jJiPj ReadiiNfl and all ike fcrhißj jjjPU ; The : I Daredevil sfc K ■ By ■ Maria Thompson Daviess ' Author of 'The MeltinJ * of Molly" j t Copyright. 1915, by the Reflly ft ' Britton Co. >♦♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ (Continued) And with those Kind words from the poor female, who was beginning again to sob, but with another mo tive in her weeping, I took my de parture down the street—or up—l did not know in just which direction. I had the intention of returning to the house of the party to obtain the cherry, which I had left standing before the door, and in it convey the message to my Gouverneur Faulk ner that should bring relief to his anxiety, but I soon found that I had lost myself upon streets that I had . never seen before. What was it that. I should do? My heart suffered that my Gouverneur Faulkner should not know the relief of that paper I had in the pocket of my dinner coat, but I could not find myself, and I did not know exactly what questions I should ask. Then 1 "bethought me of that telephone, which in America is so much used. / but not in France. I entered into a store for medicines upon the corner of one of the streets in my wander ing, looked diligently in a book to find the number of the mansion of the gouverneur, and, after many tell ings of my desire at last my Gouv erneur Faulkner made an answer In my ear that was as beautiful In voice as the words he spoke to me in his presence. "Well?" he asked me. "This is Robert Carruthers who speaks." "Oh. all right youngster! How did the party go?" "That was a very nice party, your excellency, and I have a paper from that Mary Brown concerning the murder of the brother of good Timms for cruelty to Mary. I wish to give it to you." "What do you mean, boy?" "I have said it." "Then bring it here to me at once and tell me how you got it." "I cannot come to you." "Then I'll come to you. Where are you?" "I do not know. I am lost." "Heavens, boy, what do you mean?" "I am in a store of medicine that Is many streets from that house of good Mary Brown and also from the house of the dinner party." "You helpless young idiot, call a taxi and come right here to me." "I am promised to a dance with l Mile. Belle by the hour of 10, of which it lacks now only a quarter. Daily Dot Puzzle 12 13 • • *ll '. 4 1 • 15 * i W 3 a. ;OMC WHERE sjwlo plkce FOR xoo co,nc? j IN FRANCE;; i Cannot I go in that taxicab, which I it is of much intelligence of you to suggest to me, and send by that taxi cab to you the paper from Mary Brown while 1 stay to dance that dance?" "Well I'll be— No, X can't it over the telephone." "What is it, my Gouverneur Faulkner?" "I'll say it in the morning to you ! in person. I'll just hold up the wheels' of state until that dance is over. Go ! ahead, youngster. I'll sand Jenkins to get the paper, and you can—can tell me all about it in the morning. Will 9 o'clock be too early to call you from your rosy dreams?" "I do not have coffee until 9 o'clock, my Gouverneur Faulkner, and I do not make a very hurried toilet, but I will come to you at the capitol at 9 o'clock, if you so com mand, very gladly." "Oh, no. We'll all of us just—just cool our heels until you get your cof fee and toilet. Don't hurry, 1 beg of you. Good night, and beat it to Belle as Buzz would say. Good night, you— you— But I'll say it in the morning if it takes a half day. Good night again." And with that parting salu tation my Gouverneur Faulkner's voice died from the telephone with what 1 thought had the sound of a very nice laugh. CHAPTER XI. "Bcliolil, I Am a Spy" When I awakened the next morn ing, because of that dancing, behold, it was 10 of the clock and 11 thereto before I arrived in a very great hurry with much pinkness of cheeks in the office of the Gouverneur Faulkner at the capitol of the stata of Harpeth. "Good morning, Robert,' he said to me with a laugh as he came and stood close beside me. That Roberta, marquise of Grez and Bye, will blush within me when that beloved gouv erneur comes very close beside her, in a way that is an embarrassment to Robert Carruthers, his secretary. "And now tell me what you said to that stupid Mary Brown that made her see the light?" he asked me, with his fine eyes looking into mine with a great interest and something of ad miration. "I asked of her if she would no* throw herself before that beloved! Rood Timrns if a knife was aimed at | his heart, and she perceived from! that question that she must give to' me the paper. A heart that haajelt a j great tragedy draw near a beroved one can speak without words to an- i other who sees also a beloved in j danger. Is it that you slept in ease, my Gouverneur Faulkner, after you | had received that paper? It grieved j me that you should sit at work while I was at dancing," I answered to him as I drew nearer and laid my hand with timidity upon the sleeve of his coat. "Heavens, boy! Do they grow many like you in France?" was the answer that the great Gouverneur Faulkner made to me as he looked down Into the adoration of my eyes raised to his. with a question that was of deep bewilderment. "France has grown many young and fine men who—who die, my Gouverneur Faulkner for her in the trenches, where I must soon go," I answered him. with my head drawn to its entire height in the likeness of the old marquise of Grez and Flan ders. "When you go into the trenches of France, youngster, the state of Har peth will havp a governor on leave in the same trench," answered me that| Gouverneur Faulkner, with a veryj gentle hand laid on the sleeve of my | coat above the bandages of my; wound and a glow of the star in his i eyes. "Brothers by bloodshed, Mar quise of Grez and Bye." "Roberta, marquise of Grez and j ; Bye, how will you even gain the ref- j use of your petticoats and get away j from these lies of dishonor if you are i ; to be so pursued by—" I was asking; , myself when my uncle, the General j Robert, opened the door and said: I (To bo Continued) All's Well That A? Ends Well M BY JAKE McLEAN "I must have left it In that book I took back to the library," Molly exclaimed suddenly remembering that she had been reading it the day she returned her weekly supply of books. The thing in question was a letter, an Important letter that she had written to her dearest woman friend. Molly was a lonely little thing and lived a lonely life. She had just one dear friend who taught school In Manila, and because the dis tance between them was so great they had clung to each other, and their letters were always fat and each was filled with the heart se crets of the other. "Of course I don't suppose any one will read it," Molly reminated. "Mercy I hope not; I should hate to think that anyone would be able to believe me so utterly foolish. What difference does it make if I don't go to Cedar Crest. I can have just as good a time on a farm." Molly had not always been poor, and because of that, it hurt worse when she had to go without pleas ures. And Molly still kept up ap pearances and went about with her old friends, for she was a very im portant .little person, In deed, and was genuinely liked for herself alone. Everyone knew that the fateful Davenport pride would have been up In arms If it had been ever so lightly suggested that she was an outsider, and therefore Molly was treated just like the others, and no one but Luella, way out in the Phil ippines knew how she pieced and patched and wore her old clothes, but nevertheless always managed to look well. This year she had saved up all the small earnings that came to her quarterly from what was left from her father's estate, and she was go ing to spend every cent on a real vacation. She was going away where her wardrobe wouldn't mat ter and where she could rest. For Molly Davenport was a secretary for one of her father's acquaintances. Unused to hard work, there were times when she never wanted to see a typewriter again. She had been contented with the idea of going away by herself where she could be natural, when the won derful invitation had come to spend a month at Cedar Crest. That invi tation changed her entire scheme. To go to Cedar Crest and see as much as she wanted to of Bartly Coombs, that was the most wonder ful tfiing that could happen to her. For Molly hui seen a great deal of Bartly Coomfls of late, and as she was a lonely little thing at heart, notwithstanding her many friends, there had been something about this man that had attracted her deeply. She felt that they might get to be real friends, as she and Luella were, and it would be so perfectly splendid to have a man friend and to be able to do things that she liked to do with him. But to go to Cedar Crest, where the other gli'ls would have perfect wardrobes for every occasion, and to flaunt before the eyes of the man she wanted to think her perfect, her own poor little supply of made over clothes would never do. Don't blame Molly too severely, you readers who are probably saying to yourselves that she should have had better sense. If you are young you know how essential pretty clothes are to a girl and how foolish a girl can be over the lack of them .and If you are not so young, perhaps you can remember back far enough to ad mit the truth. But Molly, after a good think about it, had given up the trip to Cedar Crest cheerfully er.cugh. It was only In the still watches of the night when she had poured out her heart to L,uella, that Molly's real longing had been voiced, and then she had accidentally left the letter in a library book. The library was one of those new fiction libraries, wherein the novels of the day are circulated. Molly be longed because evenings when she had nothing to do she read of life and romance and lots of things that she secretly craved, and the books, although light, did their part In passing many lonely hours for the girl. Hurrying around to the li brary, where she was- well known, Molly made inquiries about her precious letter. Had any one re turned it? Oh, she did hope so; It was such an Important letter and ought to go off at once. "Here's something that was left for you. Miss Davenport," said one of the young woman attendant*. "Mrs. Crlder left It, do you know her?" ' Molly took the thick envelope, the blood burning In her cheeks. No, she did not know Mrs. Crlder, but she knew one thing, she was dis gustingly rich and disgustingly sel fish. Of course, It had been Molly's luck to leave her letter In the book HAKRISBURG TELEGRAPH that Mrs. Crider had taken out. With trembling fingers Molly drew out her own letter and another that accompanied it. The letter was from Mrs. Crider herself and ran as fol lows: "I know li'ho you are, child, be cause I knew your father. People think I don't know much, but I do know girls. 1 was a foolish girl myself once. You are going to Cedar Crest after all, and I am send ing you something for your ward robe. Come and see me when you get back, you can tell me all about the engagement. If you have any idea of sending the check back, re member that I read all of your let- j ter and I know a lot about you. But \ I'll never tell any one if you're a good girl and follow out the scheme of a lonely and crankly and very rich old lady." BOOKS AND MAGAZINES "Does war make literature, or break it?, asks Barton Blake edi torally in Collier's. "When one reads of the death of a Brooke or a Seeg er," he continues, "and of the deaths of thousands of other young men, not yet known to fame, but with the seeds of greatness in them, since they were eager and young and un afraid—when one reads of the slaughter in Europe, one feels cer tain that letters can only lose by war." But upon reflection we dis cover as Mr. Blake points out, that the great masterpieces of some great writers are the products of the battlefields: "War gives us—not all at once, but soon or late—Tolstoy, Daudet, and Maupassant; Whit man's poems, Stephen Crane's "Red Badge of Courage," and, to come down to the minute, such stories as "The Parisian," and "The Three Slavs", by Alden Brooks of the French Artillery (in "The Fighting Men," Scrlbner's) And what, unless a righteous war, made possible the speech of Lincoln at Gettysburg, and his second inauguratlonal ?" He might well have Included too that perfect little narrative, La Guerre- Madame, which he so admirably translated into English,—The War, Madame. Lan Hay's New Book From the pen of lan Hay (Cap tain Belth) author of "Getting To gether," and "The First Hundred Thousand," whose lectures on trench warfare have been heard In all the large cities of the United States, comes a new book. Its title is "The Oppressed English" (Doubleday, Page & Co.) and in format it is uni form with "Getting Together." A new story by Mary Webb, "Gone to Earth," is ready for pub lication by E. P. Dutton & Co. Like her formal novel, "The Golden Ar row," Its scene Is laid In Wales and it pictures with power and } beauty the life of that region among its primitive people. Fashions of To-Day - By May Manton Long Wairted Drest, 4 to 8 ! "THEIR MARRIED LIFE" Copyright by International News Service (Copyright, 1917, International News Service) i Helen entered the lobby of the res ! taurant where she had promised to [ meet Warren and sat down hastily |ln one of the tiny gilded chairs. She ! hated to wait lor him, but to-night j it had been unavoidable, for he had I been detained at the office. "Try to be on time, dear," she had said to Warren over the telephone. "I do hate to walfc'alone in that lobby longer than is absolutely necessary." "Nonsense," Warren had returned, "plenty of women do it." Plenty of women were doing it right now while Helen was waiting, but they did not seem to mind the tact that they were alone. Helen s*w one girl modishly dressed in a soft tan gown with a little black velvet bat come in aird nonchalantly inspect ] herself in one of the long mirrors. ! She patted some stray locks into place ! and pulled out a vanity box and lib- I erally powdered her lace. ! The girl Helen had picked out as ' being tne nicest looking seemed not 1 I at ail worried that she had arrived | first. She looked capable of taking care of herself, in fact Helen envied : j her her absolute assurance. She was I ; finally joined by a man who looked a ! great deal older, and Helen heard her | say, as the two passed into the res taurant: "Late, as usual. I wonder if you j could ever manage to k.eep an ap- I pointment!" j There was no sudden lighting of 1 the face, no glad anticipation of the evening—just a stolid acceptance of something that was a part of a rou tine. It seemed 6trange. | Warren was already ten minutes late, and Helen began to get nervous. ! the arose suddenly from the chair and walked toward the door. People look ed at her, and it made her selfcon sclous. Sh'.i Hushed as she turned back toward her seat. After all, it was less conspicuous sitting down; but the seat had been taken by a stout woman who had also been wait .; ing for some time. There were no more chairs, either, so Helen was forced to stand. She stood back as far as she could and wished that Warren would come. A man who had come into the place was now eyeing her sharply. Finally he walked across , to her, and Helen, with a sufTocating j sense of misfortune,'knew suddenly I that he intended to speak to her. "Aren't you Mrs. Wilkinson from II East Orange?" he asked politely. ;|"You ought to remember me." ;! Helen looked at him calmly, swal ,l lowing her first fear, which had rap | idly given way to uncontrollable i anger. She would have turned away | ! ; without speaking, but she was afraid ' that perhaps that might not do, so she '■ said coldly: "You are making a mistake." I The man stood looking at her, and I she moved to one side. Her face and i neck were suffused with scarlet, and she was conscious that several people were looking at her amusedly. Then ■ suddenly, she saw Warren come Into . the door and, swallowing a sob of I nervousness, she hurried over to him. "Well, I'm lute,' he said without [ \ any apology. "Tried to make it. but ! I couldn't get away. Been waiting . long?" ! "Since the time you set." Helen re , turned in a muffled tone of voice. Evidently Warren had noticed noth ing. She had escaped from the man before there had been time. "What's the matter?" Warren ouerl • ed. "Not cross, are you? You know ■ It couldn't be helped." > Helen had decided not to tell him . anything about it, but her resolution, , which had been hastily made, went up ,| in smoke at his bantering tone of 1 j voice. ' "A man came up and spoke to me," I she gasped indignantly. The long waist is apt to be be coming to very little girls and this frock shows the belt most becomingly arranged. The kilted skirt below is a good one, too, for it allows freedom of movement and activity at the same time that it gives smart lines. The blouse is perfectly plain and simple but the double breasted closing and the collar give it a very smart touch. It and the skirt are joined one to the other with a narrow belt and the trimming belt arranged over the smaller belt. Here, white linen is trimmed with blue but a pretty effect could be ob tained by making the dress all of white and scalloping the edges of the collar, cuffs and belt with color. For the 6-year size will be needed, i,Y% yards of material 27 inches wide, 3yards 36, with h /% yard 36 inches wide for the trimming, H The pattern No. 9488 is cut in sizes from 4to 8 years. It will be mailed to any address by the Fashion Department of this paper, on receipt of ter. "What did he say?" Warren asked as they were seated at a corner table near the music. "It doesn't make so much differ ence what he said," Helen returned, leady to cry.. "The fact that he spoke to me was enough. You act as though you thought it a perfectly usual -oc currence." /'Oh, no I don't, but I think you can take care of yourself. Of course, it's an annoyance, but you are too timid, Helen, too easily frightened. Your expression shows that you are uncomfortable in a public place alone." "And I don't think It's any wonder," Helen retored. "I must be old-fash ioned in that respect." "And yet you almost had a fit be cause you couldn't be a business wo man last spring. You'd better learn to look out for yourself better than that, old girl; you wouldn't last a week in the business world." (Wntch for tile next Instalment of thia highly Interesting story). Dean Hotchkiss Accepts Post at Minnesota Chicago, Aug. 11. Willlard Eu gene Hotchkiss, dean of the school of commerce of Northwestern Univer sity, has announced his resignation. He will go to the University of Min nesota as professor of economics and director of business education, to found a similar school there. Dean Hotchkiss came to Northwestern in 1905 from the Wharton School of Fi nance and Commerce in Pennsylva nia. He was made dean of the North western school at the time he organ ized it in 1908. Last year, on a leave of absence, he went to Leland Stan ford. Jr.. University, and occupied a similar chair there. He was the di rector of census for Cook county in 1910 and In 1911 was chairman of the committee to investigate the Chicago Juvenile Court. At one time he was assistant super intendent of the famous George Junior Republic at Freeville, N. Y. "V/OU will thrill with a new experience &>. J when crossing the Great Continental Divide riding I behind a giant electric locomotive. B^3^^ jL Through the mighty Rockies, for untold centuries barriers B to the progress of man, where Lewis and Clark battled their n way against terrific odds to a new empire, you ride in ease (and comfort. Borne upon the wheels of progress, trans- S t ported by the forces of the mountains themselves, secure H j in a comfortable chair in the observation car of either M W jiZ "The Olympian' or "The Columbian ' I f JIS I you enjoy to the full the majestic grandeur of the mountain I But jtl. panorama. No smoke, no cinders, no grinding brakes —just smooth, H p)J even, almost silent travel, on trains traditional for their excellence. H1 jt\ Mjgfi y&J* Soon the pleasures of electric travel will be enjoyed through Br| 4 risf* the Cascade Mountains, Washington for the work of electrifying H , M ||3fg the line through this range is well under way. j ] mM TO Spokane, Seattle, Tacoma, Portland and other points in U &rf. . A A the Pacific Northwest travel the electric way—via the n m CHICAGO mm II Milwaukee & St. Paul Ifi# j ■ '• AUGUST 13, 1917. Advice to the Lovelorn Of Course, Marry Him. Dear Miss Fairfax Is there any established custom friends with a young man four ' years my junior. We read and studied and went about together, and drifted into a close companionship. wishes me to become his wife. As friends, the difference in our ages did not matter but it seems to me that by marrying him I should be cheating him. Do you think it probable that such a marriage would turn out happily? What happens to me does not matter; what happens to him is the vital thing, so please don't mind my feelings at all when you answer this. I need somebody's honest opinion. J. M. W. Every word you say goes to prove clearly that you are just the wife for this man. First of all you have a splendid friendship based on con geniality of taste and ideals. Sec ondly, you care so much for him that any sacrifice seems small if it will insure his happiness. What bet ter can life offer a man than a wife who feels such unselfish devotion as that? How can a girl who writes as TETLEYS f India and Ceylon ICED Cool, stimulate and drive away hot weather fatigue. TRY THEM charmingly as you do and with deep feeling that you express feel that such a as four years' seniority on her part is going to af fect the happiness of a marriage based on all tho wonderful real things you possess. I happen to know of two perfect marriages In which the wife is much older than the husband. You are too fine a girl for a man to lose. Tlie Home of tho Bride Dear Miss Fairfax Is there any established custom which forbids a bridegroom to so journ as a guest in the home of his intended bride during tho days im mediately preceding and up to tho day of their marriage even though he has always been thus entertained during the early part o£ their en gagement? It is understood that the home of the bridegroom Is in another city and that ho has no other place to go privatety either among relatives or friends under these circumstances would it bo unhospitable if he were mony. But that is absurd as is any allowed to go to a hotel M. T. D. There is no reason whatever why a groom should not be a guest in the home of the bride-to-be. There used to be a silly, old superstitution that on the day of the wedding tho groom must not see the bride up to the hour of the wedding cere question such as your letter seems to I raise. 7