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WATERBURY, Novelizer of “The Family Cupboard,” “At Bay,” etc., etc. And then at the particular moment when he became aware of Nettleton's re-entry to the room, he implanted on that produce of the Berkshire mills one fervent and lingering kiss. Almost as a continuation of that single movement he had torn the “letter” to shreds before Nettleton could project himself across the room in an effort to possess himself of that suspicious-looking document. “Well—what's that? Don’t you hear me speaking to you—what is it?” he demanded. A Purely Personal Matter. “It is one of the personal—or domestic—affairs not mentioned in the contract,” declared Johns, blandly. “Well, by——!" thundered the outraged “master.” “Hold on there!” called the other, sharply. And then, in a moment, he remembered to go on in the tone of a servant instead of as a man who is responding angrily to threats of physical violence ‘from another of his kind. “Remember, sir, that any excessive roughness on the part of the master might legally be construed.— as a violation of the contract. Do you get me?” “Yes; I get you—and I'm going to get you by the scruff of the neck— you unlicked cub, you!" and Mr. Teton started to make good his threat. But at that particular moment Nellie appeared on the stairs and sent her voice ahead of her to prevent what looked like an intent to murder. “George! Why, you look as if you were going to fly at each other's throats. What is it, George, dear?” “Believe me, Nellie—it was not his fault. Just a little strain from overwork at the office,” prompted Johns, with intent to instill a little poison in Nellie’s mind. “Oh! Oh, yes! Now, George, dear, tell me—why were you so late at the office?” questioned Nellie, anxiously. “Well, tell you why. Because I'm doing two men’s work! Because the entire business is resting on my shoulders. Does anyone appreciate that? No. I toil and slave and sweat—ten hours a day—and that smoking lump of laziness is prancing.” Don’t itch! Resinol Just put on a little of that soothing, antiseptic Resinol Ointment and the itching and burning stop at once. Soon all trace of eczema, prickly heat, poison-ivy, poison-oak, or other tormenting skin trouble is gone. Every druggist sells Resinol Ointment and Resinol Soap. Prescribed by doctors for 19 years. For free trial, write to Dept. 16-8, Resinol, Baltimore, Md. Holidays Are Overely Estimated—Think of the Energy It Takes to Get Back into Harness Again A Story of Love and Laughter around with a dinky little feather duster. My God! Nellie, it makes me sick. Sick!” “Well, you told him to do it, didn’t you? In fact, you GAVE him the duster on his birthday,” said Nellie, in a voice that might have been all on troubled waters. Nettleton Is Infuriated. “That's right—take up for him—as you always do!” shouted her husband, freshly aggrieved as death damning bit of evidence piled suspicion upon suspicion in his tired brain. Johns found his work well done and slid gracefully from the room and up the back stairs to attend to the proper entertainment of the hidden dinner guest, who seemed almost doomed to go dinnerless whenever invited to the Nettleton home for that repast. “And why shouldn’t I defend him?” demanded Neilie. “Someone should. Isn’t that poor fellow doing everything on earth to please you?" “AGR-r-r-r!” snarled the badgered man, lifting his clenched fists in imprecation. “To please me! Yes, he is! He’s pleasing me ever minute of the day or night—and so are you. And now, Mrs. Nettleton, I want to know why and what you are writing to that man!” “I! What man?” cried Nellie, in amazement. “What man! T! T! T! Bogss Johns, That's the man I mean, and you know it,” cried her husband in biting sarcasm that rose at last to a dominant note of despair. Nellie was ready with an application of balm for his wound. “Why, darling, you are nervous! Why in the world should I write to T. When I have him here all day long and can tell him what I choose?" George gazed at her wildly. The brazen effrontery of the woman! "All right! Have it that way! What are you saying to him all day long—and what is he saying to you? That's it—look innocent—get out and look-of-pain wonder from the rag bag of your emotions and put it on for me. I'm the monkey all right." ELLIE'S voice took on a maternal tone of crooning over an indisposed child, "My precious George! You're not yourself. You need a rest. Now, why don't you run off somewhere for a week or two?" "A look of intense cunning crossed Nettleton's face, "Aha! You, too! That's what he wanted! To get me out of the way! Now, then, I want to know what it means—do you hear me? Look me in the face, Nellie, and tell me if you can?" He seized her roughly by the arms and shook her none too gently. On Nellie's face were two expressions mingled—the womanly instinct to glory in the strength of her man, even when he exerts it against her, and a little feeling of horror at what George seemed to insinuate against her. "George!" she began, pitifully. "GEORGE!" she cried in the righteous indignation of injured innocence. She had sniffed the heavy fragrance of the perfume that scented his coat! With the elusive quality that serves women often in the place. Of strength, she stepped back from his gripping hands—and, in sheer surprise, he let her go. The Tables are Turned. “Well? What are you getting at?” he demanded harshly. “Your coat sleeve. Smell it!” “What? My coat—well—well. By Jove, that is funny! I won. Der where I got it!" "That's what I want to know! Where?" demanded the lady stiffly. "How can I tell?" It must have been here—I've been noticing," he replied, not at all relishing being put on the defensive. "I should think you might. Now, sir, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" demanded Nellie, drawing herself up regularly to every fraction of her slender height. "Bean? Why, just where I said I'd been—just where I said——" "Stop! Don't make it worse by living!" cried the outraged wife. Nettleton wondered just how the tables had managed to get turned. Soemenew things had a SITADAY WAY of reversing themselves in his experience. He had been quite sure of being a partner for two weeks, and had won. He had gloated over his high bully of a partner for two weeks, and had acted as much like a gadfly and a scourge and a blistering sun at once to the wounded thing that had once been the gay and festive Johns as he knew how. And now the totally unexpected was happening. Even as once he had wrested victory from defeat, now he was finding the spoils of his triumph most undesirable. The victor's crown seemed to be of corrugated iron, set with thorns of steel. And things at his office—sixes and sevens did not expire it. He wondered if he could be having a nightmare—or katzenjammer! He would try the efficacy of words to break the bad spell that seemed woven about him. “Nellie!” he cried in pained reproach. “That's a nice, raw deal to give a tired business man when he comes home. If you don’t think I've been working, there’s a telephone. Why didn't you call me up and find out?” “I did. Twice,” replied Mrs. Nettleton sarcastically. And central always said the office didn’t answer!” He faltered a fatal second in reply. “Oh, well—that may be, too. Our phone has been out of order. That’s it—laugh! Well, don't believe me if you don’t want to. If you like—I wasn't there! If it suits you better—I haven’t seen the office for a week!" Getling the Truth. “Aha! At last, we are getting at the truth,” cried Nellie in such a wild access of jealousy that she did not in the least recognize the germs of the same fatal disease undermining George's sanity, too. Well— I know a phone which is not out of order!" And she crossed to the telephone on the library table and snatched down the receiver. "And what are you doing now?" shouted Nettleton. "Calling up my lawyer, Mr. Vanderbilt! Hello! Hello! Operator, give me Lenox—oh, never mind, I don't want them," as George broke in loudly: "You may save yourself the trouble." He'll be here in about five minutes!” Nellie stared vaguely. It is so simple to threaten to do a thing. But to find it done for you—when the desperate step you are considering is to fairly flaunt in your husband's face that there is such a thing as divorce, whereby a neglected and wronged wife may seek freedom from the bond that shames her—and that is to find yourself fairly cast off before you have a chance to solace your pride by making an exit from your husband's life, in spite of every plea to stay. Nellie had expected George to fairly grovel at her feet and beg her to let him explain—only for the love of heaven not to call up Van! And now he coolly informed her that she might have saved herself the trouble of phoning, as he had anticipated her desire to gain freedom! Everything fairly whirled before Nellie's eyes. She tumbled in a forlorn little heap in the most comfortable chair in the room and began slowly and methodically to cry. “Well—I'll see Van,” she sniffed. “And I want you to know—that is the end of everything. Every-y-y-y thing! And I was once so happy! What will mother say— Oh-h-h what will my mother say!" The picture of woe was too much for Nettleton's pride. He crossed the room with the light of love that should burn out Nellie's tears, kindling strongly on his face. “Oh-—my darling The beginning. And then, central, who occasionally feels a praiseworthy duty to see that you get any number you may have inadvertently called in order to counterbalance all those broken promises, “Yes—I'll call you,” earnestly jangled the telephone bell of the Nettleton menage. Nettleton crossed the room quickly and savagely to boot and shouted into the mouthpiece: “Hello! No, I didn't call “fing on” (To Be Continued Monday.) Realities in the Real World A FEW ODD HAPPENINGS ABOUT THE MOVING PICTURE PEOPLE. “A FEW-BEHAVED convicts in the State prison at Deer Lodge, Mont., are regaled with a “movie” show every week. For any minor infraction of the prison rules at convict is filled “two picture shows,” and the Governor affirms that discipline has improved immensely since the apparatus was installed. The convicts will suffer any punishment rather than miss their picture show. An operator just returned to London from a fourteen months' trip to Canada and Jamaica has had a store of adventure sufficient to last any ordinary man a lifetime. He has been shipwrecked, nearly frozen to death in the Canadian Rockies, and lost in the forest. But this isn't all. “During my five months' stay in Jamaica,” he says, “I managed to get malarial fever and was very badly stung by a six-inch scorpion.” Chatting about how critical the picture public is becoming, a well-known actress recently said: “I remember a scene in which one of the characters had died and was stretched out on a couch, while, as her grieving daughter, wept bitterly over her body. I was scheduled to cross her arms, and had got the left one in place all right, when the corpse, becoming rather restless and thinking, I was slow about it, lifted the other one into place herself. We thought it would pass unnoticed on the screen. I was in a theater during the showing of the film, and when the dead body accommodatingly moved its own arm the audience broke into a roar of laughter. Hints for the Household Grass stains on any material can be removed if moistened with a solution of chloride of tin, and then washed immediately in plenty of cold water. It is wise always to keep a bottle of this solution. If the stained article cannot be washed, then alcohol must be used. Hot and stuffy rooms can be made cool and fresh by suspending a sheet wrung out in cold water over the open doorway. If a visitor comes it can be removed in two seconds, and your friend will surely remark how deliciously cool your room is. Rain spots on cloth need not be regarded hopelessly. Wipe off the way of the nap with a silk handkerchief or very soft brush. If this be done quickly, no marks will remain. Cakes get dry in warm weather, but if placed in a tin box with an apple they will keep moist. Renew the apple when withered. The cake will not “taste”. DO YOU KNOW— The domestic servants of Bradford have decided to form a club, that object to the name of “servant,” and henceforth they ask that they shall be called “house assistants.” The United Kingdom has only 30,700 schools, against 87,000 in France, 57,000 in Italy, and 171,500 in the United States. There were 283,834 marriages recorded in England and Wales in 1912. When Dreams Come True ARY MORAN listened dreamily to the theory of the curfew as she walked across the path through the moor in the twilight of a spring evening. At the corner where the sea was suddenly into sight she stood— as she had always done in sun or rain— to look far out over it, seeing with the eyes of her mind more than her body once could have vouched for. She was conscious afresh of its restlessness— the restlessness of undying youth. She watched the solitary curfew till she could no longer see it, and knitted her brows over the half-formed thoughts which its lonely call ever stirred in her mind, of wild, unfrequented stretches of waste. "Beyond" near the home of the winds, Round the near headland came a small boat—a light thing of tarred canvas and laths which fishermen along the west coast of Ireland sometimes make use of. There were two men in it and they rowed sturdily. Mary narrowed her eyes to see them more distinctly, and presently the pensiveness fled from her face to give place to a dimple of sudden amusement. “That'll be Maurice’s canoe,” she murmured. “I wonder, can he see me?” Poor Maurice! not only did he see her immediately, instinctively, but he saw her all day in his visions, and all night she tripped through his dreams. He quickened his strokes without knowing that he did so, his companion falling in behind and grinning sympathetically. As they touched bottom he leaped out, said something to the other man, and turned to climb the heathery path from the beach. She had gone! He cursed his luck and ran till he caught sight of the slim figure moving lightly along the path in front of him, the bare, shapely feet seeming just to touch the pine needles scattered there. Then he stopped running and strode along shy but determined. The girl heard his footsteps slightly muffled on the soft path and knew just how much shyness was in the heart of the pursuer and gave a vague guess at how much determination that shyness concealed, “Grand evening, Mary,” he said, slowing up to her pace and walking along beside her, lithe and tall. He looked down squarely into the surprised gray eyes which were lifted to his, though he could scarcely see them through the haze. She Greets Him. “Oh, 'tis you, Maurice.” Then, in slightly ruffled tones, "You shouldn't come up so softly behind in the evening time." "I thought you'd hear he," he stammered, looking at his big fishing boots. There was a pause, during which Mary drew the shawl more closely round her face. "We were out setting the nets, Foley and myself," he ventured nervously. "Then a sharp unconscious sigh from Maurice. "Twas a great big sigh, Maurice," said Mary, all brightness again. "Ouch!" wretchedly. "Maybe 'tis the toothache you'll have?" politely. The man's eyes rested on the beauty all around, the soft haunting beauty of West Irelana, now half-veiled by the dusk. He turned to the girl beside him most wholly veiled in her shawl and said with quiet wistfulness, " 'Tis the old, old ache, Maurice, always wanting what you'll never give me. A night like this keeps it in my heart all the time." He bent his head to look under the shawl, but Mary was looking out over the sea to hide the softness which his tone had drawn to her eyes. Presently she darted a glance at him from under her lashes and saw that he was suffering. "Wanting a bad master, Maurice, I'm thinking," she said lightly. "He is that, but he's mine!" shortly. Men were not wont to be curt with. A Complete Short Story. Mary Maran, least of all men like Maurice O'Hara, and so she remarked in differently, "It's getting dark. I must be going home. Look, there's a light below in the sky." House," and she pointed to her father's white cottage gleaming through the pines down nearer to the sea. "It's early yet for lights then," he murmured. The trees had spoken to him and he bade him hope many a time when he had lingered beneath them with emptiness and despair in his heart. He called her. She had turned to nod a careless good-night when she put out a hand impulsively and touched her shawl. She drew back quietly. "Goodnight, Maurice," she said, her head carried proudly. "Ah, wait a while, Maureen. There's something I know I can say if you'll let me use it, but the very thoughts of me head fly away when you're near me," he almost groaned. The dimple appeared again, and then Mary laughed outright—a low, teasing laugh, accompanied by an upward side glance. Maurice read mockery, scorn even, into the sound and whitened beneath his tan. Helheslmled for a moment, seeing nothing. Then, "Never mind, colleen," and to the listening girl the patience in his tones sounded final. "I'm not the only man that's had to do without." It was just because she had always felt that Maurice might be able to say "things" that she had persistently nipped them in the first stammering stages. "Indeed, then, you're not, Maurice, nor the only woman, either," was her answer now. He was looking down the path which he must take presently, but the friendliness in her voice brought his glance back hastily to see if it spoke in her eyes also. It did, and the pleading instantly returned to his voice, "Ah, sure, THEY can get whatever they want, Mary — if they're like you, at any rate, mavourneen." "It's a fancy that men have, but 'tisn't true." Then a wind rose suddenly among the pines, and sighed through them softly, and rushed through them sadly with a loud swishing noise, and moaned through them sadly, playing on them at its will and shaking the "clinging music from their boughs." To Mary's spellbound eyes they seemed almost alive and in communion with the winds that influenced them. A voice more persuasive than Maurice's called to her, and she listened, forgetful, it seemed, of the very presence of the man. With his whole soul he was conscious of but one thing—the upturned face of a girl. But now, in a low voice, and with eyes still fixed dreamily on the trees, so thoughtful thought she was only half conscious of him, Mary was questioning him. "What do they say at all, Maurice?" With the sudden warmth at his heart, Maurice came back to realities, and found that he was no shadow. He finds inspiration. She had appealed to him. He looked up into the pines—had she not made him interpret—and smiled at what he heard. Love was, of course, the interpretation. Love, only love. They loved the wind and the wind loved them—hence the perfect music when they met, had they not promised him that his love, too, should have its hour some time—when they not urging him now to take it? Dizzled with his love, he took Mary's hand and held them closely in his own, compelling her eyes, with the wonder still in them, to come slowly down from the treetops and rest on his. "Listen, mavournsen—I know! They are telling the love talk to each other, they are saying that it isn't any use to live at all if there isn't love if a man can't have his college for his own. They keep telling me about you and love, Mary—love and you; they've told me that since you first looked at me. They are saying, 'Mary, just as the little waves round the boat say it, and the birds sing it—all except the curlew—not him. He makes me think long without any hope at all," His voice grew low with love. "Ah, little girl of my heart, listen to me now. I'm dying with the love for you. I can't think or sleep or do a thing... you're always there and you stop me. Do I ever go to the dance? You won't go with me, and I won't have another colleen, and so I walk most times on the moor and hear what the wind and the sea and all tell me about you... If you could marry me, I can bring you here at nights to listen to the wind, and no one above in the house to say you nay—only you and me, Mary—you and me.” The urgent pleading voice broke because the picture which it drew was too sweet and vivid for the man, and he dropped the girl's hands and turned aside, the power of expression lying in him as suddenly as it had come. But Mary softly touched his arm, and turning, half fearful of what she might say to him, he found her looking at him as though spellbound. He started, so strongly did he feel that he was for the first time looking into the eyes of the Mary whom he had never been allowed to know. He looked deep into her eyes, and because they were misty and she seemed to sway as she stood, he was able to look at her steadily and see her quite clearly—also for the first time perhaps. She said breathlessly, “But—but, Maurice, sure! never knew that you felt like me and knew these things. I thought—“What did you think, my own mind, Mavourneen?"” he whispered passionately, swept out of himself by the dawning of a great and sudden happiness; and he gently put one Jersey-clad arm around her, so slight and young she seemed in the wind with that new expression on her face. | She was close to him now and thei eyes, hitherto so elusive, were held by his as she finished unsteadily, *I thought if I went to you that [ must be in the house all the time-—when the wind was out and the sea that restless! An', oh, Maurice!”" she almost sobbed— he drew her closer still so that she spoke with her forehead touching the jersey above his racing heart-—"if the birds had been singin’ in the sun, or the curlew ¢allin’ to me In the evenin'- time, I could know how the birds that the boys snare feel when—when——-"" Maurice's two arms were round her now, flercely tender and protective, and | his lips were at her ear. ““Maureen! me own little bit of the world—how can I ever tell all the love that's been lyvin’ round me heart for so long!" Then he whispered very softly, “Lit tle small girl, you don't feel that way at ‘all any more?"’ | Mary threw back her dark head and ;looked up at his go that the white curve of her throat gleamed through the swiftly falling darkness. ‘‘Ah, Mauri sheen-—Maurisheen!” and there wits a :pa.lslrlnutn surrender in her voice Good Reason, “Mrs. O'Rooney,” said aFther Mc ;Murphv, “why do I never see Patrick at church now?” Mrs. O'Raoney shook her head sad ly. “Is it Socialism?" - “Warse than thot, vour' Riverence.” “It's Atheism?” “Warse, vour Riverence. " ~ “What is it, then 2" “Rheumatism,~ Anecdotes of | the Famous | ADELINE GENEE ATELLS HOW SHE PRACTICED ONE STEP | FOR MONTHS. ADELINE GENEE, one of A the most fairylike of dan cers, made her first ap pearance at the early age @of eight. When only eighteen she appeared as principal dancer at the Opera House, Copenhagen. She tells here of her success, I CAN NOT remember the time I did not want to dance. I have a suspicion that I began to dance before I began to walk. I remember, when I was a little girl of four, lying in bed one night and listening to some enrancing waltz music. The swing of the waltz flowed in my feet. I could not resist. I sprang out of bed and in a moment I was exhausting a dance of joy in my nightie. My parents were very good to me, They saw where my feet lay, and from that night onward they let me take occasional lessons. There is one way to succeed—time your whole life in key with the object you would attain. I know of a young lady who wanted to become a dancer and had been practicing with much perseverance for a couple of years. One day she asked her instructor what he thought of the progress she was making, "It is very good—very good," he said, "You will be able to begin to learn in a short while." This frightened the girl and she gave him a sudden start. But there is on use in the school, "scared" if you would succeed, "have practiced one step or pose aloms for months before being satisfied that I had thoroughly mastered it." Often I have spent days and days endeavoring to express a couple of words in pantomime. Time. And here the dancer needs not only the gift of patience but the gift of observation. If you are going in for dancing you must take your calling in deadly carnest. When I was small I was devoted to outdoor exercises, particu larly riding. But as soon as it was decided to make a dancer of me I gave them all up, for such exercises as riding, skating and eycling develop the wrong muscles—from the ballet point of view. ; The Season Opens. “Princeton plays Washington and Jefferson to-day.” , “Oh, a double-header!" For Freckled, Tanned Red or Wrinkled S kin Just beneath that freckled, tanned or reddened complexion theres an ef quisitely beautiful skin of yvouthful tint and delicacy. If you could only bring thie complexion to the surface, discard ing the discolored one! You can-—in the easiest, simplest, most natural manner imaginable, Just get at any drug store an ounce of ordinary mercolized wax, apply nightly llke cold cream, removing it mornings with warm water. The was as sists Nature by gradually peelirg off the lingerlnggu'tlvles of scorched and half dead surface skin, causlng no discomfort whatever, Cutaneous defects like pim ples, blotches, liver sémts, moth patches, freckles, of course disappear with the old skin. Nothing else will accomplish such wonderful results In so short & time., Kine lines and even deeper wrinkles often appear at this season. In such cases nothing is better than a face bath made by dissolving 1 oz, powdered saxo lite in % pt. witch hazel. This I 8 re markahly effective, — ADVERTISE MENT. HICHESTER S PILLS %::a-;‘;:.'ar:.&rr% Pills in Bed and Gold metal S Tot Levied v r?%'.?""‘" & SN years known as Best, Safes S 7 STiO 57 DRUGCISTS YR. 