Bellefonte, Pa., June 1, 1928
A
ROOM ENOUGH FOR ALL.
Don’t crowd and push on the march of
life,
Or tread on each other's toes,
For the world at best, in its great unrest,
Is hard enough as it goes.
Oh, why should the strong oppose the
weak
Till the latter go to the wall
On this earth of ours, with its thorns
and flowers,
There is room enough for all.
If a lagging brother falls behind
And drops from the toiling band,
If fear and doubt put his soul to rout
Then lend him a helping hand.
Cheer up his heart with words of hope,
Nor season the speech with gall;
In the great highway, on the busiest day,
There's room enough for all.
If a man with the tread of a pioneer
Steps out on your track ahead,
Don’t grudge his start with an envious
heart,
For the mightiest once were led.
Dut gird your loins for the coming day—
Let nothing your heart appall;
Catch up if you can with the forward man
There is room enough for all.
And if, by doing your duty well,
You should get to lead the van,
Drand not your name with a deed
shame, ;
But come out an honest man. , -
Keep a bright lookout on every side,
Till, heeding the Master's call,
Your soul should go, from the world be-
low,
Where there's room enough for all
of
GET YOUR MAN.
Somewhere in Southampton there
is a large and lavish house called, for
ne particular reason, Great Meadows.
It has a banquet hall, a Roman swim-
ming-pool, a built-in organ, two pic-
ture galleries and, on the high stone
entrance gate-posts, half a dozen very
evil and not a very medieval gargoy-
les. It is lived in by an elderly couple
with poor digestions.
To the left of the house, quite a
distance away and wholly hidden by
the intervening shrubbery, is a smail
and charming cottage, very Queen
Anne. This is the alleged Dower
House and it is called Little Meadows.
It has a sun-porch, a garden and a
very small pool with obese goldfish.
Since income is income and living
is proportionately higher for the rich
than for poor, the cottage is rented
out every summer by the owners of
Great Meadows, to whom it belongs.
The rental is high even for South-
ampton. For it is considered that the
cottage derives much eclat from the
near-by benevolent presence of the
picture galleries and the banquet hall.
The tenants of Little Meadows are
always desirable and twice a season
oie with their landlords—not very
well, -
For several seasons the small house
has been leased by Mrs. G. Cunning-
ham Lawton, at no small sacrifice to
herself. 2
Mrs. Lawton was a widow with
three daughters and a moderate in-
come. Thus in twelve words you have
tragedy—in New York. For Mrs.
Lawton was to the manner born and
a1 that sort of thing, her position in
society being impeccable. It was un- i
fcrtunate that Lawton had died from :
terror brought on by unwise specula- |
tions, leaving his handsome and vi-
vacious widow with a trio of fledgling
g.1l children to educate and to marry
off. It was still more unfortunate
that the clever lawyers could salvage
so little for themselves and so much
less for the bereaved family.
At their father’s death Dora was
ten, Maude was eight and Letty was
six. They were healthy, husky chil-
den, all pretty, all well-mannered.
They took governesses, ponies, expen-
sive schools, silk smocks and dancing
slippers for granted. :
Mrs. Lawton had a good deal of
hard common sense. She mourned
her husband sincerely because she
had loved him. She was irritated by
his lack of foresight and the outburst
of recklessness which had caused him
to risk and to lose the major portion
of his inherited capital. However, it
was done and she had three growing
rroblems on her hands.
Remarriage did not appeal to her.
It would be, she reflected, a very un-
usual man who would be willing to
take over the support of three little
girls as well as of herself. Nothing
remained to her, as she saw it, but
to invest what money she had left in
her daughters, thus turning them
from liabilities into assets.
With care and management it could
be done. The girls must make bril-
liant matches. They promised beauty
and two of them, at least the elder
two, were docile. Letty at six showed
an extraordinary will of her own.
That, however, might be overcome.
Mrs. Lawton was no weakling. -
She therefore divided her time be-
tween living cheaply abroad and ex-
vensively at home. It was out of the.
question to educate the three girls
‘n America in the costly manner in
which they shou be eduacted.
Therefore she placed them in a good
and inexpensive school in Brussels
and she lived during the school term
in a quiet and equally inexpensive
pension near by. The Lawtons came
home for the summer vacations.
. As the girls grew up Mrs. Lawton
increased her expenditures during the
summer months. She took Little
Meadows and she settled down to a
planned campaign. People comment-
ed upon the charming and gentle
manners of the Lawton girls, They
spoke flatteringly of the advantages
. of a European education.
Mrs. Lawton’s methods with her
children were sound, thorough and
not crude, She gradually and clever-
ly instilled into the receptive young
brains the hunting technique of the
ages. The girls understood perfectly
that until Dora married, Maude and
Letty must be content with compara-
tively little. They must scrimp alo
as best they could. The same woul
hold true for Letty when Dora had
succeeded in her great quest and
Maude came next into the arena.
Therefore one girl at a time.
Dora and Maude made their debuts.
They made good debuts, solid, satis-
factory and not splashy. They be-
longed to the Junior League and they
never lacked invifations. Turn about.
The blond Dora first, for a season at
Palm Beach with her delightful and
expensive clothes, under the chaper-
onage of a kindly and impeccable
married couple. Next time it would
be Maude’s turn.
Thus far Mrs. Lawton’s plans had
proceeded without a hitch. It was
unfortunate that Dora did not marry
in her first season as that retarded
things somewhat for Maude. But
despite the inculcated rules, aran-
teed not to fail, Dora remained single
for two years. She was pretty, well-
bred, something of a linguist; she
was gentle, domestic and just athletic
enough to hold her own on links or
court. And having been taught that
men, or more specifically A Man,
would mean her salvation, she looked
up to the sex as superior and all-
provident.
But there are a great many preity
girls in the world and not enoug
young bachelors who are also million-
aires to go around. In despair and
also in love, Dora Lawton married the
delightful young secretary of a steel
magnate and settled down in the
Oranges, quite happily.
Mrs. Lawton made no scenes.
There was nothing she could do to
advantage. At least Jimmy Peters
would support her child, and if he
could contribute nothing to the two
remaining campaigns, Dora was off
her hands. Next came Maude, dark
and rather dashing, encouraged to a
little genteel daring and rather famed
as an amateur swimmer. Mrs. Law-
ton had not believed in compressing
her three into one mold; she studied
their types and allowed them, within
limits, to develop their personalities.
Maude’s debut was even better than
Dora’s. She had two Florida seasons.
She was a litle shrewder than Dora,
a little harder. She went out on the
chase with something of the spirit
of Diana. She was almost within
sight of her goal—bland and plenty
millions—when she incontinently fell
in love with a he-man from Texas
who raised cattle but was no Croesus.
Being by nature ardent and demand-
ing, she married him forthwith, and
proceeded to bury herself in the
Southwest, where, she announced, she
intended to have a baby a year and
to study lynching.
Mrs. Lawton was downcast but she
was not beaten. She no longer had
Maude to clothe and to feed. There
remained her one last card, little red-
headed Letty, the last of the trio, one
most difficult in many ways the most
attractive. Surely one out of three.
Letty was now twenty. She under-
stood what was expected of her. The
other two girls had been of a decent
reticence, but Letty was appalingly
frank. Her sisters had failed in their
quest for the Golden Fleece, Letty
reflected with a grin, and it was now
her turn to make an attack upon mas-
culine susceptibilities and bark ac-
counts and by her success honorably
to retire her mother from those lists
which were beginning to sharpen her
classic’ features and whiten her nat-
urally bronze hair.
“I'll do it or die!” vowed Letty.
Today, which was a week-day in
July, she sat on the steps of the cot-
tage, Little Meadows, with her point-
ed chin in her hands, deep in medita-
tion. She was reflecting upon her
weapons.
Youth, gaiety, good looks, good
clothes and a very excellent training
in the greatest of all sports—big
game hunting. And an ability, she
thought, to profit by her sisters’ mis-
takes. For they had made mistakes,
certainly, or it would have been Park
Avenue and the East and not Orange
and somewhere-near-Dallas.
She ran over mentally the methods
which she had watched Dora and
Maude employ.
Be athletic—if he is.
Don’t be too athletic—no man
likes a woman to beat him at his own
game. .
Cling a little but withhold a little
more.
Learn to cook. Be interested in
food.
Let him talk about himself. Never
switch the subject.
Never, as you value your life, pur-
sue.
There seemed to be a million other
regulations but these appeared the
most important.
Dora and Maude had obeyed . all
these little behests. Had it got them
anywhere much? It had not! ob-
served their little sister. There must
be something wrong with the system.
She rose and strolled into the house
just as the maid was bringing the tea
things. She cast herself upon a con-
venient divan and viewed her stately
parent, who was sitting erect in a
tall-backed chair and handling the
teacups deftly.
“Mortimer Evans is returning to
this country. He will be at Great
Meadows next week,” observed Mrs.
Lawton casually.
Letty sat up straight on the divan;
her leaf-brown eyes sparkled. Ab-
sently she accepted a cup of tea and
a lettuce sandwich which she nibbled
just as absently.
Her little ears were pricked under
the thick thatch of cropped and curly
hair. Her heart beat a little faster.
It was as if, after hunting rabbits,
she should suddenly be asked to par-
ticipate in a lion hunt.
Mortimer Evans was the nephew of
the owner of Great Meadows. He
was, so legend had it, the most bor-
ed young man in the world. He had
so much money that even rich folk
spoke of him with awe. He would
inherit more when his uncie died of
indigestion. He had half a dozen
houses and a couple of yatchs. He
played the finest game of polo in
America; he was thirty years old;
he had not figured in any too-horrible
scandals; he was completely orphan-
ed. And yet, despite rumors, no wor
man had bien i in putting her
brand upon him. He was the most
indefatigably hunted young man in
America.
“Mrs. Evans spoke of our coming
to dine,” remarked Mrs. Lawton in
a tone of extreme ennui. :
ans was young Mortimer’s
Letty gave a moment’s considera-
tion to her wardrobe.
“That will be nice,” she observed
briefly and wriggled her slim shoul-
ders as a litle ripple of excitement
coursed through her being. ;
Mrs. Lawton gave a nod, a cryptic
gesture. Letty had, to be sure, a will
of her own, but Letty, she reflected,
had more brains than the other two
girls put together.
The night was fixed for the ten-
ants of Little Meadows to go up to
Great Meadows and dine. Letty
stood before the mirror when the
ye came to start and surveyed her-
self.
A silver gown. Daring but not
too daring. A hint of jade at her
ears, a jade holder for her cigaret.
Silver slippers and stockings woven
as of moonlight. Entirely new, this
outfit. Her mother had remarked
with utmost carelesness:
“You had better come to town with
me and get one or two little things.
The sea air. Hard on frocks.”
frocks.”
Letty studied her face, its charm,
its irregularities, its good points, its
poor. he nose wasn’t much, the
mouth wide, scarlet, laughing, the
skin as perfect as nature and care
could make it, the eyes very lively.
There were dozens of girls right
here in Southampton with more claim
to beauty.
She sat down in a low chair. She
rehearsed all the rules. Then she
thought, sitting up very straight: But
—everyone knows ‘em. And—they
don't always work . . .
Why not, she asked herself in a
flash of excitement, reverse them?
It wouldn’t hurt—to try?
Her mother called so she picked up
her cloak and went down-stairs. The
small car which Mrs. Lawton main-
tained waited at the door. The two
women settled themselves and rode
up the driveway of Great Meadows in
silence.
Had Mrs. Lawton spoken she would
But such words had no place in
Mrs. Lawton’s phraseology.
said nothing until after they reached
the portals when, alighting, she mur-
mured plaintively in Letty’s ear that
she hoped old Mr. Evans would temp-
er his meal for the prodigal nephew
for once. She was tired, she inti-
mated, of a thin soup, an entree, bran
biscuit, fruit salad and one glass of
claret.
The Evanses’ dinner-party was a
small one. There were two other
girls besides Letty, very pretty girls,
very rich girls. ere were some
young men and an elderly bachelor
of standing to take Mrs. Lawton In
and three couples of uncertain age.
e meal was not served in the ban-
quet hall and was an improvement on
the usual regime of the family.
Letty sat opposite Mortimer Evans.
He was tall and rather blond. Very
tanned, He looked excessively bored.
He had beautiful teeth and attractive
ugliness of countenance. He wore
insolent manner. He sat between the
two other girls, who fluttered and
cooed and were provocative, while
he listened, barked at them now and
then and looked more bored than
ever.
Letty’s eyes brightened. Very big
game, very difficult, very worth
while. She had determined to play
—but differently, She would smash
every known rule to smithereens.
She had only one rule that she kept
inflexible secret, her own. She look-
ed at him again and experienced a
breathless excitement. She thought
it would not be hard to obey that
regulation!
| After dinner there was a little
, dancing for the young people and
| bridge for the elders. Letty and
| Mortimer Evans danced together
once. Mrs. Lawton, rising, while
dummy, to view the youngsters with
a tolerant smile, saw this with some
| anxiety. The other two girls were
much more in evidence than her own
| child. She went back to the bridge
table and overbid her hand out of
she«r nervousness,
Letty gave herself to Mortimer
Evan’s whipcord arms. He danced
very well. So did she. She did not
utter a word during the progress of
the fox-trot.
When the music—which was a
superior phonograph—ceased, he said
suddenly:
“Why so silent?”
“I didn’t feel like talking,” she
answered, looking at him very direct-
ly with no—discernible—trace of
coquetry.
Mortimer Evans laughed. “And
do you always do just what you feel
like doing?” he asked.
“Always,” was her answer and that
constituted their exchange of civili-
ties for the evening.
On the way home Mrs. Lawton
sighed against the upholstery of the
car. Questions burned on her lips.
What did he say? When will you see
him again Why did you dance with
him only once? But she asked noth-
ing. She was far too wise.
The following morning Letty en-
countered her prey on the bathing
beach. She looked at him critically.
Lean but not too lean. Very brown.
Nice legs. She. suffered no disillu-
sionment.
He did not come near her. Her
cue, of course, was to remain at her
distance until the Overlord signaled
his approval by an approach, or else
to close in by skillful and imper-
ceptible means. She walked up to
him as he stood smoking in a circle
of young people—mostly girls.
“Come and swim,” said Letty.
He looked at her in amazement. He
was so dazed that he allowed himself
to be detached from the group and
followed her into the cold, buoyant
water. Letty turned over on her
back, exhibited her slim green legs
to the biue sky overhead and stared
into the distance.
“Nice,” she murmured drowsily.
He said in the fashion that had
never yet failed to disconcert the
doves: “Why did you drag me away?”
“I' wanted to.. You looked so bored,
I was bored too. But do keep quiet.
have said: “A mother expects every
daughter, this day, to do her duty.” .
So she .
good clothes carelessly. He had an
To his astonishment he remained
there with her. What an odd little
person!
After a while she said: ‘I’ve had
enough. Let’s go and sit on the
beach. Have you cigarets in your
bathrobe ?”
He had. They found a sunny and
more or less solitary spot and sat
down tingling and dripping. Mrs.
Lawton, not far off, under a scarlet
beach umbrella, observed them. Real-
ly she might have known she could
depend on Letty.
Letty was still silent. She seemed
as bored as Evans usually felt. He
experienced a sudden desire to en-
tertain her. It was rarely that he
exerted himself but he did so now.
He told her, sifting the warm sand
through his fingers, of an ex-
perience he had had swimming off
some obscure Greek island or other.
He on waiting for the ex-
clamations of astonishment and at-
tention that usually came when he
condescended to tell this particular
tale—and which was not often. Letty
lay back against a heap of sand and
smoked with her eyes shut.
“Why,” she asked, abruptly, “must
‘men always talk about themselves?”
He stared at her. There seemed no
adequate answer.
“If you expect me to be flattered
by your interest in your own exploits,
Othello, &he remarked, yawning,
“you're mistaken. I'm sleepy. But
go on talking. I like it. It’s like
being read aloud to.”
She turned over, put a slender tan-
ned arm under her head and fell in-
stantly asleep.
Evans gazed at her in wonder. He
had never met such a rude young wo-
man in all his life. Women were nev-
er rude to him. You don’t insult
bachelors and bank accounts, not if
you're in your senses. He marveled
why he did not rise and leave this in-
solent chit. But he did not. He re-
mained where he was, watching her
even breathing, and smoking ciga-
and unrest of blue water. Down the
and the flash of white arms and the
i colorful display of scant bathing
suits. Here, with Letty asleep be-
side him, there was rest and peace
and time for reflection.
In half an hour she woke up, wide
awake as a child, flushed from her
perfectly genuine nap, and smiled at
m.
“Thanks. I had a lovely sleep.”
She got to her feet and held out her
hands. “Come along.”
Mechanically he took her cool fin-
gers in his brown clasp and rose to
his feet.
“I'm going in,” said Letty. “What
are you doing this afternoon?”
“I hadn't planned—” he muttered.
“Let's play some golf. ‘Ill expect
you at Little Meadows at two. Give
me a stroke a hole if you're any
good.”
She nodded, smiled fleetly and ran
down the beach. Evans stayed where
| he was, gaping unbecomingly. What
the devil was her game?
| Walking thoughtfully back to the
bathing houses he wondered—had
she a game at all?
‘They golfed. She played a good
game, he played a better. He was as-
tonished to find himself on the links
at all. He had not meant to show up.
But something after two o'clock
found him at Little Meadows.
“I hope I haven’t kept you wait-
ing,” he began mechanically as she
appeared, slender and gay in a sweat-
_er suit of green.
| “Ten minutes.
. much.”
| He followed her out to his small
foreign car with his head spinning.
It wasn’t fair. They always said,
hastily, “Oh, not at all—I just this
It doesn’t matter
they pouted, “It's been ages—how
could you?” and looked at him slant-
wise through long lashes.
Letty’s lashes were not long, he
observed. They were short and thick
‘and rayed out from her brown slightly
almond-shaped eyes like those of a
Japanese doll.
ey had tea. He found himself
exerting himself to entertain her.
When they came back to the house
she asked :
“Are you going over to Good.
Ground for the Morrows’ supper
dance tonight?”
He answered cautiously : “I hadn't
made up my mind.”
“Well, let’s go,” said she casually.
“I'll be ready at nine.”
She threw him a smile and a little
nod and disappearad into the house.
He remained on the door-step, in deep
puzzled thought.
How did she get that way ? He
hadn’t wanted to go. He had no in-
tention of taking her. He wouldn't
go
At nine o’clock he arrived in the
little car. Letty came out immediate.
ly, climbed in beside him and sighed
with satisfaction as they spun over
the Shinnecock Hills under a rising
moon.
The supper dance proved amusing
after all. He had not danced with
many other girls, Letty appeared to
claim him, frankly.
Once they wandered out and con-
templated the old figurehead in front
of the hotel.
“I'm going to climb up!” announc-
ed Letty. :
“Why on earth?”
“Oh, one does. You kiss the brute
or something and then make a wish.”
She raised a small foot and climbed
nimbly, implanted a loud salute on
the impassive cheek and then climbed
down again.
“What did you wish for?” he
asked, conscious of being on old, fa-
miliar ground.
“Oh, I didn’t wish.”
“Really 7”
“No, what’s the use? I can get
anything I want by myself. I do
not need a wooden figure to help me,”
said Letty scornfully.
“You're a very determined young
woman.”
“Yes,” agreed Letty simply.
On the way back they stopped on
the road to contemplate the silver
shining of the bay. The hills were
back of them, around them, lovely and
mysterious. Letty sighed.
I want to loaf and invite my soul.” |
|
minute came down-stairs,” or else
i like: me—that’s obvious.
“It’s a very sentimental night,” she
observed. “You’d better kiss me.”
Young Mr. Evans nearly fell out of
the car. Of course girls had asked
him to kiss them before—but not in
so many words. Letty lay back with
her eyes shut and waited. If her
heart was pounding in her throat, if
her eyes were burning back of their
shut lids, if her hands were icy cold,
she made no sign. :
Evans bent swiftly and kissed her
lightly on the mouth. She sat up.
Lazy but not cold hands held him
closer. She returned his kiss with an
authentic, if honestly inexperienced,
ardor. Then she sat up still straight-
er and frustrated a second attempt
on his part.
“That's enough. It made it perfect.
Now let's go home.”
He found his hands shaking as he
laid them on the wheel. He found
himself unable to speak. Of course
it didn’t matter. He'd kissed girls
before . . .
They drove home in complete si-
lence. When they had arrived, she
gave a firm little hand into his clasp,
looked into his eyes and said,
“Thanks,” and ran into the house.
It was four minutes before he
turned the car and started back to
Great Meadows.
Well, he’d be all-fired. He'd keep
away from her. He tried.
He was not on the beach the next
morning. He was nowhere to be seen.
Letty made inquiries, guarded and
shrewd.
He had taken his car, she learned
from his aunt, and gone on a little
trip. Oh, just Shelter Island. For
luncheon. For the ride. Alone? Yes,
indeed.
Letty returned home after her
swim. She lunched and then ordered
the car. She directed the chauffeur
to take her to the ferry at Fairhaven.
Evans would return that way.
Arriving at Fairhaven, she got out,
dismissed the car car and went down
to the empty beach. She made her-
self comfortable there, produced
rets. Before him there was the heave | three apples, a box of cigarets, a par-
asol and a book. There she stayed
beach ‘there was tal and laughter for three mortal hours, waiting and
watching.
The sun was low when she saw the
maroon roadster. Her eyes were
good—the boat was still in mid-
stream.
She rose, closed her book and her
parasol, and walked toward the land-
ing. She had had a very pleasant
and drowsy afternoon.
“Hello!”
He pulled up the car and stared at
her in astonishment. She climbed in
beside him and grinned amiably.
“What in the world are—you doing
here?”
“Waiting for you,” Letty answered.
The car gyrated. He pulled it back
into the road. “For me?” :
“Yes, your aunt said you'd gone to
Shelter Island. I drove down to the
ferry and had a nice, lazy afternoon
on the beach.”
He was so astonished that he asked,
“Why 7”
“Why? Oh, because I wanted to.
You are the only interesting man in
Southampton. The rest bore me.
Women bore me, too. There is no use
trying to get away from me. You
And you’re
nearly as bored with Southampton
and its people as I am. So why’ not
be honest about it?”
- He looked at her frowningly. Then
he laughed. “Are you telling the
truth ?”
“I couldn’t be bothered to’ lie,” she
answered, “and I don’t see why peo-
ple do. It’s so much simpler the oth~
er way.”
He stopped the car.
kiss you—little witch.”
“Oh, don't be silly. I don’t want
to kiss you—now. When I do I'll let;
you know.”
But he kissed her.
face,
“But the other night you—" he said
so bewildered that he forgot to be
angry—“and you said—you liked
me!”
“I do. But I don’t want to be
kissed. At least not here and ROW:
There’s a season for all things. EF
want to go and have tea.”
They went. They had tea.”
It was as she had warned him. It
was impossible to escape her. If he
ran: away she ran after him. She
made no bones about it. She simply
said when she had found him:
“What on earth made you go to all
that bother? You know that we have
a better time together than when we
are apart.” :
“Letty,” he asked her once, walking
in the magnificent rose garden of the
Great Meadows, “Letty, I thought: I
knew all the ropes. But I don’t. Just
“I'm going to
She slapepd his
what sort of of flirtation is this one,,
anyway ?”
She stopped on one side of a tall
sun-dial and regarded him thoughful-.
ly. There was enough starlight. He
could see her small white face, the
tossed hair. She spoke deliberately: -
“I'm not flirting with you.”
“What on earth are "you doing;
then 7”
“I'm being entirely natural, I sup-
pose. Obey that impulse—you know.
Oh, don’t stand there like a stuffed"
owl in a dinner jacket. How old are
you? Thirty? I'm twenty, this is
summer and night-time and a rose-
garden—come here and kiss me and’
don’t talk so much.”
He obeyed, like a man in a dream.
She went to his arms with the fanni-.
est little crow of satisfaction. She
kissed. She said, “you're a darling!”
and kissed him again.
He said, huskily: “You—TI can’t let
you go, really. You're so generous,
Letty.” ’
She took his hands and led him to
a marble bench over which the dark-
ly fragrant standing reses leaned.
“Sit down.”
He put his arm around her but she
wriggled away and faced him from
the corner of the curved seat:
“Listen to me, Mort. Do you l-like
me?”
“I think I am in love with you. At
least I supopse it’s that—I've never
been in love with anyone before—
have you?”
He was absolutely disconcerted. He
said, with an effort: “I’ve thought ‘so.
I've always run away before. You
see, Letty, the money and all=-"’
—— rem tetera rte
this time,” she annouriced firmly, “be-
cause I want you and I'm going to
have you. And I think you're an im-
becile about your old money. You're
attractive enough to have all the love
you want even if you didn’t have a
cent. I'm glad you have, though. I
like the things it can buy. I'd marry
a poor man tomorrow if I loved him,
but I'd a darn sight rather marry a
rich one—if I loved him. The trou-~
ble with you is that you have an in-
Jerlorey complex due to your bank-
book. You're not bored, really. That's:
all legend. You've just taken refuge:
in camouflage—you know—protective-
coloration. For heaven’s sake, be nat--
ural for once. If you havent the-
courage to take a c e in this:
world you'll never get very far. You:
can’t help your money, can you ?:
You'd really not want to be without:
it. You know, Mort, we can have a
perfectly marvelous time, you and I”
He understood dimly that she was.
proposing to him—if it could be:
called that. He did not care. He on-
ly knew that the weight of gold was:
suddenly off his heart and that he was:
twenty-one again and as reckless and!
happy as even at twenty-one he had:
never been. He put out long arms
and took her to him, and kissed her-
savagely and tenderly, and savagely
and tenderly she kissed him back:
again.
“Letty—Letty—I love you terri--
bly.”
“Me, too,” said Letty, in a smalll
muffled voice. “I'm perfectly crazy:
about you. But oh, Mort, how slow
you've been!” After a while she drew
him to his feet. “We'll go in and tell
the family,” she said contentedly.
“You know, Mort, you look about.
ten times handsomer now that you're:
letting yourself be natural—and you:
were attractive enough before, as any--
one knows. Come on in and break:
the news before you weaken.”
Just before they got to the house:
she said “You'll never be sorry, Dar--
ling. After all, it had to happen to.
you some day.”
He laughed. He knew he'd never
be sorry. He thought to himself . . ..
all I ever wanted, all I ever hoped to.
find . . . love and youth and beauty-
—and absolute sincerity. He looked:
down into her eyes and said to her,.
gravely gay:
“You're the only genuine human be--
ing I've ever me; in my life.”
She answered softly: “I know. It's:
not worth while to be anything else..
You're always found out.”
Hand in hand and perfectly happy;
loving each other so much that they
were illuminated with it, that it ra-
diated from them, star-dust and
moonlight, they went into the house.
—By Faith Baldwin in Cosmopolitan.
Changes Announced in Game Regu-
lations, = 5
The entire State will be open to the:
shooting of female deer betweem De-.
{cember 1 and 15 of the present Year,,
while killing bucks will be punishable.
with a $100 fine, under new regula--
tions issued by the board of game:
commissioners. The board also has:
announced drastic changes in the:
(small game seasons.
| The action of the board was taken:
! after reports had been. received from:
several sectiens of the State telling-
of the scarcity of forage and the re--
| sultant death of deer.
he season for killing of bear has.
been lengthened: and will be from No--
i vember’ 1 to December 15. During:
November hunters may pursue them
only: on. Thursday, Friday and Satur-
days. In December the usual six
day hunting willl be allowed.
The Thursday, Friday and Satur--
day plan also will govern the killing
of pheasants, quail, woodcock, male
ring-neck pheasants and the three:
specigs: of, squirrels. The season for-
them will: be fram October 15 to No-
. vember 30,
! The rabbit; season will be from Oc-
tober 15 to. December 15 with the:
three day stipulation in operation un-
til: Dacember 1.. In December the us--
‘ual six day hunting will be allowed.
| Raccoansy under the new plan, may"
be hunted from October 15 to Novem-
ber 80; inclusive. They may be:
trapped; only during November. The:
season limit was fixed at 15.
Erecting New. Penitentiary.
G. W.. Hunt; deputy secretary of"
the department. of welfare, reported:
“good progress! inthe building of the-
new. eastern penitentiary at Grater-
ford, after an. inspection. of the work:
under - way. :
The railroad bridge across: the: Per--
kiomen is completed and.it.is expect--
ed, that the grading for the railroad
tracks will be finished by June 1.
The. temporary barracks also will:
be completed then and the manage--
ment will be prepared to transfer 300
prisoners.. One. hundred’ and’ forty-
six prisoners are now housed at the
institution in. the. remodeled farm:
house and in tents.
Recently a deep well with a power
‘| pump . was completed giving the in-
stitution a supply of 100 gallons per:
minute of good water.
The:new wall to surround the main:
buildings and enclosing approximate-
ly sixty-two acres will be started in:
the near future: It is expected that’
three sections of this wall with the
towers. will be erected" this year,
a ——— Qe ————————
The Brain Athletes Compete.
A new kind of college athletic con-
test took place just recently when two:
teams of 10 students each met in com-
petition between Hédrvard and Yale,
to see which should: pass the best ex-
amination in English’ composition and’:
literature.
Heretofore, it has seemed as if the
physical athletes gpt most: of the:
scholastic glory. ow if ‘many col-
leges and schools would go in for
these: brain competitions, success in
scholarship would ‘be more highly es-
teemed.
There seems a certain dispropor-
tion when a- successful football play--
er is acclaimed over the entire length
of the country, while the fine scholar
may be hardly known in his own col-
lege.
——The Watchman gives all. the.
“Well, there’s no use running-away.! news while. itis. news.