a consideration.”’ sister V “T don’t propose to be under obligations to their my brother.” hemme | “But somebody will be only too anxious to ‘ _ ie A) ‘ Yy | be what you call ‘under obligations’ to him,” its ~ [ : LAY RG y yy : Narcissa put in. past ee Vv A TR | oe Her father eyed her with severity. “Iam the hb P ° l A d best judge of my own actions,” he said. “] wit " TLCeLeSS vantages of b eau ty want no kith or kin of your uncle’s in my house. pa 5 ~ I should decline to offer them an asylum for er 1s and poise! See how swiftly and gent- ten times the sum he offers. We'll hear ae 9 ti it of it. : ° Ins ly Neet, the ready-to-use hair removing cream : . fom . 5 : During the winter that followed the snow year a brings you thrilling loveliness and charm. was constantly with them, one fall following Hoped hard upon another. Twice the Smiths were childre You will agree that no other method that Neet means to you. Buy Neet completely snowed in, the softly dropping the pl is SO rapid and convenient, no other at your drug or department store, flakes filtering down unceasingly, building oblige: cream so thorough and satisfactory, today. Test it critically. You will great mounds that reaclied almost to the sills to driv we Nec Espey othe gear) find i rely quicker than shaving a te Seals wens oe ot ae aSre i Pal ~ eck ath Neet and you use it with absolute assurance Imprisoned cd pathy: h 8 es home; you merely rinse the hair away. Amaz- that hair will not come back thicker P ily i, eee could ing new beauty of skin comes quickly. t the little family occasionally became some- The Without slightest suggestions of hav- and coarser than before—as it does thing of a problem. For weeks at a time the Hollid ing removed the offending hair. That after shaving. Following its use, note road to Framingham was impassable, and hich is why hundreds of thousands of the whiteness of underarm in contrast floundering expeditions had to be made to pe mothers and daughters depend on 0 darkened skin where the razor has Milford for slim baskets of provisions. Even assum Neet always, for happy freedom to been used. Neet is 50c per tube and the one available store ran short of supplies, estab! wear what they will. The most fash- Sold always on the basis of complete and the food Mrs. ‘Smith was able to furnish Frami ionable of gowns, sheerest of hose, satisfaction or money back. More her household, while ‘never scant, was of the the fa yield greatest delight. The closecon- than35,000Druggistssell Neet. Every simplest variety. _ vidual tact at dances, parties, brings no Drug or Department Store has Neet On the coldest night of the winter, old Cora Sam f moments of fear, of hesitancy tothrill _ or will gladly get it for you. Hannibal died. They found her in the morning seemingly his fa to the spirit of the hour. Learn all Pharmacal Co., St. Louis, Mo. still asleep, but when Narcissa tried to rouse Harri Very Special her, there was no response. benef eae ens Nick remained with the Smiths for almost a In desler for IMMAG year, but with his going misfortune seemed actua also. IMMAC is the once more to return to its pursuit. No satisfac- house deinty, snow-white tory help could be secured. The next hired event ae ai ee ees men proved a lazy, inferior, nefarious lot who allow arm perspiration of stayed a few weeks or days, drew their wages ender all or and insures and departed, or else mysteriously vanished this 1 . a eee with property not belonging to them. more A serious fire occurred in the barn and the or ve last year’s yield of hay which was packed in the to res ore Oe loft was badly damaged and became a total he all HE selection of a school for your boy or girl should not rest on uncertain 0 h Ezra peg ar who had ern: pe: Sat or biased information. The Cosmopolitan Educational Department is no rd cats Priipiaiey tipo sek abs jew qualified to give you reliable data concerning the best schools in the country. | the hands of his young brother-in-law, Phineas despi SEE PAGE FOUR. Holliday, of whom Theophilus Smith had a creasi & contemptuous opinion—‘‘a whipper-snapper” was | Genuine Wallace Bri ngs Warm jhe described him. Lastly, con mother, ever | Reducing Records pos - carrying into the kitchen an armful of wood, At a WES OMNIS | missed the top tread of the few steps that led out ninet Fre e - eee - DI A MOND ve the yard, ach ant ansnnes hee elbow. Fe undis ays’ tria am grew steadily larger and stronger; his went Yes I will send : muscles not only hardened, but his face and exce reducing lesoon tor FREE (RIAL, Afewcentsaday willpay | | nature as well. ‘The bulk of the farm work | nigh _No meer, how much overweight Simply send $2 to us descended upon his shoulders; the help was garde Lae ryt porter i acpi Ria Lady’s wide to > today. Wear ring for | | intermittent, ineffectual, and Theophilus Smith trees as many pounds as you wish in this huss. Lanse : was getting old. During that hard winter Thou easy pleasant way es ree ae Guarantee he aged rapidly; his broad back grew more “22 ° gives the blue Shite, perfect gg Absolute satisfac- Bn cetiage cae SI gg Osage © = F i bad No Starving or Fasting cut diamond extra brilliance lf tion; if you don’t and more stooped, his big hands with their Cred I have helped more than 200,000 women ang lange appearance. agree this ring isan | | thick strong fingers became perceptibly more too n to lose 20 to 80 Ibs. without fasting or gain price only we will refund your | | veined and tremulous; there appeared a watery on t starving and I can do the same for you. 6250 money. If satisfied, uncertainty in his eye, his resonant voice was lowe: Don’t Pay One Cent but . sleunayoormommge | | \058 vigorous. Set A write me at once for full first lesson, Catalog, bargains in Dis The work piled up on Sam; there was no coffe eg A hg apd Free gre fe eereges [Luria | choice for him but to accept it and do his bet | lam ing of you oneene a ene se,prove how to carry ae gown ee for rr = re easy it is to reduce. Write NOW. years in which the days held small respite Ir te WALLACE, 630 S.Wabash Ave. BAER BROS. Co. ard, sweating toil. Cathie and winter he awk Dept. 578 Chicago 6 MAIDEN. LANE + NEW YORK was up at five in the mornings, disposing of the

Page 207

i 92 5 . more than V up,” her ive them!” “Tt would less knows t kind of a her father she was a . “Sarah | she be, y roof.” my dear, » and the gations to inxious to to him,” “Tam the said. “] my house. sylum for | hear no the snow following - were ropping building » the sills nd Nick tence for 1e some- time the ble, and made to s. Even supplies, ) furnish is of the old Cora emingly to rouse almost a seemed satisfac- xt hired lot who ir wages ‘anished and the d in the a total od the Iper for sed into Phineas had a lapper” mother, F wood, led out Ow. ser; his ce and n work lp was : Smith winter * more h their * more watery ce was vas no is best im the e from ter he of the Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 chores before breakfast, and shortly after n was in the field. a never caught up with all there was to do; and unexpected i ont themselves. All day long in the proiling sun, in the sopping rain, or in driving sleet and snow, he plugged doggedly on, struggling with tasks all too heavy for one pair houlders. "Tartoy had no pity for himself; that his lot a hard one never occurred to him. The work had to be done and there was no one else to do it. A certain grimness came upon him at times when he thought of the future, and exigencies were forever | the gloom settled into his heart, into the very | marrow of his bones like a corroding sediment. He saw no better times ahead, no prospect of brighter days. He and his father, mother, sister were caught in a trap; they were butting their heads against a stone wall; they were hemmed in, harnessed, condemned. Youth with its optimism, its ready faith, its bubbling hope was never his to enjoy. He | never knew what it was to have a night off, he never experienced a day of fun or relaxation with boys of his own age, he had no time to sample vices, to know drink or women, or even to smoke; except for his sister, he was ignorant of girls—he had hardly ever spoken to one in his life. In spite of his efforts, matters slowly slipped from bad to worse. At the end of another year a teacher’s position fell vacant in the little Hopedale school which all the younger Smith children had attended in years gone by, and the place was offered to Narcissa. She was obliged to decline it. There was no one free to drive her to the schoolhouse and back, and more than this, she could not be spared from home; her mother with her stiff arm no longer could manage alone. Theophilus Smith quarreled with Phineas Holliday, who promptly called the mortgage which had endured so many years, and it was with difficulty that a neighbor was found to assume it. New trading relations had to be established, and the only other store in Framingham that did a general business with the farmers was operated by a grumpy indi- vidual who was disposed to be none too friendly. Sam feared it was but a question of time before his father would have a falling out with Zeb Harris, turn on him and give him the full benefit of his fine invective. In all the years of struggle and hardship, actual want had never touched the Smith household, but poverty, gaunt, grim and ugly, eventually stood at their door. Zeb Harris allowed just so much merchandise and prov- ender to be drawn on credit, and when once this was reached, there was an end. When more grain, more apples, more eggs and butter or vegetables were brought in, he was ready to resume business, but until these appeared, he allowed nothing to leave his store. Sam’s heart often ached for his proud, dignified old father, who was forced to tem- porize with this uncivil person whom he despised. He saw the white head grow in- creasingly bowed, and he knew that his father was exercising more self-control than he had ever done in his life. _A time came, when Sam had just turned his nineteenth birthday, that at last there was undisguised hunger in the home. Weeks went by when no meat appeared upon the table except the occasional fowl which it was felt might be spared from the flock. The truck garden was barren, for it was a late spring; the trees were only just coming into blossom. Though a fair crop was indicated, there was no Way anything might be realized upon it. Credit at Zeb Harris’s had ceased. They were too much in debt already to borrow in advance on the promise of the trees. Supplies ran lower and lower and then ran out. A day arrived when there was no more coffee left and not a drop of kerosene for the ps. Sam, opening abruptly the kitchen door, found his mother, with her head on the kitchen table, crying, her crooked arm lying awkwardly before her. That afternoon without | 219 sailors 7 safe antiseptic Relieves Pain — Destroys Germs The magic bottle does it, for Absorbine, Jr. is both a dependable antiseptic anda powerful liniment—no- whereelsecan you find such an effective combination. Use this double protection promptly—after every cut, scratch, bruise, burn, insect bite or break of the skin. Don’t give infection a chance to bring disease! Absorbine, Jr. is at once soothing, cleansing. A few drops are enough. At all druggists’, $1.25, or pestpaid Send for free trial bottle W.F. YOUNG, Inc. Springfield, Mass. An effective link ce BSS This Preparation is compass extracts, essential and solvents Does 90m destroy tissue. WH Lore rg FIELD, MASS.U 6b cle ie Bical UE Las ence healing and “T use Absorbine, Jr. for all the family’’ writes one Absorbine Jr LINIMENT THE ANTISEPTIC woman, ‘“‘we are never without it, traveling or at home.” Bookkeepers Accountants. (tnt?) Wanted in Hotels. Nationwide demead’ for” Rakes. Avditors, sinyplified hom lan we train you to special- touch with fates Write for Free Booklet. LEWIS HOTEL TRAINING SCHOOLS Suite X-203 ashington, D. C. $1800 for a Story! ECENTLY a writer was paid $1800 for a single short story. Many of our students are earning thousands of dollars annvally with their pens. Others 2»: e continu- ally selling their work. With our UNLIMITED PERSONAL criticism and ménuscript sales service you, too, can leain to wiite stories that will sell! Course endorsed by ny eminent writers, including the late Jack London. Over 25,000 publications my stories oo w a “The Art of Story Writing,’ Write fcr Free Book ang ieiaiis i vue special iter Hoosier Institute $2o¢* $33% Ft. Wayne, Ind. FF Workers Wanted We Need More Good GOLDEN RULE ‘Representatives Here is a permanent, profitable, sub- stantial business—that pays well right at the start. Common honesty and com- mon sense are the only requirements. Men and women of average ability are making from $40 to $75 per week—selling Golden Rule Pure Foods and Toilet Specialties direct to the home at whole- sale prices. District Managers average from $3000 to $5000 per year. Some make as high as $9000. The Golden Rule line is complete — more than 400 items — staple and fancy groceries and toilet preparations of the world’s choicest quality! Thirty years of successful operation. Don’t write if you are looking for a “soft snap.” But if you want lifetime work that grows more absorbingly in- teresting and profitable—month by month—write immediately. Territory Open East of Rocky Mts. and North of Ohio River. The Citizens Wholesale Com Columbus, O. | Trial Bottle FREE | Use It and Forget RA) Gray Hair ‘ Just get the original color back with Mary T. Goldman’s Hair Color Restorer, then forget you ever were gray. The even, yout!:.ful color is perfectly natural. No streaking, discoloration, artificial “dyed” looks. No interference with shampooing, noth- ing to wash or rub off. Mary T. Goldman’s is a clear colorless liquid, dainty, clean. Comb it through your hair—the gray goes. That’s all! Prove these statements by acceptance of free trial bottle, sent on receipt of coupon. Test on a single lock as directed. You'll learn every word I say is true. Coupon Brings Trial Bottle—FREE Fill out carefully. Be sure to tell the natural color of your hair. If possible, enclose lock in your letter. By return mail you will receive my Special Patented Free Trial Outfit. Then get a full-sized bottle from your drug- gist, or direct from me, * FREE Please print your name and address™ "7 TRIAL Mary T. Goldman, cere} Op fejo gs = 498-M Goldman Bldg., St Paul, Minn. { Please send your patented Free Trial Outfit. X shows color of hair. Black...... dark | | brown...... auburn (dark red) ...--- light brown...... light auburn (light red)...... blonde...... j | Name....... endoccauanssoccccccsssocascesccecesece eteccas e 1 i ee tescecknconebediain Cisse inc t

Page 208

220 New Self-Massaging Belt REDUCES WAIST -Fasily ! Substitutes good, solid tissue for bulky, useless, disfiguring fat, yet does it so gently you hardly know it is there. Formerly those who wished to re- duce without dieting or strenuous ex- ercise had to go to a professional masscur, His method brought about the desired reduction. But it was expensive and time-consuming, and few could take advantage of it. Remarkable New Invention At last a wonderful new invention brings this same effective method within the reach of all. The Weil Scien- tifle Reducing Belt by means of specially prepared and scientifically fitted rubber is so constructed that as you wear it every breath you take and every movement you make imparts a constant massage to every inch of the abdomen. Working for you every second, it re- duces much more rapidly than ordinary massage, saving both time and money, Actually Removes Fat It does not merely draw in your waist and make you appear thinner. It actually takes off the fat. Within a few weeks you find 4 to 6 inches gone from your 4 a waistline. You look and feel y to 15 years younger. jo f The Weil Method of re- Wy — duction is used by athletes YY ZN and jockeys because it re- Wi ; duces quickly and preserves . : their strength. Highly endorsed by physicians, Satis- faction guaranteed or your money back, SPECIAL TRIAL OFFER Write today for full description and Special 10-Da Trial Offer. The Weil Company, 1910 Hill Street, Re Haven, Can, Cert Tt eee ee ew eee ee ee eee ew eee ' THE WEIL COMPANY, 1910 Hill St., New Haven, Conn. I Gentlemen: Please send me, without obligation, : compiete description of the Weil Scientific Reducing ; 1 I Belt and your special 10-Day Trial Offer. 1 I 1 1. eee ec eee ere eee ee ae iy a I | | I | =e oe oe oe oe oe oe oe oe ee eee ee ee ee HE selection of a school for your boy or girl should not rest on uncertain or biased information. The Cosmo- politan Educational Department is qualified to give you reliable data con- cerning the best schools in the country. Ss EE PAGE FOUR. Be soccpy FREE Ask Our Customers -there are many in Your Community SERVICE SPLENDID VALUES Outer and Inner Clothing and Shoes for All the Family+Dry Goods~Rugs ~Jewelry-Furniture ~Auto Supplies-Sporting Goods and Radio Supplies-Paints~Hardware “Stoves~Furnaces~Farming Tools — — — Many of our Orders are Shipped the Same Day we Receive them ~8 Hour Service~and practically all of the balance on the following day~ 24 Hour Service Charles William Stores ‘The Long Established Mail Order Merchants of New York City 518 Page Handy Catalog sent free on request to 383 Stores Building ——————————————— Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 a word to his father, he drove into Framing- ham, saw Zeb, then Phineas, and returned with both the coal-oil and coffee, and a ten-pound sack of flour. A little later Mrs. Smith wrote to Julia tell- ing of their urgent need, and Julia promptly replied with a five-dollar bill. This too was kept secret from the old man. Early summer found them all at the lowest ebb. Sam sold whatever there was of value about the place. His mother and sister abetted him in these proceedings, and all were careful that Theophilus should know nothing about them. The only laughter in the house that Sam re- membered during these hard and bitter days occurred over some of the unsuccessful at- tempts they made to get the old man out of the way when the junk that was to be sold had to be loaded into the back of the surrey. When Julia came home in June it was hoped by all that she would see for herself the gravity of the position and in some way help out with the difficulties. She was indeed shocked to learn of the makeshifts to which the family had been obliged to have recourse, and in- sisted at once on paying something each week for her board and room, but she surprised and stunned them by announcing shortly after the middle of July that she was going to Canada to visit Elsie Crombe, the teacher with whom she shared a room in Boston. It was at this low point in their affairs that Narcissa and her mother, experimenting with ways and means by which money might be raised, hit upon the idea that saved them from ruin. This was the invention of a new kind of confection. Theophilus had several demijohns of old cider stored in the cellar. Fruit rinds, particularly orange peel, soaked in this for several days and then heavily coated with sugar, made a delicious sweetmeat. A combination of fortunate circumstances came to their assistance. Mrs. Smith sent a small box of the sliced orange peel to Julia in Ontario; Elsie Crombe’s uncle, a large retailer of candy in Boston, happened to be visiting his niece at the time; he saw something at once in the new sweet which might take the public’s fancy, and he told Julia that if her mother and sister would agree to furnish him with a steady supply, he would put the confection out in attractive boxes and see what could be done with it. Hope and energy filled the hearts in the Mendon farmhouse once more. Sam’s mother shook off the depression that had hung about | her for so many years and seemed suddenly to | grow young again; new life and new enthusiasm were once more in the Smith kitchen. When the fruit came in, crates of oranges and sacks of sugar were exchanged for some of the apples. Peeling and slicing began in earnest, every available pot and pan in the house was filled with cider and the rinds were set to soaking. The departure of the first shipment was a great occasion for themall. Mrs. Smith frankly wept with emotion, Narcissa put her arms about her mother and held her close, Theophilus invoked the blessing of God on the enterprise. But although the candy was an unqualified success and although Mr. Crombe wrote im- mediately urging them to send him all they could, the returns were pitifully small. After the oranges and sugar and the expressage were paid for, a handful of dollars represented the profits. Sam saw at once that if any con- siderable money was to be made, the industry would have to be carried on on a much more extensive scale, the oranges and sugar bought wholesale, the cider fermented in vats, and the candy shipped in large lots. There was only one person among his acquaintances who might be interested in the undertaking, and this was Phineas Holliday. Phineas was shrewd, and Sam had a high opin- ion of his sagacity. He was a young man, not more than twenty-seven or -eight, and the quarrel between him and Sam’s father had been due entirely—his son had always be- lieved—to the old man’s unreasonable temper. Phineas had shown more than once a willing- ness to be friendly. When Sam had appealed to him during the previous hard spring ani had explained to him his family’s need ang Harris’s refusal to accommodate them, Phineas had let him have the coffee and kerosene, had added the ten-pound sack of flour, remained only the proud, irascible old naj to be won over, but Theophilus Smith had grown more temperate, less cantankerous with increasing adversity. and advancing age jf Phineas could be interested in the new and then could be persuaded to see his father and make the first overtures toward recop. ciliation, Sam had hopes all would be well, On the very evening of the day this plan was formulated in his mind, he harnessed the team to the sleigh and drove over to Frami taking Narcissa with him. They found Pking at his mother’s house, where he lived with his sister, Mrs. Ezra Hornpipe. From the outset, the project appealed to the enterprising young merchant. After some figuring in which the cost of the raw materials in bulk was supplied, both Phineas and Sam were impressed with the results, representing profits that might be made if the undertaking was conducted on the large scale proposed. A share-and-share-alike division proved mutually satisfactory, and Phineas proposed to go to Boston and draw up a definite agreement with Crombe. Sam explained they could do nothing until his father’s approval of the arrangement be. tween them was secured. He begged Phineas to visit the old man and patch up the difference, But here his prospective partner balked, Phineas had a stiff-necked New England in flexibility difficult to bend. Sam was beginning to fear that the project he had so much at heart was about to be killed in the egg when Narcissa knocked at the door in which the business conference was taking place. It was midnight, she told them, and the drive home was long; she felt that she and Sam ought to be getting started. Her brother in despair explained to her what was the stum- bling block between Phineas and himself, and it was then that Narcissa, with a troubled frown and concern in her face, said: “Oh, but, Mr. Holliday, you couldn’t find it in your heart not to be generous to an old man like my father!” Whether it was her look or her words or the appeal in her voice, the day was won. Phineas agreed to drive over in the morning and make the peace. There was a fine snow falling the next day and the sky was gray-black and all the world hushed and very still. Another heavy storm was in the air. It was bitterly cold. Phineas when he arrived was chilled to the marrow, and Sam, to warm him, took him into the kitchen where his mother was busy at the stove. Mr. Smith had the coffee-pot still hot, and she in- sisted upon pouring Phineas a cup. The whole family had been keenly alive to the father’s mood all morning. He had come down-stairs later than usual and had com- plained of feeling heavy and dull. Conscious of the impending interview on the amicable outcome of which so much depended, each in turn had tried to humor and cheer him. His daughter had been especially affectionate, his wife had urged upon him a hearty breakfast, Sam had built a good fire in the air-tight stove in the parlor and had left in there the Christian Union, his favorite paper, which had arrived in the mail that morning, as a bait to lure him to the warm room after his meal, and thus have him out of the way when Phineas arrived. The ruse had proved successful and Narcissa had reported a few minutes before that he had put on his glasses and was comfortably established in a rocker by the stove. Sam led Phineas to the door of the parlor and opened it. “Pa,” he said, “here’s an old friend of ours who’s called especially to see you.” E Theophilus made no sign. He sat in the rocker bending a little forward, the paper his hand, and when Sam repeated his words and then looked closer, he saw that he was dead. As he touched his father’s shoulder, the head Hea -OoO =z A es a a a

Page 209

pealed to the After some ‘aw materials eas and Sam Tepresenting undertaki proposed. A ved mutually ed to go to reement with othing until ngement be. d Phineas to e difference, ner balked, England in- _ the project | to be killed at the door was taking | them, and hat she and Her brother us the stum- 1imself, and troubled ldn’t ‘ind it an old man yords or the n. Phineas y and make ie next day 1 the world eavy storm 1. Phineas 1arrow, and the kitchen ove. Mrs. and she in- ly alive to » had come had conm- Conscious > amicable >d, each in him. His ionate, his breakfast, tight stove > Christian ad arrived o lure him thus have ived. The rcissa had 1e had put tablished the parlor id of ours at in the yper in his vords and vas dead. the head Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 the remarkable improvement in the same eyes below What a Wonderful Difference ° MAKES Eyes which an instant before were dull and quite unable to express, become deeply shaded pools: meaningful, talkative and alluring—when MAYBELLINE is applied. Put on a drop of the waterproof Liquid or a touch of the Solid form; then peek into your mirror. What a marvelous transformation! MAYBELLINE does its magic work by making even the lightest, most scant lashes appear long, dark and naturally luxuriant. It is a mighty beauty aid — and one which every girl and woman can use to advantage. The genuine will not stiffen nor break the lashes. Be gure you get it. Either Solid or Liquid in Black or Brown—75c at all toilet goods counters. MAYBELLINE CO., 4750-76 Sheridan Rd., CHICAGO iapet Form (Waterproof) He: Does Your Allowance Cover Your Needs? You may add to it every day in the Rainbow Club Home girls who would like to have more spending money without troubling mother and dad; Business Girls whose in- comes are not sufficient to meet expenses; young Married Women who would we!- come definite work to occupy leisure hours; busy Mothers who need extra dol- lars for home needs—we want to help you all to make your dreams come true. Our work will not take you too long from home, nor will it interfere with your other duties. Even if you have never earned a dollar nor had any business training you will be able to join the Club and make money from the start. Fill in and mail the coupon today. Helen Willard, Director, Rainbow Club, Good Housekeeping Magazine, 110 West 40th Street, New York, N. Y. CRC-M1025 | rolled to one side and the glasses fell from his | *complaint, silently weeping. | death struck at the Mendon farmhouse. nose and dropped with a clatter to the floor. Cyrus Smith came up from New York for the funeral. Sam’s uncle was a thin man with sparse hair and a gaunt face, rather acid of countenance, devout in manner. He was deeply affected by the death of his brother. | Sam, inheriting some of his father’s feeling toward him, was inclined to look coldly upon | his uncle, but the honesty of his grief made an | More than once he heard his | impression. Uncle Cyrus reproach himself for the estrange- ment between himself and Theophilus. Julia arrived from Boston the day after the news reached her, and she and Cyrus assumed charge of affairs. Phineas Holliday proved a good friend at this time, attending to an infinite number of details in a very kind and efficient way. Neighbors and acquaintances from all over the surrounding country drove in to express their sympathy, pay their respects and to offer assistance. The funeral, for Sam, was a harrowing ex- perience. His mother, trembling the whole time within the circle of his arm, wept silently | and continually. She was like a blown and withering flower holding to its stem with the last shreds of vitality. The day following, Cyrus Smith directed that the bills connected with his brother’s interment should be sent to him, then departed for New York. Julia prepared to leave also, but de- layed carrying her resolution into effect from | day to day, as her mother’s condition began to cause them all increasing anxiety. Mrs. Smith would not or perhaps could not rally from the shock of her husband’s death. All day long she lay in bed, making no effort, uttering no Julia insisted upon sending for a doctor from Boston, but the physician, after taking the dying woman’s hand in his for a few moments, merely shook his head gravely. Twice within the space of three short weeks Mary Smith, without voicing a complaint, per- sistently and quietly wept herself out of life. She was conscious to the very end and her last words were: “Sammy, take care of Narciss . . . Booful Zion, children.” | | | | | | | | | | Once more their uncle came to them from | New York; once more the exhausting ordeal of a funeral was lived through. It was the end of the farm, the breaking up of the home, the last of Sam’s_ boyhood. Within a month the place was sold, the stock and old familiar furniture auctioned off to the highest bidder, the clothing and personal effects of Theophilus and Mary Smith packed away in trunks to be stored in a neighbor’s barn. Narcissa astounded them all by announcing her intention of marrying Phineas Holliday. The wedding occurred the last day of Sam’s stay in Mendon. Encouraged by his uncle, he himself decided to go to New York and try his luck in a big city. It was in the burning summer of 1885 that Sam Smith came to New York. Phineas helped him outfit himself at Framingham be- fore his departure, and advised him in the selection of his ten-dollar suit, his cravat, stand-up collar, derby hat and stiff button shoes. was certain he felt uncomfortable. On the train, racing toward New York, once or twice he thought he detected a covert glance and a nudge on the part of his fellow passengers. The long thundering afternoon followed, a | racketing of shrieking iron, groaning wood and trembling glass. The car grew gritty with dirt, dust and cinders. inner pocket, Sam did not dare remove his coat, and the sweat trickled down his face, gradually melting the collar that lacerated his neck. He | felt grimy, hot, tightly bound in his clothes, and he was hungry, having eaten nothing since morning except a bag of peanuts which | Narcissa had shoved into his hand at the Sam feared he looked ridiculous, and | Conscious of his wallet in an | | | | | | | | | 221 DIAMONDS DIRECT by mail From Jason Weiler & Sons, Boston, Mass. America’s Leading Importers, and Save Money For 50 years Jason Weiler & Sons have been one of America’s leading diamond import- ers selling direct by mail to cus- tomers and dealers alike at importing prices. . \\ Ui | | | This beautiful | Lodies Ring in 18K solid white gold is mounted a_ perfectly cut | blue white diamond of | fine _ brillianey. The enlarged illustration enables us to show in greater detail the riehly pierced lace work design. Money refunded if this latest style Diamond Ring can b duplicated elsewhvre for less than $135.00. Our price direct to you only Our Free Catalog shows all the latest styles in Diamond mounted White Gold and Platinum Rings, Bracelets, Bar Pins, fine Watches, etc. A few weights and prices of other diamond rings: % carat . . . $31.00/1 carat . . . $145.00 % carat .. 50.00|2 carats . . . 290.00 Y% carat . . . 73.00)3 carats . . . 435.00 If desired, rings will be sent to any bank you may name or any Express Co. with privilege of exami- nation. Our diamond guarantee for full value for all time goes with every purehase. WRITE TODAY } FOR THIS | FREE ¢ Y) . COM CACS CATALOG “HOW TO BUY DIAMONDS” This book is beauti- fully illustrated. Tells how to judge, select and buy diamonds. Tells how they mine, eut and market dia- monds. This book, showing weights, sizes, prices and qualities, $20.00 to $20,000.00, is considered an au- thority. ° Jason Weiler & Sons 369 Washington St., Boston, Mass. Corner of Washington and Franklin Streets Diamond Importers since 1876 Foriegn Agencies: Amsterdam and Paris Will You Take $90 a Week for your time? Hundreds earn more showing women beau- tiful Style-Areh shoes. Amazingly low prices. Big Com- missions for you. No experience needed. Fine selling outfit. Write quick to the Style-Arch Shoe Co., Dept. 10310, Cincinnati, O. Free Book Containing complete story of origin and @& history of that wonderful in- Easiest of all instruments to play and one of the most beauti- ful. Three first lessons sent free give you a quick easy start—ina 3 few weeks youcan beplaying pop- ular tunes. No teacher necessary. You can take your place ina band or or- *YRogy Wo chestra in 90 days, if you so desire. Most ~@\ opular instrument for dance orchestras, Wes 1 ‘ | or entertainments, church, lodge and Wy &: ~ school. A Saxophone player is always popular QQ aa socially and has many opportunities to earn “7 money. 6 Days’ Trial and easy payments arranged. Send your name for free book. Mention any other instrument in which you are interested. UVESCHER BAND INSTRUMENT CO, Everything in Band and Orchestra Instruments 542 Rneacheor Block Elkhart, Indiana ar atcecnian =

Page 210

222 8 BIG BOOKS on Electricity Here is an amazing offer on 8 big electrical books, brimful of interesting and valuable facts and illustrations on elec- tricity; facts that will increase your pay if you learn how to use them. Read all about our NO MONEY OFFER To make it possible for every man with a spark of ambition in his make-up to benefit by this easy way of learning, we have set aside a limited number of complete sets to be sent FREE, without a penny down. Look the books over; read them and see how complete and thoroughly all sub- jects are treated and yet how plain and easy to under- stand. Take ten days to do this and then if you don’t realize how helpful and profitable they can be to you, send them back. If, however, your own good judgment proves their value and you see how profitable having them will be, just send us $2.00 and only $3.00 per month until the special price of only $29.80 is paid. FACTS THAT INCREASE YOUR PAY Knowing means earning. The man that has specialized knowledge or knows where to get it ALWAYS makes the most money. Here is your opportunity, your chance to get into the Bigger Pay Class. You don’t have to read the books through; the jiffy index is complete and simple. YOU CAN PUT YOUR FINGER ON THE FACTS YOU WANT TO KNOW IN A FEW SECONDS. Get these books now, don’t hesitate—no offer could be more liberal. MEMBERSHIP FREE In addition to this unusually complete set of 8 full vol- umes bound in new flexo covers, we will for a limited time include a certificate of consulting membership in the American Technical Society which will entitle you to FREE consultation service. Twenty highly paid experts will be ready to help you, entirely without cost to you. Don’t let this opportunity slip by; send for your books NOW. Use the coupon below. ——— 1 American Technical Society, Special Dept. 1, Chicago, Il. You may send me the Big Books—Applied Electricity. If I like them I will send you $2.00 in five days after I receive them and ‘3.00 per month until only $29.80 has been paid; otherwise I will return the books and will not owe you anything. Become More Efficient Coursesin Mathematics, Chemistry, Psychology, Education, Business, and 40 other subjects command either High School or College e Credit. Start any time. The Aniversity of Chicago 67 Ellis Hall © CHICAGO, ILL. ANTED-RAILWAY MAIL CLERKS to $225 month. Postal Pay raised. Men, 18 up. Every second week off—full pay. Common education sufficient. Write IMMEDIATELY for free list of U. S. Government positions now open to men and women and free sample coaching. Do it today sure. FRANKLIN INSTITUTE, Dept. G-224 ROCHESTER, N. Y. m SHORT -STORY WRITING A ical forty-1 in th iti d - ) feBra FL eeeR, eke by Dre a Bere eSoawels, jj] Editor of The Writer’s Monthly. 150 page catalog free. Please address: THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL Dept. 84 Springfield, Mass. Dr. Esenwein Success in any vocation depends on thorough training. The professional schools advertised in COSMOPOLITAN are well qualified to meet your needs. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 moment of parting. He presently fell into a hot, uncomfortable sleep, New York! Bewildering noise, bewildering crowds, be- wildering confusion; the hiss of locomotives, the clanging of bells, the shuffling of thousands of feet—shouts, voices, hubbub—echoing, echoing, echoing. A tide swept on, carrying him with it. Faces were everywhere, black and white faces, strained and anxious faces, happy and excited faces. A stream of more hurrying people with more bags bore in an opposite direction. The whole world seemed to be traveling. Gates, lights, jostling, the flash of news- stands and piles of fruit. Suddenly he emerged into white day-lit streets. . Noise, racket, bang, smash! It was deafening! : “Cab, sir?”’ “Carriage, .sir?”’ bags, sir?” ‘What hotel, sir?” “Cap?” Cap?” He brushed these harpies away, putting his shoulder against them when they pressed too close, clutching the handles of his valises. He lost his way on reaching Twenty-third Street. The avenue he had been following ended abruptly there, for he had made a wrong turning, mistaking Madison for Union Square. Dusk was falling. A huge building brilliant with lights and gay with awninged windows confronted him as soon as he was free of the trees. He identified it, with a thrill, as the famous Fifth Avenue Hotel, of which he had heard all his life. It was here the Presidents and all the famous people of the world stayed when they came to New York. A policeman redirected him. His arms aching, his feet in an agony from the stiff buttoned shoes, hungry and weary, “Take your “Cape. Union Square at last was reached. Here it was * brisk and lively, lights and laughter, people sauntering up and down or resting on the benches in the deep shadows. He had no further difficulty in finding” his street. A block and a half eastward he came upon the number—black, bold figures sil- houetted upon the curtained transom over the door. With a heart that thumped in his breast, he ascended the stairs and rang the bell of his uncle’s home. A butler came to the door—a lachrymose individual in a flappy, dingy dress-suit. Sam had heard Uncle Cyrus speak of Meggs and of Marty, his wife, who did the cooking. Through the open doorway he saw a stone-flagged hall, a stairway on the right, its carpet protected by a narrow strip of brown holland held in place at each tread by a steel rod, a dark passage beyond, a wavering gas-jet in an art globe spotted with colored glass blisters, and a walnut hat-rack of mirrors and little shelves. Uncle Cyrus lived in much grander style than he had supposed. The butler looked at him doubtfully. “Is he expecting you, sir?” “T’m his nephew; tell him it’s Sam Smith from Mendon.” The man let him engineer his bulky valises. within as he lighted the gas in the parlor, to which Sam followed him and waited. The room, illy illumined by the one jet, was high-ceilinged, long, narrow and crowded with chairs and sofas swathed in white cotton covers. Brass fixtures above the windows were shut- tered with hinged wooden blinds, at present closed and hasped. There was a musty, un- pleasant smell in the unventilated room. A heavy gilt-framed mirror stood above the white marble fireplace. This and the pictures on the walls, also framed in heavy gilt, were covered with white netting stretched across their faces. Backed into a corner loomed a bulky, oak-cased melodeon. On the center table lay a thick bulky Bible with the ends of two fringed book-marks dangling from its closed leaves. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Meggs passed through the hall and in a moment Sam’s uncle appeared and came-into the room with hands outstretched. The boy in the gladness of his heart at seeing him grinned uncertainly, and felt his chin and lips twitch. There was much about his uncle that suggested his father “Well, boy, you’re here at last. J didn’t expect you so soon—thought perhaps you'd wait until the hot weather was over,” was nothing wanting in his uncle’s greeting. Sam explained about the quick sale of the farm. “I thought maybe the sooner J got something to do, the better,”’ he observed, - “T see. Well, we'll look round; we'll find something for you. Summer’s a bad time, you know. But never mind about that now; come and meet your aunt.” They ascended to the floor above, Sam fol. lowing the other’s tall, gaunt figure. _ _. A greenish light pervaded the front room up stairs from a gas lamp surmounted by a shade that burned on a center table. A white, spectral woman rose to greet the boy as he entered; another white figure hovered jn the shadow beyond her. “Sarah, this is Sam—Thee’s boy.” His aunt gave him a bony hand and offered a cool, lifeless cheek for his kiss. Sam managed it awkwardly. “How do you do, Sam?” Her voice was wintry. ‘Light the light, Cyrus, and let’s have a look at him.” When the gas caught and flared, all eyes centered on the new-comer for a minute or two, and no one spoke. Sam glimpsed the other white figure—a girl, sixteen or seventeen years old. He felt keenly the: absurdity of his clothes and appearance. “Come, sit down,” directed his aunt, “and tell us how you left things at home. Did your sister marry that young man? Is he a nice fellow? About how old? Has he any prospects?” Sam floundered with his answers; he could not find his tongue. His aunt was a tall woman, large and tower- ing, with a white face and white hair; her white costume of scalloped sacque and long trailing piqué skirt made the total effect of her snowy appearance overpowering. There was no red in her lips or color in her cheeks; her face was pasty and faintly wrinkled; the boy was vaguely conscious of her bony wrists and large feet. Presently he was introduced to the girl who still hung in the background. This was Ruth. He had already guessed as much, though he had not realized she was so old. Her face was round and she had coils of dark hair, while her eyes, which were dark too, stared at Sam the whole time. Not once did she utter a word. But his uncle and aunt had no mercy upon him with their questions. How much did the farm bring? The money had been divided be- tween the two sisters, had it? What was done with his father’s and mother’s effects? Was Julia happy? Did she like Boston? How much salary did she earn? And Narcissa— Mr. Holliday had a good business, had he? They were going to live in Framingham? What did Sam suppose Mr. Holliday to be worth? “And what do you expect to make of your- self?” his aunt asked, her bony wrists crossed in her lap. Every detail about her nephew received her searching inspection. Before he could find words to answer one question, she had another ready for him. “Are you a professed Christian?” Sam did not know what she meant by “professed Christian.” J “They were all Congregationalists up there, his uncle replied for him. ‘You went to church regularly in Mendon, didn’t you, Sam?” _ “Well, sir, when the farm work permitted me, I did.” Cog “Thee was always rather lax about religion, but I think Mary had principles,” Uncle Cyrus observed. “Pa believed in God,” Sam said resolutely and produced an unexpected pause. “We’re good Christians here,” said his aunt with austerity, “or at least we try to be.” She repeated her earlier question: “What do you plan to do for yourself?” Again his uncle came to the boy’s rescue. “Mr. Wright thought he could get something for him,” he said. To Sam he explained: “Mr. ere ar Ae eS Te rie aes Se ae

Page 211

er, 1925 ed his father, st. Ef didn't thaps you'd ver, S greeting, hovered in 1 and offered im managed ‘ voice was id let’s have ed, all eyes nute or two, 1 the other nteen years lity of his aunt, “and home. Did an? Is he Tas he any s; he could and tower- '; her white ng trailing her snowy was no red 3; her face 1e boy was s and large 1e girl who was Ruth. though he or face was , while her t Sam the a word. lercy upon ch did the livided be- t was done cts? Was om? How Narcissa— , had he? m? What be worth? e of your- ts crossed r nephew Before he stion, she neant by 1p there,” to church n?” permitted t religion, ,” Uncle resolutely | his aunt be.” She t do you 's rescue. »mething ed: “Mr.

Hearst’s [nternational—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 Cosmopolitan Educational Guide Continued from page 12 Baldwin Wright is one of the leading lights in our church; he’s our treasurer and an elder— a splendid man, devoted to his work. He con- ducts our Young Men’s Bible Class. I hope you will feel like joining it. He’s interested in young men and young men’s problems.” “Your uncle is also an elder,” Aunt Sarah put in with a touch of pride. “We have a brilliant pastor,’”’ Cyrus said. “You’ve heard of Doctor McIntosh? Well, perhaps not in Mendon—but he’s a very eloquent man, very eloquent indeed. I spoke to Mr. Baldwin Wright concerning you,’ he continued; “he thought he could find you some- thing. You know New York is flooded with oung men; it’s a great place for climbing the ladder and everyone wants a chance. You mustn’t expect much to begin with.” “Oh, I shan’t!”’ Sam assured him. “Humble beginnings often make fine end- ings,” his uncle stated. “Yes, sir,” Sam agreed. “We have a spare bedroom on the upper floor,” his aunt told him. ‘We want you to make your home with us until you’re settled.” Sam expressed his thanks; it was awfully good of them to be so kind to him. He won- dered about something to eat; he was famished. The clock on the marble mantel pointed to after nine. He did not dare suggest food. “T shall want to have a talk with you about your religious convictions,” Aunt Sarah con- tinued. “I suppose you’re too tired now after your long trip, but perhaps we can manage it in the morning.” “Your father didn’t take your religious training very much to heart?” his uncle asked, and to Sam’s doubtful negative he added: “That’s just it—that’s just it.” “But do you consider yourself a true Con- gregationalist, satisfied with the soundness of all that church’s doctrines?” pursued his aunt. Sam blinked at her, trying to hide a yawn that threatened to wrench open his jaw. “Come, come, this won’t do,”’ she said briskly. “The poor boy’s dead tired and here we’re plaguing him with questions about his faith. Did you bring some luggage? Well, get it and I'll see to your room. Ruth, fetch me a fresh towel from the linen closet.” Sam went down-stairs for his valises, grasped them once more by the handles and staggered with them up to the third floor. In a room at the back of the house, he found his aunt and Ruth busily arranging and tidying it for his occupancy. The girl vanished as soon as he appeared. It was a good-sized room with a low ceiling, an uneven floor of wide dark- painted boards, and two windows that were open now to allow what cool night air there was to enter, for it was hot under the roof. “There now,” said his aunt, drawing the shades, “I hope you'll be comfortable. The bathroom’s on the floor below at the head of the stairs. Do you think there’s anything else you'll need?” Sam thought despairingly of food, but he lied bravely. “We breakfast at seven-thirty and we always try to be prompt as your uncle has to be early at his office. I hope you don’t neglect to say your prayers; you know we never get too old for that.” Sam bade his aunt good night. She gave the room one more brief inspection, then went out, closing the door behind her. _ Turning to one of the windows, the boy jerked up the shade and leaned out. The sum- mer night was alive with noises. The rears of a dozen houses abutted upon his own, windows and kitchen doorways here and there bright with light. Occasionally laughter could be heard and there was a constant low babble of voices, with now and then a woman’s high- pitched accents. Down in the dark of the double row of yards, on the stoops outside the kitchens and underneath the thick screening foliage of sheltering trees, gossip and love- making were going on. The night smelled of tin roofs cooling, of tar, dry ashes and stale cooking. Men and Women in various stages of undress appeared

PROFESSIONAL Bea. 5 IN ONE YEAR | Co mercia Big = Jobs 4] QUIT WISHING ngineen#z). Trmeel Men | AND WAITING 4 The Commercial Electrical Engineering Profession de- | mands young men _ with combined Technical, Com- | mercial and Real Practical Training. We take per- | sonal interest in every student. Individual instruction. Founded in 1905. Immense laboratories and shops Radio Broadcasting WSOE every day. Other courses offered: Electrical Engineering, B. S. Degree in 3 years; Electrotechnics, | yr.; Junior Electrical Engineering, 12 to 30 mos.; Light, Heat and Power Wiring, 3 mos.; D. C. and A, C. Motors and Generators, Armature Winding, 3 mos.; Automotive Electricity, 3 mos.; Radio Sales and Service, 3 mos. Enter at any time. Write now for full details, State age, education, course interested in. SCHOOL of ENGINEERING C1025, 415 Marshall Street OF MILWAUKEE MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN

| CAN MAKE You 4A BIG MONEY MAN . g Why work for small pay? Lome aube ropertne. I can train yqu quickly for a better job ora business of your own. Think of the repairll @ work on 15,000,000 cars! led. If you are m Detroit to my School. of the industry. Wonderful ad- vantages here. Best, up-to-date equipment, thorough training.A guaran course that will start you to @@ success. Visit great factories, Write today for facts. t L. ohigan, Stete Automoblile School

4010 Michigan | oe 8 8g FF 8 Oe ———

CHICAGO a TECHNIC {22nd YEAR] COLLEGE Intensely practical training in Drafting and Engi- neering—civil, mechanical, electrical, structural «Architecture. 2 year Diploma; 3 year B.S. Degree; special short courses. Courses adapted to your needs. © time wasted. Instructors are experts. Our gradu- ates are in constant demand. Opportunities for part- time work while studying. Day and evening classes. Athletics. Enter any time. Low tuition—easy terms. Write for72-page illustrated Blue Book, describing op- portunities oven to our graduates. Chicago Technical College, N14 Chicago Tech. Building, Chicago, Il. HICAGO PAINTING SCHOOL 24th Year teaching all Branches of SIGN PAINTING, DECORATING, PAPER HANGING, AUTO PAINTING, PICTORIAL PAINTING, SHOW CARD WRITING. Practical Training by ee Instructors. Dept. 51 for Cat., ago. 129 W. Austin Ave.,

MEN WANTED —to prepare for big-money jobs in Electrical and Automotive Engineering. 2 famous courses for the price of one. U. 8. Veterans Bureau Electrical School combined with Greer Auto Shops. This combination fits you to climb to the top of the profession, or to go into business for yourself. Only 8to 12 weeks. Free employment service. Big free book tells all. Write for it now! GREER COLLEGE—AUTOMOTIVE AND ELECTRICAL TRADES pt. 7504 2024 8S. Wabash Ave., Chicago LEARN PHOTOGRAPHY! Earn we to $500 monthly. Or start your own business. Photography and Photo-Engraving taught by largest college of its kind in world. Established 1893. Big demand for graduates. Write for free book. Illinois College of Photography, Box 595, Effingham, Ill, @ PROFESSIONAL D PHOTOGRAPHER Earn up to $250 a week We qualify you quickly for splendid paying sitions or for a business of your own.

Become Illustrated Rooklet explains todays Yin opportunities in this fas- cinating profession. Send for it NOW. NEW YORK INSTITUTE OF PHOTOGRAPHY Dept. 95 143 West 36th Street, NEW YORK CITY

Success in any vocation depends on thorough training. The professional schools advertised in COSMOPOLITAN

EARN $3500 to $5000 a Yr. LEARN MECHANICAL DENTISTRY Three Months’ 2500 More Training Dental Mechanics Will Qualify Needed Now You for and Demand Success is Increasing

YOU LEARN BY DOING We train each student individually—no classes whatever—using the tools of the trade and you learn on regular dental work. But we do not make the serious mistake of depending on practical work alone. You are given definite, theoretical training as well. FREE PARTIAL SCHOLARSHIPS Send today for Free Catalog No. 3, outlining Scholar- ship Offer, how students ‘‘Learn by Doing’ actual work through practical, individual instruction, day or eve- ning sessions, and how you can ‘Earn While Learning.”’ BODEE DENTAL INSTITUTE y Established $0 Years New York Philadelphia 186 W.52d St. 1305 N. Broad St. Buffalo Brooklyn 601 Washington St. 85 Court St.

are well qualified to meet your needs. St LER ‘f of Colleges | peter is work women just naturally love to do, and it pays well. Home-likeaccommo- dations procured during a short practical MOLER course. Write nearest Branch for Booklet H Chicago, Iil. Cincinnati, O. St. Louis, Mo. Atlanta, Ga. ha, Nebr. New Orleans,La. Denver, Colo. Dallas, Tex. EARN $2500 TO $10,000 A YEAR— In America’s 4th Largest Industry. Hotels, Clubs, Restaurants, are cry- 2 ing for trained men and wo- men. Let us show you how you can qualify—past experi- ence unnecessary. We put you in touch with positions. Big pay, iescinating: work, quick advance- ment. rite for FREE BOOK “Your Big Opportunity.’ Lewis Hotel Training Schools Hall X-298, Washington, D. C.

Master 5; h. Make friends. Double in- come. Learn how easy itis. Dime & f ih record. brings an 154 Stimson, The Lewis Institute, Detroit ‘STAMMERING fs Guse and Gire You can be quickly cured if you stammer. Send 10 cents, coin or stamps, for 2 age cloth bound book on Stammering and Stuttering. It tells how I cured myself after Stammering and Stuttering for 20 years. BENJAMIN N. BOGUE 2709 Bogue Building, 1147 N. Ill. St., Indianapolis STAMMER If you stammer attend no Institute till you get my large FREE book entitled “STAMMERING. Its Origin and The Advanced Natural Method of Treatment.” Ask for special tuition rate and a FREE copy of “The Natural Speech Magazine.” Largest, best equipped and most successful school in the world for the cure of stammering, stuttering, etc. Established 20 years. Nosing-song or time beat. Write today. Millard Institute of Normal Speech, 2321 Grand Avenue. Milwaukee, Wis. Evening classes for those whe cannot attend day sessions.

Page 212

224 ! Ne: + Ee Why not a Trans-Pacific Trip? LEVEN delightful days at sea, crossing the blue Pacific—the ideal tour for business or pleasure —an “off-the-trail” holiday, filled to the brim with new sights, new peoples and strange customs. Travel to the Orient with all modern comforts on a big swift Government ves- sel of the American Orien- tal Mail Line. Sailings every twelve days from Seattle via Victoria, B. C., over the Short Route to Yokohama, Kobe, Shang- hai, Hong Kong, Manila. S.S. President Jefferson S.S. President Madison S.S. President Grant S.S. President Jackson S.S. President McKinley These great Government ships make the fastest time between the United States and the Orient, and offer exceptional service—all outside rooms with hot and cold running water, most rooms with. private bath, real beds instead of berths, excellent cuisine, deck sports, concerts, every con- venience. See your local ticket or tourist agency or write for interestingillustrated book- lets and full information. ADMIRAL ORIENTAL LINE 32 Broadway, New York 112 W. Adams St., Chicago Fourth at U niversity, Seattle Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 and disappeared at uncurtained windows, and where the shades were drawn, now and then a giant shadow was thrown upon the screen with huge distorted arms and hands. At scme dis- tance a cornet sounded mournfully while from the street a hurdy-gurdy added its merry tinkle. Around and above all, enveloping and engulfing everything, hummed and zummed the murmur of the vast city. | At breakfast the next morning he had a | good look at Ruth. The dining-room was in 'the basement, directly beneath the parlor, its | windows facing the areaway beside the front steps that rose from the street to the front door on the floor above. Behind the dining-room was the kitchen, and the two rooms were | divided by a pantry equipped with a swing door | through which Meggs in his flapping dress-suit | continually passed. The butler and his wife, | Sam learned, occupied the front room on the | same floor as his own. Ruth had a pleasant, almost round face, and | her complexion was quite dark. She had singularly heavy eyebrows for a girl, dark lashes and dark unhesitating eyes that had a directness of stare often disconcerting. Her expression was earnest, perhaps a bit too seri- ous; there was no lightness or mirth in it. But Sam liked her. Almost at once he was con- scious of companionship, youth instinctively reaching out to youth in an atmosphere of age and dry opinions. A lengthy grace, reverently pronounced by Uncle Cyrus, preceded breakfast. Sam, ravenous, could hardly wait until he had finished. . At the conclusion of the meal, the family rose and ascended to the parlor up- stairs for prayers. Here Aunt Sarah fitted on her iron-rimmed spectacles and established herself at the table and opened the bulky Bible; her husband and Ruth disposed them- selves on chairs near-by and Sam followed suit. ‘We're in ‘Deuteronomy,’ ” Aunt Sarah ex- plained; “‘a chapter a morning, and I’ve read this Holy Book aloud six times from cover to cover.” She began to read in a cold, expressionless voice. When she had finished, the family knelt, and Uncle Cyrus offered prayer. He prayed for grace and guidance, offered fervent thanks for the past and present mercies, and besought the Almighty’s blessings first upon him- | self and his wife, then upon Ruth, and finally }upon “the young man who has come to the marts of the great city, seeking new fields of endeavor .. .” There was a great deal more of it. Sam was acutely self-conscious at the beginning, but after a while the earnestness in his uncle’s voice moved him. He had not suspected his uncle cared so much about him. He did not say ‘‘Amen” with the others but there was an honest wish in his heart, as he rose from his knees, that meant the same thing. His first day in New York, he spent wan- dering about the city, locating Broadway and Fifth Avenue, and walking down as far as the Battery for a good look at the harbor. He avoided the Bowery, a street he imagined to be lined with dens of vice, brothels and gambling hells, where no stranger could consider himself safe. New York appalled him; he was aston- ished by what he saw far more than he ex- pected; he could not accustom himself to the roar of the traffic, to the hurrying, elbowing crowds on the streets. Sunday followed. At half past ten Aunt Sarah appeared in the up-stairs sitting-room, | hatted, cloaked, gloved, and ready for church. She was rather majestic in her black pelisse edged with tiny balls of chenille, her black velvet bonnet. and white kid gloves. Beside her Ruth appeared clad in sober brown witha | brown straw hat trimmed with corn-flowers. Sam had been absorbed in the paper, astonished by the number of its pages and the space that was apparently wasted in advertise- ments. At sight of the two women he bounded |up-stairs for his derby hat, gave his hair a | hasty upward brush, and joined his aunt and ' her niece in the lower entry hall. Uncle Cyrus had gone on half an hour previously, carrying the communion bread to church. It was another scorching day, but the dis- tance was not great. The Avenue was dotted with Sunday worshipers on their way to service and Sam’s attention was drawn to the tall silk hats worn by the men, their Prince Albert coats and shiny patent-leather shoes. The church when they reached it struck him as bare and uninviting. It had none of the simple coziness of the Congregational Church at Mendon. It was a vast place with curving rows of light brown varnished seats, fitted with dull red cushions of tufted rep. Around three sides ran a balcony and on the fourth, above the pulpit, was the organ loft and the gold pipes of the organ. An air of solemnity pervaded the place. Sam stared at the tall stained-glass windows, the cushion-topped pulpit and the three throne-like chairs upon the dais behind it. During a hush, a side door opened and a minister in a frock coat and a black gown appeared, mounted the dais and established himself in the center throne chair. Sam’s uncle leaned toward his nephew, cupping his hand about his mouth. “Doctor MclIntosh’s ’way on his vacation. This man’s from Buffalo. Invited.” Sam nodded. The minister rose, came to the pulpit, arranged his book and papers, looked about the church and raised his hand. Witha great rustling and commotion, the congrega- tion got down upon its knees. Uncle Cyrus had a class of some twenty young girls in the Sunday-school, which assembled at one o’clock in the parlors be- neath the church proper, and Ruth too had a class of her own—half a dozen boys of six or seven. The Young Men’s Bible Class under Mr. Baldwin Wright also met at this hour. The class was considered part of the Sunday- school but assembled in a room separate from the main large one. The latter was a tre- mendous chamber quite as large as, if not larger than, the body of the church directly above it. Sam was astonished by its size and the bustle: that pervaded it when he and his uncle entered through the _ nail-studded, leather-covered swing doors beneath the stairway, which divided on either side and led from the main entrance to the church floor above. Uncle Cyrus weaved an unceremonious way through the crowd toward a door on the opposite side. Sam followed as best he could, observing that almost everyone tried to win his uncle’s nod and smile of recognition. He began to appreciate the fact that his father’s brother was a very important man in this environment—an elder, one of the pillars of the church, “Brother” Smith, some of these ac- quaintances called him. They found Mr. Wright in his classroom, the center of a handful of students, whom he promptly waved aside as soon as his eye fell upon Elder Smith and his nephew. He was a large man of ample girth with a jovial face and smile. He took Sam by both arms and studied him with a beaming expression as he discussed him with his uncle. “A fine boy, Cyrus—yes, sir, a fine boy. He’s got some good brawny muscles on him and an honest face. He’ll do well—mark my word. Give me a boy brought up on a farm every time.” He shook Sam affectionately in his grasp. “You remember I spoke to you about a posi- tion for my nephew,” said Cyrus, rubbing his lean chin. ‘The boy’s anxious to get to work. He’s honest and I think God-fearing.”’ “T’m sure of it—sure of it!” Mr. Wright agreed heartily. “T wish I could use him myself—but I don’t think it’s a good thing to have him so closely connected.” “Of course not—o’ course not.” Mr. Wright frowned and smiled at Sam at the same time; he slipped an arm half round his shoul- ders. “I think I can place him; believe I know just the niche for him—a man that’ll be glad to give him the chance I have no doubt he richly deserves. I like his looks, Cyrus. Look at those’ shoulders!’ You don’t find them on any ~~ ia ,i-_ St ew ot me CUE

Page 213

1925 Carrying the dis- S dotted ) Service, tall silk > Albert uck him e of the Church curving ted with nd three 1, above Id pipes ided the ed-glass ind the hind it, and a k gown blished 1ephew, ‘Doctor S$ man’s e to the looked Witha ngrega- twenty which ors be- had a six or - under ; hour. unday- e from a tre- t larger ove it. bustle: ntered overed which > main 1S way mn the could, ‘O win 1. He ither’s n this of the se ac- know ad to ichly k at | any Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 We have published an authentic and interesting booklet on Florida which will be sent postpaid for Six Cents. booklet together with any one section of map below (size, 11x17) for Fourteen Cents. This Simply write your name, address and map section required, enclose stamps and forward to “Florida Section,’”” COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE, New York. Can be obtained with safety in MI FLORIDA First Mortgages and First Mortgage Bonds on im- proved real estate in a well developed section of Miami, Florida, pay 1% to 2% more than in the older, more populous parts of the country. Take advantage of this high in- terest rate with absolute safety. For over nineteen years our offi- cials have served their clients without loss to a single investor. Write for Our New Investment Booklet *‘C’’ Sect. 3 DAVENPORT & RICH MORTGAGE CO. oO. PROFESSIONAL BLDG., MIAMI, FLORIDA ¢ Safe 8% Bonds WE endorse each bond, guaranteeing interest and incipal, which we collect and pay promptly. are secured by first mortgages on centrally located office buildings in Florida worth twice amount of any insurance and trust companies pur- our securities. Our company, established several years ago, specializes in first mortgage loans. Booklet CM gives full particulars. Palm Beach Guaranty Co. West Palm Beach, Florida g..;. ; PRINCESS MARTHA Open All Year. European-American Plan. A hotel of luxury, comfort and_ convenience on Florida’s West Coast. Write for Booklet. ST. PETERSBURG, FLORIDA Sect. F GREYNOLDS & CLARK, INC. General Brokers ACREAGE—BUSINESS PROPERTIES To-Day’s Market West Palm Beach—Florida Sect. J Are you interested in Florida? By all means subscribe for The Hollywood Magazine, a all-Florida Geographic, published monthly by TH FLORIDA SOCIETY OF AMERICA. The most one tie magazine in the South. Reliable. Three dollars 3 year. Address Florida Society, Hollywood, Fla. Sect. J Ls. WW. EEE REAL ESTATE Business PropertyFactory Sites Dwellings—Lots—Acreage 504 FRANKLIN ST. TAMPA, FLA. Sect. F ST. PETERSBURG REAL ESTATE Let wise counsel direct you to investment profits. C. BUCK TURNER CO., REALTORS 147 Central Avenue Sect. F PROFITABLE INVESTMENT We specialize in revenue-paying investments in high- Grade St. Petersburg business property. Write C. M. ROSER 695 Central Avenue, St. Retershurg Sect. F : FLORIDA REAL ESTATE Business Properties, Ocean Fronts and Acreage uaranteed 8%, First Merteogs © Ty. McGINLEY REALTY COMPANY “22 Years in es West Palm Beach, ‘ida. References: Farmers Bank, West Paw Beach, Florida. Sect. J Q| t eeamnevnie Order Sections that in- ‘ terest you. For ex- | ample, for St. Peters- ‘ burg and environs or- L der Section F. for Palm | Beach and West Palm ; Beach Section J. Price per (11x17) Section 10 | cents. For complete ‘ map (ten sections) 75 | cents. Automobile — Highways are in red on each section. COSMOPOLITAN takes pleasure in advis- ing its readers that a series of articles con- tributed by prominent writers will appear in this special Florida Section from November | to March inclusive. Below is a brief resume of Florida’s Agricul- tural possibilities: Agriculture is paramount to the growth and permanent development of any state or nation. So must it be with Florida. Florida—blessed by Nature with a remark- able climate, honeycombed with silver rivers, crystal bays and beautiful lakes—Florida, fanned by breezes from the mighty Gulf Stream, is a flowering summer garden. No wonder this State has been called ‘“The Land of Flowers,” “‘The Playground of the Nation,” ‘The Land of Lakes,’’—she deserves it. But the most appropriate slogan and the one upon which most of all rests her claim to future growth and greatness is—‘‘Florida, the Land of Agriculture.” The Honorable L. M. Rhodes, State Market- ing Commissioner of Florida, has this to say of her agriculture: “The total area of Florida is more than 35,000,000 acres. 6,000,000 acres are in farms, with not more than 2,500,000 acres in actual cultivation. From this small acreage we shipped during the 1923-1924 season 103,778 carloads of perishable crops. And field crops, live stock, dairy, poultry, and apiary products with a total value of $100,000,000 or twenty times as much as the United States paid Spain for the entire State. There is an average of $40 per acre for our entire cultivated area. Our agricultural production and fruit crops have increased 150% in a decade. Florida ships 10% of the fresh fruit and vegetables of the United States. It leads all of the states in winter grown vegetables in grapefruit, celery, winter grown tomatoes, cocoanuts and water- melon seed; has nearly five feet of rainfall and can grow a greater number of crops on the same land in a single season than any other state. ‘*As Florida has room to increase her popula- tion 1,000% and will always be the American playground, we can use for town and city pt. ysb pure | ete FLORIDA “Yhe Sunshine City Hospitality and entertainment await you in the Sunshine City. Located between the Gulf of Mexico and Tampa Bay, St. Petersburg has a year ‘roun climate unsur assed. Golt, bath- ing, fishing, ating, and other sports. Good hotels and apart- ments. For information and _ booklet ress: H. F. DILLMAN Chamber of Commerce Sect. F San Jose Tourist Hotel Jacksonville, Florida 18 hole Donald Ross Golf Course and Country Club adjoining; situated on 20 foot bluff overlooking the beautiful St. Johns River. Modern throughout. Opens on or about January Ist, 1926. Rates on application. Reservations in advance. Section Map E WE SELL OCEAN FRONTAGE ONLY the only photographic aerial survey ever made of the entire East Coast of Florida, this work having been done by the Fairchild Aerial Survey Cor- poration of New York at a tremendous cost to us This work is compiled in volume form and indexed in such a manner that a prospective investor can readily turn to the parcel of beach frontage in which he is interested and determine the character of growth on the land; whether the beach elevation is high or low; and in fact the photograph supplies the investor with a better knowledge of the property than if he were to personally inspect same, as it would be almost impossi- ble to thoroughly inspect the average large tract of ocean frontage owing to the dense growth the land in many sections is covered with. Every parcel of ocean frontage on entire East Coast has been personally in- spected by this Corporation. We cheerfully answer all inquiries regardless of who owns the property. L. E. FITZGERALD CO. 602 Citizens Bark Bldg. West Palm Beach, Florida Sect. J Have copywritten sites, roads, railroads, parks, playgrounds, homes, public buildings, timber and grazing all but 10,000,000 acres, and we can produce $500,000,000 worth of products easily on that. Florida lands properly developed can feed ten times her present population. Florida has four times the land area of Holland. It is slightly smaller than the six New England States. “The future will see Florida shipping 60 carloads of perishables across the state line every hour, and selling a $1,000,000 worth of agricultural products every day. Florida can sustain millions and have ‘Loaves and Fishes’ ” to spare.

Page 214

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 “Well,— Next Year, Perhaps,” er eAnp once more the liner leaves her pier, or the train leaves the station without you on board. You’ve thought about a trip often enough, but the very idea of packing up and getting away, and bothering over the thousand and one things connected with an extensive journey has appalled you. “Tt’s all right for those who can have everything arranged for them beforehand, but I have enough worry and fussing most of the year ’round without having a lot more on my vacation.” . . . « Which is a perfectly natural reaction; but it’s really not as much of a nuisance as you.think, and, besides, Cosmopolitan Travel Service will supply all the necessary advance information and arrangements that you need. Put your problems to us—and we will be your campaign managers. You will be surprised how all the annoying little details will smooth themselves out. Listed below are Thirteen Couriers to help you on your way: Complete Set for 80 cents. 6 6% 68 INCIDEN TALLY, we have just inaugurated a new branch of our Service,—The Florida Section. Turn to page 225 and see how invaluable this guide is going to be for those who plan, this year, to escape from the rigors of a Northern Winter. Also in this con- nection a new booklet on Florida has been prepared, which is more interesting, extensive and informative than our first edition. Don’t fail to send for it. Price Six Cents, or Fourteen Cents together with Section Map. 1. South America and Central 5. FLORIDA, 6c. America, 4c. . : 2 6. That Trip to Europe, 10c. 7. The Canadian Rockies and Northwest National Parks, 6c. o z. Southern Europe and the Mediterranean, 4c. 3. The Pacific Coast and the Great Southwest, 4c. 8. National Parks of Colorado and 4. The Orient, 4c. California, 6c. city-bred boy. And those biceps! y, they stick out like rocks and I’ll bet they’re ag hard. He’s going to be one of my boys, aren’t you, Sam?” He clapped the young man on the shoulder and jerked him against his big frame in a kind of clumsy bear hug. “I'll take him in charge and some day, Cyrus, you'll be proud i! A ringing gong sounded and there was an | immediate stir. “Well, that’s school. I must run along to my class. I’ll leave the boy with you, and I'll see | you, Sam, directly it’s over,” and with these words Elder Smith hurried away. Of Mr. Wright’s Young Men’s Bible Class, some twenty individuals were present on this particular Sunday; there were three times that number during the winter months, the new member was informed. Sam did not quite see how it deserved its name; there were only two | or three males approximately his own age in the room, the rest being gray-headed men or youths of thirteen and fourteen. Following the clang of the gong, there had been a general scraping of chairs as the class seated itself. Sam standing be ide Mr. | Wright’s desk felt embarrassed, conscious as he | was of the curious eyes studying him. Mr. | Wright now plunged him into an arony of con- fusion by putting his arm about his shoulders, swinging him round to face the class and formally introducing him. “Boys,” he said in his genial, radiant voice, “T have a new member for you. This is Samuel Smith—Elder Smith’s nephew. Boys, | meet Sam Smith. He’s going to be one of our | standard-bearers before we’re done with him. Adrian Lane, make a place there beside you for Sam Smith and show him the hymns and the | lesson.” Somebody in the group before him moved | and Sam blindly made his way in that direction, stumbling over knees and feet as he slid be- tween the rows of chairs to the seat indicated. A glance showed him Adrian Lane to be about his own age—a boy with a pale, rather sickly face and large dark eyes, who smiled with hesitation as Sam sat down, and pushed an | open book toward him. “Tom,” said Mr. Wright from the front of the room to the slightly bald person seated at the “ittle organ, “we'll begin with Hymn 206, ‘God Jehovah, now on high, We Thy children glorify.’ Now, boys, I want you to sing this | with vim and show our new member how you can do it. We aren’t very many of us here today, but that isn’t going to make any difference. Mr. Jennings sometimes says we sing too loud in here and disturb the Sunday- school; well, let’s disturb them good today. Come on, now.” The class rose and began to sing. At once Sam was conscious of the finely trained quality of his neighbor’s voice. This sickly, pale youth sang with expression and his clear young voice rang out above the others. Sam admired him for his complete confidence; he noticed the young man’s hands were slim and very white and that his nails were long and well-kept. It made him ashamed of his own, which were blunt, broken and none too clean. At the close of the hymn the class settled down again into its seats and Mr. Wright took up the lesson. 9, Fan Geens Lakes 988 ve Sam found Ruth waiting for him in the Cosmopolitan Travel Service 119 West 40th Street, New York City Enclosed find............ cents in stamps. Please pened wie Gabiciots Who. ewe (If you care to give the following additional information it will help us to help you.) I plan to travel in (Names of countries or SOCRMEOO) oo. eno uccnre How many are going? I will leave (Date).. in SN echoes Address................ 1, . New England and The . New York and Surrounding . Around the World Cruis- St. Lawrence Valley, 6c. Adirondacks, 6c. Resorts, 6c. ing, 10c. By D. E. Lorenz, Ph.D. Mediterranean Cruising, 10c. By D. E. Lorenz, Ph.D. none: Sunday-schooi when the Bible class was dismissed. ‘“Jncle’s been detained,” she said as he joined her. ‘They had to decide on next Sunday’s preacher right away, it seems, and a meeting of the elders was called. He said for me to wait and bring you home. I dare say he’ll be late for dinner. Aunt Sarah went off long ago; she never stays after church is over. Sam was aware of the pangs of hunger once more, and as they reached the street the glint of afternoon light in the sunshine made him ask: ‘What time is it?” “It’s half past two, I imagine. They’re supposed to end at two, but they never do. I’ve known Uncle sometimes to be half an

Page 215

ke him wll be vas an ; to my I'll see | these Class, n this °s that e new ite see ly two age in nen or re had e Class Mr, 5 as he Mr. f con- lders, S and voice, his is Boys, of our | him. ou for id the noved ction, id be- cated. about sickly with -d an nt of ed at | 206, Idren + this y you here any ‘S we \day- day. once ality outh voice him the vhite ae were ttled took Hearst's Orient Sailings Every Saturday Palatial President Liners sail every Saturday from San Francisco for the Orient and Round the World. They call at Honolulu, Japan, China, the Philippines, Malaya, Ceylon, India, Egypt, the Mediterranean, Italy, France, Boston, New York, Havana, Panama and Los Angeles. Fortnightly sailings from Boston and New York via the Panama Canal for California and the Orient. A fortnightly service returning from the Orient to San Francisco. Luxurious oil-burners provide comfort- able accommodations, all outside rooms, a world-famous cuisine. The finest Trans-Pacific service. For full information communicate withany ticket or tourist agent or with 15 Moore Street, New York City 50 Yamashita Cho, Yokohama 7-A Kaigan Dori, Kobe 29 Nanking Rd., Shanghai Hongkong and Shanghai Bank Bidg., Hongkong 24 Calle David, Manila Hugh Mackenzie, G. P. A. 311 California Street, Department M 510 San Francisco, California | Pi 445 Annual vank's Phy ond Mediterranea Egypt—Palestine Madeira, Spain, Gibraltar, Algiers, Tunis, Constantinople, Greece, Italy, Sicily, Riviera, Monte Carlo, France, England Limited to 400—(Less than Half Capacity) by Magnificent New 20,000-ton Oil-Burning Cunard S. S. “SCYTHIA”’ Specially Chartered Sailing from New York January 26—67 days The Cruise of the “Scythia’ to the Mediterranean has become an annual classic. In every respect it is unsurpassed. Stop-over privilege in Europe Rates, deck plans, itinerary and full information On request. Prompt reservation advisable. FRANK TOURIST COMPANY a FIFTH AVE., NEW YORK 1529 Locust Street, Philadelphia 582 Market Street, San a At_ Bank of America, Los ngeles (Est. 1875.) Paris Cairo London International—Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 [peas late. Aunt Sarah won’t wait for him. | She has dinner—we have dinner in the middle | | of the day on Sundays—at three o'clock, and | if he isn’t home then, we go ahead without him. It’ s Meggs’ and Marty’s afternoon off, and if we’re late, they don’t get away on time.” “They don’t have much of an afternoon.” “They call it that, anyway. They’re out of the house certainly not later than five, and they | have from that time on until—well, until they |come home. I grow frightfully hungry on Sun- | days with such a late dinner.” Sam glanced at the girl. “Did you go much to school?” he asked. “TI went a year to high, but it was too far |away. I read a great deal and study French. | How did you like the Bible class?’ “Oh, fine! Mr. Wright’s a mighty nice man, isn’t he? He seemed to be quite friendly and | said he’d try to find me a position.’ | “He’s awfully fond of young men. He’d do} anything in the world for you if you were in | trouble. The boys all say they adore him. Did you meet Adrian Lane? He’s nice, isn’t he? | He has the most gorgeous voice; he’s studying | for grand opera and Mr. W right, Uncle says, is paying for all his music lessons. We have | church socials once in a while in the Sunday- | school parlors on Saturday evenings and they | really are quite good fun. It’s summer now and | we won’t have one for some time, but they’ re | talking about a picnic for the children.” When they had almost reached home, a | hurried step behind them and the sound of | Sam’s name brought them to a halt. It was | Uncle Cyrus. He had been walking rapidly to | catch up with them and now his lean face was | frankly wet with perspiration. He was in| excellent spirits. “Well, my boy,” “how do you like us? evident, don’t you think? I have a splendid report of you from Baldwin Wright. You’ve made quite an impression upon him and he’ll stand you a good friend if you take his fancy. He’s done a great deal for a number of young men. You know he’ $ quite well-off; a confirmed bachelor and a splendid God- fearing, up- standing Christian. He stopped me as I was leaving “church and spoke to me about you, suggested I bring you round tonight for eve- ning service so he can have a walk and talk with you. I should certainly advise it, for Baldwin Wright is a big man; he’s influential.” They reached the steps of the house. The top of Meggs’ head and his sorrowful eyes just above the curtain rod of a dining-room window showed he had been watching for them. “We must be late,” said Uncle Cyrus with a hasty glance at his watch and a worried tone. “No, it’s only ten to three.” “It’s their afternoon out, him.. ‘Ah, that’s it!”’ said her uncle. They mounted the steps and Cyrus Smith opened the front door with his latch-key. he said, panting a little, | ” Ruth reminded r } | Do you like to walk?” asked Mr. Wright as he and Sam emerged from the little crowd of worshipers that flocked out of the church after the evening service. The night was sultry but the heavens clear, the streets deserted except for the dispersing congregation. The boy was conscious of a strong feeling of spiritual uplift after his day of devotion. He was tired but happily so. Mr. Wright entertained him now, as they set out, with talk about New York. He was a great admirer of the city; he expanded uponits rapid growth, its enterprise, its wealth. He made some astonishing statements about the Vanderbilts and Astors and other rich families, and told Sam how they had amassed their great fortunes in a comparatively short num- ber of years, many of them starting irom} nothing. “You can do it, too, if you want to, my boy,” Mr. Wright told him. ‘Thrift, honest living | and dealing are all you need. You can be as rich as they are by the time you’re middle- aged if you set your mind to if.” Sam gave a nervous, incredulous laugh, but Fine spirit pretty | 227 SOUTH AMERICA NOW HE South American climate is delightful at all times of the year. Go when you will, a visit to these scenic lands below the equator will be filled with interest—will provide a welcome change and relaxation. Twelve days o’er sparkling, sunlit seas, and the beauty of Rio de Janeiro’s harbor con- fronts you. On to picturesque Santos, to Montevideo’s golden sands— to the life, laughter and gaiety of Buenos Aires— Paris of the New World. Then — should you choose the wonderful Round South America trip— you will cross the high Andes to Valparaiso, to the natural grandeur of Chile and Peru—returning up the West Coast to New York via Panama Canal. S. S. American Legion S. S. Pan America S. S. Southern Cross S. S. Western World These four swift, spacious ships, 21,000 tons register, of the U.S. Government sail from New York alternate Saturdays. All rooms are outside with beds, not berths. Private baths, excellent cuisine, dancing and amusements of every kind. Write for details. PAN AMERICA-LINE ©) 2 Managing Operators Nene MUNSON STEAMSHIP LINE 67 Wall Street, New York

Page 216

228 ‘West I Crus $250 for 31 Perfect Days! Thirty-one days of cruising through the West Indies. To Panama Canal, northern coast of South America and Bermuda—to transform a business-weary person into a zestful and joyous adventurer. A wonderful cruise! Ona delightful ship—the Megantic—specially constructed for tropical cruising and operated by a line with over 25 years’ experience in West Indies Cruises. in a I There are a few accommodations at the min- imum rate of $250, about $8 per day. What sort of a vacation will that buy at a resort? And how does a vacation at any resort com- pare with such a stirring voyage? Sailing dates: Jan. 23; Feb. 27; Coupon below for your convenience. WHITE STAR LINE No. 1-C Broadway, New York Please send me West Indies literature. Name Street Address City CLARK ’S 6th CRUISE AROUND THE WORLD 128 DAYS, $1250 to $3000 Including Hotels, Drives, Guides, Fees, etc. From N. Y. Jan. 20, by specially chartered Cunard new ss “Laconia,” 20,000 tons. Featuring 25 days Japan and China includ- ing Peking; option 18 days in India; Cairo, Jerusalem, Athens, etc., with Europe stop over. CLARK’S 22nd CRUISE, Jan. 30 jae MEDITERRANEAN By specially chartered new ss ‘Transyl- vania,”’ 17,000 tons. Featuring 15 days in Egypt and Palestine; Lisbon, Tunis, Spain, ete. 62 days’ cruise, $600 to $1700 including Hotels, Drives, Guides, Fees, ete. SOUTH AMERICA “‘" Feb. 4 by specially chartered new Cunarder “Caledonia,” 17,000 tons. 50 days, $550 to $1250; featuring Buenos Aires, Santos, Rio de Janeiro, Amazon River, Barbados, Havana and Nassau. CLARK’S 2nd CRUISE. 1926 NORWAY and WESTERN MEDITERRANEAN New ss “Lancastria” leaves June 30 repeat- ing this summer’s successful cruise; 53 days. $550 to $1300. Originator of Round the World Cruises. Longest experienced cruise management. Established 30 years. FRANK C. CLARK, Times Bidg., New York For reliable information about schools and colleges consult Tue Cosmopoiitan Epvucationat DrparTMENT 119 West Fortieth Street, New York City Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 Mr. Wright was in earnest. He dilated upon the opportunities New York afforded, spoke of the simple need of common sense in meeting them. “Guess all the big opportunities are about over,” Sam said doubtfully. “I don’t think a young man has the same chance today.” Mr. Wright ridiculed this. He told of a dozen men he knew, already on their way to great wealth and position. ““No—no, my boy, you have just as much chance as any of them. It’s character that does it. You weave a little strand every day of your life and if you braid these together they soon become a rope, and before you know it a cable. Habit makes character and character makes destiny. I wish you could hear Doctor McIntosh on this subject; he preached one of the most remarkable sermons I ever listened to in my life on that theme . . . Well, here we are at my little diggings. Come up and have a look at them.” They had arrived at a square with an iron- fenced garden in its center. Ascending the steps of a brownstone house, Mr. Wright fumbled with his keys, opened a heavy glass- paneled door, and then led the way up more stairs to a second door on the floor above. “Wait just a moment till I scratch a match and light up . . . Now come in, won’t you, and make yourself at home.” Sam entered a large front room with white woodwork, low shelves crowded with books on three sides, and above these upon the wall a cool gray cartridge paper on which were a few large photographs and many small ones. In one corner stood a grand piano. “Take a look around,” his host suggested. “T’ll just step into my bedroom and slip out of | this tight coat.” He disappeared toward the | back and Sam did as he was bidden. The | large photographs were of celebrated paintings | and frescoes, the smaller ones of men, mostly | those in their early twenties. | “Ah, you’re looking at some of my boys,” | said Mr. Wright, rejoining his guest. He had {changed his coat, Sam noted, to a velvet ;smoking-jacket. ‘This one is an interesting lad,” he said, picking up a framed photograph from the top of the bookcase. “A derelict, do you know that, Sam? A waif. He doesn’t look it there, does he? I ran across him through a mutual friend; I helped him a little, gave him some good sound advice, straightened him out, and today he’s manager of a dry- goods store over in Brooklyn. “This one was a kind of a genius, wanted to write poetry, wanted to express himself some- how. He eventually went on the stage and I fear has been running after women. I fear for him, Sam. I wish I knew what has become of him. He’s handsome, isn’the? . . . Here’sa fine fellow’’—he pointed to another portrait; “he’s one of my Bible class boys. He’s mar- ried now and has two children . . .” The inventory went on for some time. An anecdote gave each picture personality. . “You see these are my friends, Sam,”’ said Mr. Wright; “people sometimes call me a lonely old bachelor, but I’m never lonely. In winter when the grate there is full of glowing coals I sit down before my fire and I have a strange feeling that all these boys of mine come back and are nodding and talking to me from their picture-frames. I know where most of them are, they write me all about their troubles, I’m like a father confessor to. them . . . Well, well, I’m talking too much about myself and I brought you up here to talk about you. Now pull up that easy chair by the win- dow and I'll take this one and we’ll look out over the lights of New York and you shall tell me all about yourself.” Sam was by nature close-mouthed, and as yet not altogether won to Mr. Baldwin Wright for all his friendliness. But he answered his host’s questions without reservation, though he went no further. The man drew from him the story of his brothers’ deaths, Julia’s ad- | venture in Boston, Narcissa’s wedding, the | struggle his father and mother had unsuccess- | fully made to make the farm pay. When it came to the death of his parents, the shied at Mr. Wright’s sympathy; it was too close as yet to talk about. “Ah, sorrow, Sam, sorrow! It’s sometimes hard to understand the ways of Almighty God, there’s so much suffering in the world. I can guess how much you loved your dear father and your dear sweet old mother. There’s nothing like a mother, is there, Sam? Butwe all have to lose them, we all have to say good- by to their dear old eyes and white hair. Yes— yes, I know. That dear mother of yours was all your life to you, and now that she’s gone you’re groping about blindly for some one to take her place. We never can find that some one, can we, Sam? No one to take a mother’s place,no one with the same’understanding, the same sweet sympathy, the same encompassing love. But if you need a friend, here’s my hand. ‘Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee!’ Our apostle’s words, Sam; wonderful words, aren’t they? Don’t they represent the epitome of generous friendship, of true hospitality? - . .” Mr. Wright rambled on in his fluent, melli- fluous voice, but the boy’s thoughts wandered. The gas had been lowered just before they sat down, and the room behind them was in semi- darkness. Sam moved with a start. He realized he had momentarily been asleep and that Mr. Wright had asked a question. “Will you join me in a little snack?” his host repeated and when Sam hastily declined, over- bore him with insistence. . “You mustn’t say no; that doesn’t go here; none of my boys ever say no to that. Weal- ways have little feasts; that’s part of the fun. I generally have a bite just before I go to bed and I like company. Come along now—we'll go into the dining-room and I’ll see what I can forage for us both out in my larder.” He took Sam by the arm and piloted him into the next room. “T’m my own cook here so there’s no danger of anybody’s feelings being hurt if the ice-box is robbed,”’ he said with a playful squeeze. He left his guest for a few minutes and re- turned with plates of cold ham, cheese and crackers. “You see I have everything ready.” He set the food on the table and after one or two more trips for accessories, sat down. He offered Sam beer, but the boy preferred milk. “That’s the stuff, Sam, my boy,’ his host approved; “keep away from intoxicants if you want to get on in this world. I confess I enjoy a bottle or two of beer before retiring. My doctor really advises it. And, Sam, if you promise you won’t tell on me—not your uncle or anybody—I’ll confide to you another short- coming of mine. I smoke! It isn’t known down there at the church because, you see, it might be considered by some of the brethren whose noses are especially blue that I was setting a bad example to my class. But I indulge myself only in an occasional cigar.” He rose as he spoke, opened a drawer in the sideboard and helped himself. “Well—don’t tell on me,” he said, puffing at a lighted match. “Smoke leads to good talk. We meet up here every Wednesday after prayer meeting. It’s our regular night. All my boys come—or rather as many of them as can get away. I’ve had as many as fifteen here. You must surely be here next Wednesday night and meet some of them. Adrian Lane is one that’s almost invariably here. A sweet fellow, isn’t he? Divine voice. We have music— several play the piano well—and I generally read aloud. They think I read pretty well, Sam, and I usually have a poem or a story ready. “After the reading, the boys all come out here for a little feast, and I have a lot of fun in getting it up and arranging it. I don’t urge any of my boys to drink, Sam, but if they want a glass of beer they’re welcome to it, and if they choose to smoke, I cannot—as @ good host—discourage them, can I?” A and a cocked eyebrow accompanied this; Sam smiled understandingly. ~~“ ~~ e >" rid “@ Ow? Ii. ac? Ss eoefrthmeoso

Page 217

, 1925 the boy - was too ometimes shty God, d. Ican ar father There’s ? Butwe say good- r. Ves "OUTS Was he’s gone le one to hat some mother’s \ding, the mpassing my hand. Ich as I rds, Sam; n’t they iendship, it, melli- randered. they sat ; in semi- .d he had . Wright ’ his host ed, over- go here; . Weal- the fun. 0 to bed w—we'll nat I can him into o danger > ice-box eeze. ; and re- sese and y.” He e or two wn. He ed milk. his host ts if you ; I enjoy ig. My if you ur uncle er short- known u see, it orethren t I was But I gar.” or in the uffing at od talk. y after ht. All e is one t fellow, music— enerally ty well, a story me out t of fun n’t urge if they e to it, it—as a A wink is; Sam Hearst’s International—-Cosmopolitan for October, 1925 ! »Y, BUA DAwh DIRT In the Land of Allah... at the other end of “the longest gangplank in the world” AMELS graze. Solemn storks stand on stilt-like legs. Nomads pitch their striped tents. And Biskra facesthe great ocean ofsand. You have motored down from Constantine .and are making for the heart of the Sahara along the macadam highways. You strike camp under the desert moon. Or you can stop at one of the 27 Transatlantique hotels. Your entire trip is under French Line manage- ment. Six luxurious days from America to Europe on the Paris or France ... and the North African Tours only twenty-six hours from Europe! 4 Compagnie Generale Transatlantique, 19 StateSt., NewYork — a Agencies eS , pe Europe and the in Principal Cities United States HE selection of a school for your boy or girl should not rest on uncertain or biased information. The Cosmopoli- tan Educational Department is quali- fied to give you reliable data concerning | the best schools in the country. See | 1OE | | OF. & CO. fs38 i DIAMONDS WATCHES * : Ee ye onds Mi eet Jewelry, Wat ao Be , Silverware, ete. your MS: Bent a ination. 4 Goods delivered on first pay- My ment of one-tenth of purchase price, balance in equal Seen, payable eekly, semi monthly, or monthly, as convenient. NO. 16—Wrist Watch, Solid 18-k White Gold, 17-Jewels, S. | eg ore 50; 16-Jewels, old, $8 up. 14-k, $22.50. eda Watches—Guaranteed to Pass Inspection ase ELGIN’S \YMOND, ai Jewels, vewels, Adjusted “to 6 Positions. Gold filed ee Yeas HAMILTON ‘cae. 892. i 21, Janes. Adjusted to 5 Posi- $55 sable ean een Stee ae 38 FT Tl : [ae NATIONAL Fa 103 N. P tg Se, Canes, Stores in Leading Cities Listen in on WHT every Monday — FANS— night from 7 to 7:30; every Friday Bight from 9:30 to 10, central standard time. Loftis Bros. & Co.’s hour of music. “T want you to be one of us,” Mr. Wright continued. “I want you to feel these ‘rooms are kind of club rooms for you; you’re welcome at any time, but Wednesday night is club meeting | night and you must always make a special | point of being here.” It was after midnight before Sam was allowed to depart. The subject of work was not men- | tioned until almost the very last. “Of course, o’ course—I’m very forgetful, Sam—you’re interested quite naturally to know about what’s going to occupy you. wish there was an opportunity for you to be associated with me. Fortunately—or un- fortunately, as you care to view it—I am not wholly dependent on my business activities, which are not very important. I’ve a little office in the James Building—that’s on Fifth Avenue; I'll give you the address. A little agency, that’s all, that’s all, Sam. Paint, pen- knives and pool-tables; that’s my line. Strange combination, isn’t it, for a Sunday-school teacher? It keeps me occupied, that’s the main thing, and I need an outside interest. ““My staff’s very small; only a girl and an office boy. You require a larger field, a place | where you can branch out—a position worthy | of that splendid vitality of yours. I have a business acquaintance down on Canal Street— hardware. How does hardware strike you, Sam? Sometimes I sell Mr. Hartshone a gross of pen-knives. We’re very friendly—he’s a connection with you.” “You’re awful kind, Mr. Wright.” “Not at all, not at all, Sam. That’s my real | | business—helping young men find themselves —not paint, pen-knives and pool-tables. I try to do God’s work in my own way. ‘Suffer little children’ our Lord said, and I amend that in my own case to ‘suffer young men,’ for I firmly believe, Sam, that of them is the kingdom of Heaven as much as of little | children. “Come to my office tomorrow afternoon,” | Mr. Wright continued, “or better still, come and take luncheon with me. I'll see Hartshone in the morning and have a report for you by noon; then, if I’m successful, you can go right down and have a talk with him. Luncheon | then—at the Everett House at one, hey?” He accompanied Sam to the door, his hand on the boy’s shoulder, parting from him with a clap on the back and a wave down-stairs. Sam reached the empty street and turned his steps homeward. He was pleased with himself, charmed by the big city, elated at the prospect of work. The hardware business or any other, it made no difference to him so long as he might earn his living. His footsteps echoed along the deserted streets; now and then the distant lamps of a cab appeared, the horse’s hoofs sounding like drum-beats on the asphalt. He had been in New York a little more than forty-eight hours and already he was growing accustomed to the new environment, beginning to love it. He sensed the readjustment of ideas that was going on within him; already he had discarded the old standards of Mendon and was accepting the new ones of the city. Mr. Wright’s talk of the opportunities that yet lay within the grasp of young men who had only an ordinary amount of brains, but a | good man, I know him. I thought of him in | capacity for self-denial and hard work, fired | him. He’d deny himself all right, and devote | every hour and every day to work for the next | twenty years if at the end of that time he | might consider himself a success. wealth! To have a fine home and a carriage and servants and to be a man to be | with in this great, throbbing, vital city! that would satisfy him! As he strode upon rs Success and | | | | way, his brain aflame with ambition, he fisted | his hands upon that great resolve. With the picturesque background of old New York, Sam lands his first job, gets into his first fight, and meets his first love— in the November instalment | | Raceahine all the Way] NJOY the wonders of the Golden Southwest by choosing the “Open Win- dow Route” to California. A journey filled with the irresisti- ble beauty and romance of Louisi- ana, Texas, Arizona. You will revel in its marvelous scenery and balmy climate as well as in the luxurious comfort of the new SUNSET LIMITED Operated daily from New Orleans to Los Angeles, San Diegoand San Fran- cisco. Convenient service for the 120 mile motor trip over the famous Apache Trail between Globe and Phoenix, Arizona. Also to San Diego via the marvelous Carriso Gorge in California. For Information Address SOUTHERN PACIFIC LINES New York 165 Broadway Houston Southern Pacific Bldg. New Orleans Pan American Bank Bldg. San Francisco Southern Pacific Bldg. Los Angeles Pacific Electric Bldg.

Page 218

230 Money’s Red Flag HEY—thousands of men and women —have precious dollars saved through years of self-denial and courage. Once they get the notion that their dollars can be doubled or trebled in a short time, through speculation or luck, nothing but the loss of all or part of their treasure brings them to a clear understanding of the perils of in- vestment. They need the danger signal— money's red flag of warning—the danger signal of unwarranted risk. * * *k* * To the office of a big insurance company come pathetic stories of money lost in speculation and un- wise investments. Dismayed men and women, when it is too late, tell their experiences of funds pro- vided by life insurance or saved by thrift, lost in wild-cat schemes promising great returns, sunk in ‘sure thing” tips from well-mean- ing friends and relatives, or frit- tered away in stock speculation. The pity of it is that the hardest blows often fall on those least able to bear them—on men past the age of self-support, on women with no business experience, on young people trying to get a start in the world. The Eternal Temptation Over and over again one hears, “Surely there must be some way that I can get more than 6% on my money with safety. Iam prom- ised—practically guaranteed— that a certain stock will pay 10% or more and probably double in value. Only a few people know about this. A friend has just told me and says I must act quickly or lose the chance. Shall I invest?” The answer, in most cases, is Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for October, 19am ee! There is a definite danger ling in investing money, and that li . is located today at about 6% } This does not mean that eve | thing below 6% is sound, nor thai ° o—* DOLLAR PIRATES! “The first thing to do, Blackie, is to look at the map and pick out a town where smart people have money in banks. Somewhere in this big United States people have been saving up coin for years, just waiting for us to come and get it.” So said J. Rufus (Get-Rich-Quick) Wallingford, smiling and engaging character from the pen of the late George Randolph Chester. So true to life—his counterparts are to be found the world over. Bold in the open and cunning behind cover, they plunder alike the simple, the greedy, the rich and the poor. According to Postmaster General New, the people of this country are robbed by dollar pirates of more than $1,000,000,000 a year in mail-fraud schemes alone How much more is lost through other frauds cannot be estimated. Don’t let a Wallingford get your savings! ““NO—that is not an investment, it is a speculation.” The dollar pirates point to a few fabulously wealthy men and tell you that these men took chances. But they say nothing about the brains and the hard work which these men put in, along with their money. The victim listens, be- lieves, plunges—and loses. Records show that in all lines of business, good, bad and indiffer- ent, large and small, the majority of new enterprises fail. And in the purely speculative, big-prom- ise ventures the losses are appal- ling. ings. everything above is speculative but—Money’s Red Flag of warn ing appears at this level. Beware of the untried, unseasoned o Remember—‘“‘the hig the rate the greater: the risk.” Remember also that those who have but little money to inv are the ones who can least affa to take chances. Investing is a Profession Investing money is a highly sper cialized profession based on @ wide knowledge and constant study of many lines of busines None but experts know the c parative and ever changing val of various investments. Safe vestments cannot be made memory of past values. Go to a bank and ask to be d rected to the best man to advise you about investment. You v ill find yourself welcome q in the best bank in your community,even though you have only a small amount to invest. The banker of today will try to protect you against fraudulent invest- ments because general prosperity, which in- cludes yours, helps the bank’sprosperity. The United States Government is trving to put out of business and put in jail all investment crooks and especially those who prey upon persons of small means who can least afford to lose their money. Whenever you receive circulars or pamph- lets or letters offering to make you rich over night, turn them over to the Post Office Department so that the Government mayinvestigateand,if necessary, prosecute. Better Business Bureaus of various cities, bankers associations, national associations of manufacturers and other groups are issuing warnings against fake stock pro- moters. Many organizations are join- ing hands to prevent the stealing of billions of dollars by these financial tricksters. Many of the foremost manufacturing plants are trying to protect their workers by issuing warnings in pay envelopes and on Bulletin Boards. Suggestions for notices will be mailed on request to in- terested executives. The Metropolitan Life Insurance Com- pany will neither criticize nor advise as to any particular investment but will be glad to mail free a booklet, “How to Invest our Money” dealing with the general problem of investing which may aid you to avoid financial pitfalls. Send for it. HALEY FISKE, President. Published by mn} ‘i METROPOLITAN LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY ~NEW YORE Biggest in the World, More Assets, More Policyholders, More Insurance in force, More new Insurance each yee :

Page 219

67%. everye or that? lative) wath eware” offers | higher + risk.” e who invest | afford ly sper on a nstant§ siness, = e comes values: afe ims de on} be die advise : yu will q