RBER
ILLUSTRATIONS
BY CLARK AGNEW,
Co ht by
Doubleday, Page & Co.
WNU Service,
[= EDNA
aE [Conclusion.
She admitted, though, that they did
appreciate the things that other people
did well, Visiting and acknowledged
writers, painters, lecturers, heroes,
they entertained lavishly and hospit-
ably in their Florentine or English or
Spanish or French palaces on the North
side of Chicago, Ill. Especially for-
eign notables of this description.
Since 1918 these had descended
upon Chicago (and all America) like
a plague of locusts, starting usually
In New York and sweeping westward,
devouring the pleasant verdure of
greenbacks and chirping as they came.
Returning to Europe, bursting with
profits and spleen, they thriftily wrote
of what they had seen and the result
was more clever than amiable; bear-
ing, too, the taint of bad taste.
North Shore hostesses vied for the
honor of entertaining these notables.
Paula — pretty, clever, moneyed,
shrewd—often emerged from these
contests the winner. Her latest catch
was Emile Goguet—Gen. Emile Go-
guet, hero of Champagne—Goguet of
the stiff white beard, the empty left
coatsleeve, and the score of medals.
He was coming to America ostensibly
to be the guest of the American di-
vision which, with Goguet’s French
troops, had turned the German on-
slaught at Champagne, but really, it
was whispered, to cement friendly re-
lations between his country and a
somewhat diffident United States.
“And guess,” thrilled Paula, “guess
who’s coming with him, Dirk! That
wonderful Roelf Pool, the French
sculptor!”
“What d’you mean—French sculp-
tor! He's no more French than I am.
He was born within a couple of miles
of my mother’s farm. His people wefe
Dutch truck farmers. His father lived
in High Prairie until a year ago, when
he died of a stroke.”
When he told Selina she flushed like
a girl, as she sometimes still did when
she was much excited. “Yes, I saw it
In the paper. 1 wonder,” she added,
quietly, “if I shall see him.”
That evening you might have seen
her sitting, fingering the faded shabby
time-worn objects the saving of which
Dirk had denounced as sentimental.
The crude drawing of the Haymarket ;
the wine-red cashmere dress; some
faded brittle flowers.
Paula was giving a large—but not
too large—dinner on the second night.
She was very animated about it, ex-
cited, gay. “They say,” she told Dirk,
“that Goguet doesn’t eat amything but
hard-boiled eggs and rusks. Oh, well,
the others won't object to squabs and
mushrooms and things. And his hobby
is his farm in Brittany. Pool’s stun-
ning—dark and somber and very white
teeth.”
Paula was very gay these days. Too
gay. It seemed to Dirk that her
nervous energy was inexhaustible—
and exhausting. Dirk refused to ad-
mit to himself how irked he was by
the sallow heart-shaped exquisite face,
the lean brown clutching fingers, the
air of ownership. He had begun to
dislike things about her as an unfaith-
ful spouse is irritated by quite inno-
cent mannerisms of his unconscious
mate. She scuffed her heels a little
when she walked, for example. It
maddened him. She had a way of bit-
ing the rough skin around her carefully
tended nails when she was nervous.
“Don’t do that!” he said. -
Dallas never irritated him. She rest-
ed him, he told himself. He would arm
himself against her, but one minute
after meeting her he would sink grate-
fully and resistlessly inte her quiet
depths. Sometimes he thought all this
was an assumed manner in her.
“This cadm of your—this effortless-
ness,” he said to her one day, “is a
pose, isn’t it?” Anything to get her
notice.
“Partly,” Dallas had replied, amiably,
“It's a nice pose though, don’t you
think 7”
What are you going to do with a
girl like that!
Here was the woman who could hold
him entirely, and who never held out
a finger to hold him. He tore at the
smooth wall of her indifference, though
he only cut and bruised his own hands
in doing it.
“Is it because I'm a successful busi-
ness man that you don’t like me?”
“But I do like you. I think you're
an awfully attractive man. Danger
ous, that’s wot.”
“Oh, don’t be the wide-eyed ingenue.
You know d—d well what I mean.
You've got me and you don’t want me.
It I had been a successful architect
instead of a successful business man
would that have made any difference?”
“Good Lord, no! Some day I'll prob-
ably marry a horny-handed son of toil,
and if I do it'll be the horny hands
that will win me, If you want to know,
I like ’em with thelr scars on them:
There’s something about a man who
has fought for it—I don't know what
it is—a look in his eye—the feel of
his hand. He needn't have been suc
cessful—though he probably would be.
I don’t know. I only know he—well,
you haven't a mark on you. Not a
mark. I'm not criticizing you. But
you're all smooth, I like 'em bumpy.
That sounds terrible. It isn’t what
I mean at all. It isn’t——"
“Oh, never mind,” Dirk said, wearily.
“I think I know what you mean. Lis
ten, Dallas. If I thought—I'd go back
to Hollis & Sprague’s and begin sll
over again at forty a week if I thougnt
you’'d—"
“Don’t.”
Chapter XVI
General Goguet and Roelf Pool Lad’
been in Chicago one night and part of
a day. Dirk had not met them—was
to meet them at Paula’s dinner that
evening. He was curious about Pool
but not particularly interested in the
warrior. Restless, unhappy, wanting
to see Dallas (he admitted it, bitterly)
he dropped into her studio at an un-
accustomed hour almost immediately
after lunch and heard gay voices and
laughter.
Dallas in a grimy smock and the
scuffed kid slippers was entertainiig
two truants from Chicago society—
Gen. Emile Goguet and Roelf Pool
They seemed to be enjoying themselves
immensely. She introduced Dirk as
casually as though their presence were
a natural and expected thing—which
it was. She had never mentioned them
to him. Yet now: “This is Dirk De-
Jong—Gen, Emile Goguet. We were
campaigners together in France.
Roelf Pool. So were we, weren't we,
Roelf?”
Gen. Emile Goguet bowed formally,
but his eyes were twinkling. He ap-
peared to be having a very good time.
Roelf Pool’s dark face had lighted up |
with such a glow of surprise and pleas- |
ure as to transform it. He strode over
to Dirk, clasped his hand. “Dirk De-
Jong! Not—why, say, don’t you know |!
me? I'm Roelf Pool!” :
“I ought to know you,” said Dirk, |
|
!
I
“Oh, but I mean I'm—I knew you
when you were a kid. You're Selina’s
Dirk. Aren’t you? My Selina. I'm
driving out to see her this afternoon.
She’s one of ny reasons for being
here. Why, 'm—" He was laughing,
talking excitedly, like a boy. Dallaa
all agrin, was enjoying it immensely.
“They’ve run away,” she explained
to Dirk, “from the elaborate program
that was arranged for them this after-
noon. I don’t know where the French
got their reputation for being polite.
The general is a perfect boor, aren’t
you? And scared to death of women.
He's the only French general in cap-
tivity who ever took the trouble to
learn English.”
“We're all going,” announced Dallas,
and made a dash for the stuffy little
bedroom off the studio.
Well, this wag a bit too informal.
“Going where?” inquired Dirk. The |
general, too, appeared bewildered.
Roelf explained, delightedly. “It’s
a plot. We're all going to drive out to
your mother’s. You'll £0, won't you?
You simply must.”
“Go?” now put in General Goguet.
“Where is it that we g0? I thought
we stayed here, quietly. It ig quiet
here, and no reception committees.
His tone was wistful,
Roelf attempted to make it clear.
“Mr. DeJong’s mother is a farmer.
You remember I told you all about her
in the ship coming over. She was
wonderful to me when I was ga kid.
She was the first person to tell me
what beauty was—is. She's magnifi-
cent. She raises vegetables.”
“Ah! A farm! But yes! I, too, am
a farmer. Well!” He shook Dirk’s
hand again. He appeared now for the
first time to find him interesting,
“Of course I'll go. Does mother
know you're coming? She has been
hoping she’d see you, but she thought
you'd grown so grand—"
“Wait until I tell her about the day
[ landed in Paris with five francs in
my pocket. No, she doesn’t know we're
coming, but she’ll be there, won't she?
I’ve a feeling she'll be there, exactly
the same. She will, won't she?”
“She’ll be there” It was early
spring; the busiest of seasons on the
farm,
They were down the stairs and off in
the powerful car that seemed to be at
the visitors’ disposal. Through the
loop, up Michigan avenue, into the
South side. Chicago, often lowering
and gray in April, was wearing gold
and blue today. The air was sharp,
but beneath the brusqueness of it was
8 gentle promise. Dallas and Pool
were much absorbed in Paris plans,
Paris reminiscences. “And do you re-
member the time we . . . only seven
francs among the lot of us and the
dinner was . , . you're surely coming
over in June, then... oils. . . you've
got the thing, Itell you . . . youll
be great, Dallas . . . remember what
Vibray sald . , . study . . . work . , .” |
nm
| faces.
| Her glance went inquiringly to the
Dirk was wretched. He pointed out
objects of interest to General Goguet.
Sixty miles of boulevard. Park sys-
tem. Finest, in the country. Grand
boulevard. Drexel boulevard. Jauck-
son park. Illinois Central trains. Ter-
rible, yes, but they were electrifying.
Going to make 'em run by electricity,
you know. Things wouldn't look so
dirty, after that. Halsted street.
Longest street in the world.
And, “Ah, yes,” said the general, p+
litely. “Ah, yes. Quite so. Most in-
teresting.”
The rich black loam of High Pral-
rie. A hint of fresh green things jus:
peeping out of the earth. Hothouses.
Coldframes. The farm.
“But 1 thought you sald it wes a
small farm!” said General Goguet, as
they descended from the car. He
looked about at the acreage.
“It is small,” Dirk assured him.
“Only about forty acres.”
“Ah, well, you Americans. In
France we farm on a very small scale,
You understand. We have not the
land. The great vast country.” He
waved his right arm. You felt that if |
the left sleeve had not been empty he
would have made a large and sweep-
ing gesture with both arms.
Selina was not in the neat, quiet
house.
in the yard. Meena Bras. phlegmatic
and unflustered, came in from the
kitchen. Mis’ DeJong was in the fields.
She would call her. “This she proceed-
ed to do by blowing three powerful
blasts and again three on a horn which
she took from a hook on the wall.
She stood in the kitchen doorway,
facing the fields, blowing, her red
cheeks puffed outrageously. “That
brings her,” Meena assured them; and
went back to her work. They came
out on the porch to await Selina. She
was out on the west sixteen—the west
sixteen that used to be unprolific, half-
drowned muckland. Dirk felt a little
uneasy, and ashamed that he should
feel so.
Then they saw her coming, a small
dark figure against the background of
sun and sky and fields. She came
swiftly, yet ploddingly, for the ground
was heavy. They stood facing her, the
four of them. As she came nearer
they saw that she was wearing a dark
skirt pinned up about her ankles to
protect it from the wet spring earth,
and yet it was spattered with a bor-
der of mud spots. A rough, heavy
gray sweater was buttoned closely
about the straight, slim body. On her
head was a battered soft black hat.
Her feet, in broad-toed sensible shoes,
she lifted high out of the soft, cling-
ing soil. Her hair blew a little in the
gentle spring breeze. Her cheeks were
faintly pink. She was coming up the
path now. She could distinguish their
She saw Dirk; smiled, waved.
others—the bearded man in uniform,
the tall girl, the man with the dark,
vivid face. Then she stopped, sudden-
ly, and her hand went to her heart as
though she had felt a great pang, and
| her lips were parted, and her eyes
enormous. As Roelf came forward
swiftly she took a few quick, running
steps toward him, like a young girl.
He took the slight figure in the mud-
spattered skirt, the rough gray sweater
and the battered old hat into his arms.
*® * * * * * *
They had had tea in the farm sitting
room and Dallas had made a little
moaning over the beauty of the Dutch
luster set. Selina had entertained
them with the shining air of one who
is robed in silk and fine linen. She
and General Goguet had got on fa-
mously from the start, meeting on the
common ground of asparagus culture.
“But how thick?” he had demanded,
for he, too, had his pet asparagus beds
on the farm in Brittany. “How thick
at the base?”
Selina made a circle with thumb and
forefinger. The general groaned with
envy and despair. He was very com-
fortable, the general. He partook
largely of tea and cakes. He flattered
Selina with his eyes. She actually dim-
pled, flushed, laughed like a girl. But
it was to Roelf she turned; it was cn
Roelf that her eyes dwelt and rested.
It was with him she walked when she
was silent and the others talked. It
was as though he were her one son,
and had come home. Her face was
radiant, beautiful.
Seated nexi to Dirk, Dallas said,
in a low voice: “There, that's what I
mean. That's what I mean when I
say I want to do portraits. Not por-
traits of ladies with a string of pearls
and one lily hand half hidden in the
folds of a satin skirt. I mean char-
acter portraits of men and women who
are really distinguished looking—dis-
tinguishedly American, for example—
like your mother.”
Dirk looked up at her quickly, half
smiling, as though expecting to find
her smiling, too. But she was not
smiling. “My mother!”
“Yes, if she'd let me. With that fine
splendid face all lit up with the light
that comes from inside; and the jaw-
line like that of the women who came
over in the Mayflower; or crossed the
continent in a covered wagon; and her
eyes! And that battered funny gor-
geous bum old hat and the white shirt-
waist—and her hands! She's beauti-
ful. She’d make me famous at one
leap. You'd see!”
Dirk stared at her. It was as though
he could not comprehend. Then he
turned in his chair to stare at his
mother. Selina was talking to Roelf.
“And you've done all the famous
men of Europe, haven't you, Roeif! To
think of it! You've seen the world,
and you've got it in your hand. Little
Roelf Pool. And you did it all alone.
In spite of everything.”
Roelf leaned toward her. He put
his hand over her rough one. “Cab-
bages are beautiful,” he sald. Then
they both laughed as at some exquisite
EK ln
She was not on the porch, or |
Joke. Then, seriously: “What a fine
life you've had, too, Selina. A full life,
and a rich one and successful.”
“I!” exclaimed Selina. “Why, Roelf,
I've been here all these years, just
where you left me when you were a
boy. I think the very hat and dress
I'm wearing might be the same I wore
then. I've been nowhere, done noth-
ing, seen nothing. When I think of all
the places I was going to see! All
the things I was going to do!”
“You've been everywhere in the
world,” said Roelf. “You've seen all
the places of great beauty and light.
You remember you told me that your
father had once said, when you were a
little girl, that there were only two
kinds of people who really mattered in
the world. One kind was wheat and
the other kind emeralds. You're wheat,
Selina.”
“And you're emerald,” said Selina,
quickly.
The general was interested but un-
comprehending. He gianced now at
the watch on his wrist and gave a
little exclamation. But the dinner!
Our hostess Madame Storm! It is very
fine to run away but one must cowe
back. Our so beautiful hostess.” He
had sprung to his feet.
“She is beautiful, isn’t she?" suid
Selina.
“No,” Roelf replied, abruptly. “The
mouth is smaller than the eyes. When
the mouth is smaller than the eyes
there is no real beauty. Now Dallas
here—"
“Yes, me,” scoffed Dallas, all agrin,
“There’s a grand mouth for you. If a
large mouth is your notion of beauty
then I must look like Helen of Troy to
you, Roelf.”
“You do,” said Roelf, simply.
Inside Dirk something was saying,’
over and over, “You're nothing but a
rubber stamp, Dirk DeJong. You're
nothing but a rubber stamp.” Over
and over.
“These dinners!” exclaimed the gen-
eral. “I do not wish to seem ungr-
cious, but these dinners! Much rather
would 1 remain here on this quiet
and beautiful farm.”
At the porch steps he turned, brought
his heels together with a sharp smack,
bent from the waist, picked up Selina’s
3
NE.
RR
IX W
He Picked Up Selina’s Rough Work-
Worn Hand and Kissed It.
rough work-worn hand and kissed it.
And then, as she smiled a little, un-
certainly, her left hand at her breast,
her cheeks pink, Roelf, too, kissed her
tand tenderly.
“Why,” said Selina, and laughed a
soft tremulous little laugh, “Why, I've
never had my hand kissed before.”
She stood on the porch steps and
waved at them as they were whirled
swiftly away, the four of them. A
slight straight little figure in the plain
white blouse and the skirt spattered
with the soil of the farm.
“You'll come out again?’ she had
said to Dallas. And Dahas had said
yes, but that she was leaving soon for
Paris, to study and work.
“When I came back you'll let me de
your portrait?”
“My portrait!” Selina had exclaimed
wonderingly.
Now as the four were whirled back
to Chicago over the asphalted Halsted
road they were relaxed, a little tired.
They yielded to the narcotic of spring
that was in the air.
Roelf Pool took off his hat. In the
cruel spring sunshine you saw that the
black hair was sprinkled with gray.
“On days like this I refuse to believe
that I'm forty-five. Dallas, tell me
Um not forty-five.”
“You're not forty-five,” said Dallas
in her leisurely caressing voice.
Roelf’s lean brown hand reached
over frankly and clasped her strong
white one. “When you say it like that,
Dallas, it sounds true.”
“It is true,” said Dallas.
They dropped Dallas first at the
shabby old Ontario street studio, then
Dirk at his smart little apartment, and
went on.
Dirk turned his key in the lock.
Saki, the Japanese housemun, slid
silently into the hall making litt.e liss-
ing noises of greeting. On the correct
little console in the hall there was a
correct little pile of letters and invita-
tions. He went through the Italian
living room and into his bedroom. The
Jap followed him. Dirk’s correct eve-
ning clothes (made by Peel the English
tailor of Michigan boulevard) were laid
correctly on his bed—trousers, vest,
shirt, coat; fine, immaculate.
“Messages, Saki?”
“Missy Stlom telephone.”
“Oh. Leave any message?”
“No. Say g'e call ’gain.”
“All right, Saki.” He waved him
away and out of the room. The man
went, and closed the door softly be-
hind him as a correct Jap servant
should. Dirk took off his coat, his
vest, and threw them on a chair near
the bed. He stood at the bedside look-
ing down at his Peel clothes, at the
glossy shirtfront that never bulged. A
bath, he thought, dully, automatically.
Then, quite suddenly, he flung himself
on the fine silk-covered bed, face down,
and lay there, his head in his arms,
very still. He was lying there half an
hour later when he heard the tele-
phone’s shrill insistence and Saki’s
gentle deferential rap at the bedroom
door.
[THE END.]
Primitive Customs in
Cornish Fishing Town
A place where grown men play mar-
bles with the zest of scliooiboys and
where cats catch live fish among the
rock poois when the tide is out. Such
a place ¢ es exist. and in the quaint
old fishing town of St. Ives, in far-
away Cornwall, these things may be
seen.
In the cool of the evening, along the
broad road bordering the sheltered
harbor, numerous groups of hardy fish-
ermen, with sea and sun-tanned com-
plexions, play marbles for hours at a
time, surrounded by many interested
onlookers, remarks London Tit-Bits,
Grizzled old mariners, many of
whom preserve the old Cornish custom
of wearing small gold earrings, pace
the quayside in parties of three and
four, following the “walk four steps
and turn,” which is all they are able
to do on the clear space on the decks
of their luggers.
There is a legend about the cats of
St. Ives, but there was surely never
another fishing town with so many
cats. Each morring, wilien the night's
catches of mackerel, dogfish and skate
are brought ashore, he fish are
cleaned on tables placed near the
water's edge and scores of cats have
a glorious feed on the offal.
Never Scrry That He
Stuck to Dependents
Nearly every one of us is helping to
take care of those unable to take care
of themselves. We generally consider
it a thankless task of which we would
gladly see the end. But once we be-
gin to help, the objects of our benevo-
lence have a way of hanging on for-
ever.
Here cnce more 1 had been obliged
at an early age to work out a guiding
principle. If I go on like this. I had
often said to myself, I shall have noth-
ing saved. Later I had to express it
in terms that applied to old age and
the future of my family. At times it
looked Ide a duty to abandon de-
pendents now, so that 1 myself might
be secured in the years to come.
But here I reasoned that I could
never be a loser from standing by
those who had a claim on me. It could
not be that having done what 1 could
for them I should be left with nothing
for myself. 1 was not generous at
heart; I was doing what I did only be-
cause there was no one else to under-
take it; but even so, it seemed to me.
the Giver of All Things would not de-
sert 8 man who was humbly trying to
be a giver in his turn.
And He never did. As the first of
each month came around, I always had
money, even at the worst of times, to
pay my bills and meet my obligations
of affection. There was often no more;
but there was that; and by the time
the first of the next month came round
the empty purse filled up again. Many
a time I was reminded, and I am re-
minded still, of the barrel of meal and
the cruse of oil of the widow of Sarep-
ta. “And the barrel of meal wasted
not, neither did the cruse of oil fail,
according to the word of the Lord.”—
Basil King, in Hearst's International.
————————————
Early Sunday School Werk
While the world’s convention was in
session in Glasgow recently Scotchmen
came forward with the claim that the
honor of starting the Sunday school
movement should not go to Robert
Raikes but to Christian workers who
carried on the same sort of work in
one of the cities of Scotland before
Raikes gathered his classes in Glou-
cester in 1780. Now we are told of a
Baptist deacon, William Fox, who ac-
tually began to teach the Bible to his
pupils in the school organized at Clap-
ton, England, in 1673, says the Detroit
News. Raikes continued his attention
to spelling, reading and arithmetic.
The first Bible school is said to have
been organized by Rev. Morgan John
Rhys at Cilfwnwr, near Swansea,
Wales, in 10648, and a student under
Rhys, Rev. Morgan Jones, driven out
by the act of uniformity, is said to
have come to Elmhurst, L. I, and be-
gun a Bible school in 1682, or 98 years
before Raikes,
Central Cooling
The new system of central cooling,
which has been perfected by experi-
ments in the School of Tropical Medi-
cine, Calcutta, may prove a key
which will open up the great potential
treasure-house of the tropics. By this
Bystem a special “cool room” can be
kept at a temperature from 20 to 30
degrees below the outside heat. This
is done by a forced supply of air,
; which is passed over the pipes of a re-
frigerating plant before it reaches the
room, while the relatively hot air al-
ready in it is drawn out. The room
Is specially insulated by cork. Experi-
ments over a period of two years prove |
the efficiency of the “cool room,” and
also that one can pass between it and
the warmer air outside without any
Injurious effect on health.
——1If it’s readable, it is here.
Normal Age Extended
by Modern Science
Americans are living longer today
than they did 50 years ago, but their
average life span is still about 15
years short of the biblical “three-score
and ten,” which is popularly supposed
to be the normal limit of human life,
At the present rate of increase it
will be another half century before the
average man or woman will be justified
in counting definitely on the 70 years
of existence mentioned by the Hebrew
poet, Dr. Harvey W. Wiley writes i»
Good Housekeeping.
In 18765, when the state of Massachu-
setts began compiling the statistics, in-
habitants of the United States died at
an average age of about 43%. By 1900
this figure had been increased to a
fraction under 48 and ten years later
to approximately 52. And in 1920, the
date of the latest available figures, the
average white child could be expected
to live almost exactly 55 years.
This steady improvement is due
largely to better protection of the new-
born, particularly the control of hot-
weather diseases among children. In-
fantile diarrhea or “summer com-
plaint,” which formerly brought death
to so many thousands of little ones, is
now known to be caused by the infec-
tion of food, and the modern mother
has learned to take special care to
avoid exposing her baby’s food supply
to diarrheal infection during the hot
months. As a result the infant death
rate has dropped from 14 per cent to -
about 9 per cent in the last 40 years.
Grownups, too, have learned to stave
off death from natural causes by
means of sanitation, proper diet and
vaccination. The whole theory of in-
fection, based upon Pasteur’s immortal
work, is now well known and under-
stood. Its understanding is not con-
fined alone to physicians and physiol-
ogists, but the mother and the father
and the young child have more or less
a working knowledge of how to pre
vent infection.
The average American woman lives
about three years longer than the aver-
age man. Kipling’s fling at females
needs a slight revision. It should read:
“The female of the species is more
vital than the male.”
It is also shown that the average
length of life of the colored race in
this country is at least 15 years less
than that of the white race.
Italy’s Heroes
One of the impressive features of
the procession in honor of Victor Em-
manuel’s twenty-fifth anniversary as
king of Italy, was the squad of 50
“Garibaldini” who more than half a
century ago fought their way with
“the liberator” from Marsala to Capua.
Not only in parades, but often on or-
dinary days one may see these pic-
turesque old men, with their red shirts
and their long white beards and fre-
quently in white trousers, hobbling
along the streets on canes, sometimes
mumbling to themselves and eyeing
curiously this noisy, white, modern
Rome, so different from the sleepy
reddish-brown city for which they of-
fered their lives. Is the reverence
which they inspire the product of a
romantic legend? Perhaps. But they
have a sound title to honor. They
never attacked a foe weaker in arms
and numbers than themselves. They
never persecuted the weak. They
never humiliated or mistreated a con-
quered foe. They never confiscated
the property of the poor. Not all the
younger Italians who have used vio-
lence for patriotic ends have as good
a record as theirs,
Romantic Robber
Beside her bed when she arose in
the morning the beautiful wife of a
wealthy merchant of Lugano, Switzer-
land, found her jewels done up in a
neat package and the following letter
written in Italian: ¢‘Signorina—Last
night I visited your flat when you
were asleep. As I had not the honor
of a personal invitation, I entered by
the open window—frankly in order to
rob you. You will notice that I col-
lected your jewels and some other val-
uables, which I am greatly ashamed
to say I intended taking with me. I
saw you sleeping peacefully and fell
in love with you. I sat by your bed-
side for ten minutes ‘devouring’ your
beauty, and became ashamed of my-
self. Therefore I restore you your
jewels. Your humble admirer.”
Might Be, You Know
A certain sour spinster always be-
came annoyed when asked a question
the answer to which she considered
obvious. Thus on the last night of
April last she asked the girl at the
hotel desk to call her early the next
morning by ringing her telephone bell
in her bedroom.
“To catch a train?” asked the girl,
pleasantly.
“For what other reason does one
wish to be called early?”
“Sometimes one is to be queen of
the May,” suggested the girl, still
pleasantly.
Her Occupation
Four year-old Marian was sitting on
the floor with a paper in her lap. Whi.e
thus engaged, a neighbor came in and
asked her what she was doing.
With a look of great importance,
Marian answered: “I'm doing a cuss-
word puzzle.”
Fertile Imagination
Frances, four years old, came run
ning to her mother and hid in her
skirts. Mother, surprised, asked the
cause of her fright.
“I was telling mvself a story I was
making up,” explained Frances, “and
there were wolves in {t—and—and 1
got scared!”