j NEW NEWS of YESTERDAY |
1 rr —iH By E. J. EDWARDS i "=)
I
■ - - —-—
Crucial Event in His Career
Ce»> Oft* . * M 0«l)t When a
Vasin P*»ie3 He Could Handle
an3 basdue Ge’-g of Rowdy
Raaraad Caborwm.
Mai <»• t .fesvllla M Dodge, with
•it •acwidi a «d May Gen. D>«le' ki
i'tUt u '.be ualy survivor oi ail ike
g-w*ral» who served a» ct»rp» 1°“
■Wdrri m Ike Imoo army from tbe
outbreak oi tbe Clrll mar (« lu cloa*.
Ja 'be ttatory at tbe material devel
ufanrat *< tho country be occupies a
la»i_i place aa tbe cble! engineer
«*’ ttu Crum Pa-Or who supervised
f. <.JMtn<i*a of (bat first railroad
a- no** tbe plain*. sad no romance ol
f ns vi te compared with tbe story
ml General Dodge's career a bile be
• as t os'.'acting tbe railroad. That
period id fit. :le sas crowded silt
•! ibdi'ss*. raltlesbabea. but*
Isf i < i:a >«*. grttrlj !r»r» and
other tig r~ F.tr
« a D« tee and I bate 1<»# on
te**.- •:i<&<hiu|i tor B«-arl) thirty
>ea'» -a!d George IT Parker, tbe bl
««*: . -r f Grover Cleveland. re
•■*■■■ ivc 1 btieit there are only
tbr<« um li; leg m bo kpow tbe true
***»'• *• " ral Oo ige* hilient in ific
*e*i - a railway engineer. Of cowry*.
im a -lal slave!.* u one of tbe tbrwe.
»«d - tier .» Peter A Dry. tbe first
to*-, o i 'i»y a railroad in the slate
•< a and the ftr.,1 chitl engineer
• .. I'utn Pacific railroad Uoip
h l»> and (.enerai Dodge are >pcnd
M fir ousiwg years to Iowa, and
Ik- taalniain the closest friendly te
lai^us*. whi.h began jlxty years ago.
at he ur; begi&aitg of General
Itadge* career in the west.
!* the early fiitlea ahal u now tne
l.cSiKs Ceniral rajruad was construct
ive a -o-s I brands lose in the western
tar f«r o .diic lidpoui. The engineer la
•urge »-f Peter A Dry. who bad
teen f t: ptceously associated with
-» *bo a lie earlier bad built
b* ft am ..te at tbe Illinois Central
G<f tome rwnt rti—I know ret w hat—
Ur Ivy had great difficulty la main
taining sty kind of order or system
-•'as lit turn who had been em
ployed as sharers or ta subordinate
f aj ay to Lclld this branch line.
They w*c* unruly and defiant; ihey
• clef »tet they pleased and got
drunk as often as tboy chuae. Mr.
. - > » !r-<juetlly called film to
ae ms.' line oi tbe Illinois Central
ad he was it despair of securing
anytime mho ex.-Id handle tbe rowdies
At tho te.gbt at the difficulty.
ib»r~ • ailed up-vw Mr Dry a young
ns* seeking etpioymest. tie was
• sfl. Mialgh? as a ptne tree and dark
•tt atd t-> manner was .nherentiy
’tot of ohe »to knew bow to exert
seksny
Mr 1* • i»tff him what he could
«• is« .t rv-pfj the stranger said
) that he was a civil engineer and nad
ben gradiated at Norwich university.
1 in Vermont, a year earlier.
" What is your name?- Mr. Dey
asked
" 'Grenville Mellen Dodge.’
*’ ’Well.- said Mr. Dey. ’If you have
a diploma from Norwich university
you are competent to take charge ot
the surveying of my branch line Hut
•hat 1 want to know is, can you
handle men?
“ Try me and see.’ was Mr. Dodge s
succinct reply.
“'You are pretty young.’ sal.1 Mr.
| Dey. looking him over critically, ’but
I I’ll try you.’
"So be employed Grenville M.
! Dodge, and watched him closely.
, Within a week the young man bad
i tb»- rowdies under his control. Those
that be could not manage because ot
•heir excessive drunkenness he sent
away In a month he had as orderly
and • fflcier.t a gang of workmen as
was to be found anywhere ia the
I west: and he also had gained what
...i> of lifelong advantage to him—
i _
I
(the confidence and esteem of Peter A.
Dey. So. when Mr. Dey was employed
to survey for the extension of tfiq
| Rock Island railroad across Iowa—
j the first of the state’s railroads—he
i scut lor Grenville M. Dodge and asso
I elated Mr. Dodge with him in that
• great werk.
! ’’Then the Civil war intervened and
the young surveyor became a major
j general cf volunteers when only thir
| ty three years of age. His fighting ca
' reer over. Peter Dey employed Gen
eral Dodge to help him survey the
Union Pacific. As long as Mr. Dey re
mained chief engineer of that road,
General Dodge was a trusted assist
ant. and when Mr. Dey resigned his
post General Dodge understood so well
the engineering problems of the road
that he was made chief engineer. And
to this day Mr. Dey is of the opinion
that if Grenville M. Dodge had not
shown himself equal to the first op
; portunity that came to him to prove
his ability to handle men—desperate
! men—he would never have ultimately
i gained permanent laurels by his work
: in surveying the Union Pacific <md
i supervising its construction."
j (Copyright. 1911. by E. J. Edwards. All
Rights Reserved.)
Patrick Sarsfield Gilmore’s Story of
How Euphrcsyne Parepa Woced
and Won Carl Rcsa, the Fa
mous but Bashful Violinist.
I “Very likely you have heard of the
1 romantic courtship which preceded the
! betrothal and the marriage, in 18u2. of
1 Jenny Lind, ’the Swedish nightingale.
| ; nd Otto Goldschmidt. Well. 1 can tell
jau the story of a courtship carried on
bet v eea another great prima donna
and a ver> modest yet noted musician
which. I think, will match the story of
Jenny Linus courting of the modest
piano playing Goldschmidt. Gold
schmiclt. you may recall, though he
loved Jenny Lind, felt that he was too
far below her to tell her so. and so.
Jean/ Lind being in love with Uer
pianist, and realizing why he hesi
tated to tell her of his love for her.
was practically forced to do the court
mg.
"It was In 1867." continued the
greatest bandmaster of his time, the
late Patrick Sarsfield Gilmore, “that
Eupbrosyne Parepa. who had quite as
fine a repu'ation between 1860 and
1S7( as any grand opera singer, and
Carl Rosa, who was regarded as one of
the great violin players of Europe,
made a tour of the United States,
where Parepa had come two years be
t fore. I saw them in concert in Boston
and it did not take me long to become
aware of the fact that Parepa was cast
ing decidedly itindly glances toward
the young violinist who shared the up
plans*- of the audience with her. lie
One Sentence Not Answered
.... •»
Tfc r* (Wees i Eiplpiitltn of Hi*
f£* Net Oncting Oanie'
•' £St«f'i Stckx Favoring
:*» -Iftii kutfi Sank
. ' du iti *?’ the year* that
I s' •< a,', of iV Albany Journal |
» 'A'rWit-r was alive—and
* <ir * -- i* .-cty-tmu (a oom-1
did I • to print In lull a
• :*' f vt -v# inter’*; and I did that
*»-■** at ? hr fact that I su a
»< • vi! admirer of WebftM
** as. paper g*»g him unwavering
»•- *" ‘-.si *i barlow WH. the
* * Tc rk state political leader
.".»ii»re« of that refusal
» ■** •****.“ msliswd Mr Weed
* Isf-i * Ja, . sow. as you know was
t: - gr-*s.i ei-puoent of the failed
» •« Hue fiaaief Webster was iis
ii*- «-• l* r.drr lie was rrited upon
b* 'io»e interested la having the
ci vr'er of tt« bank renewed to per
mo<'» by t-i* argument! and his ora
tory a B-ajority of tbe rotted States
•enatr to vote for renewal Indeed.
Webster made one of his greatest
speeches Jn support of the bauk Ex
refitir^ Ha iheeifc in reply Jo Ifayoe
I do nd- bint that be ever tcr.dc a
•hr- fpmch.
■tVeil. I re< r*. ed a ropy of his
I cited d*a*e* bank speech a day or
is* ik*t it was delivered Alt the
aist Ja anon men of »y part of New
T 'k stale looked lo the Albany Jour
nal. which I had start ad as an actl
Jarksoa organ for the report of tbe
vpre. h Hot .bey were disappointed
f did urn print ft
“Almost at one* I recefred a call
from Ambrose Spenoor. chief Justice
of tie state'» highest court, and one
of the state's great Intellects: he was
the father of John •’ Spencer, who
'as secretary of the navy in Tyler’s
• atvuet Judge Spencer's manner was
very stern as he told me that lie had
*a!l*d to Inquire why 1 had not print
ed Daniel Webster's great sjieeub on
the United States bank.
■"Well Judge.' | said. ' lfter reading
the speech I decided that 1 could net
print It.*
“He turned upon me with some an
ger and asked if I thought that I was
a greater man than Daniel Webster
“1 said that 1 certainly did not. but
that after reading Webster's speech I
had turned to Andrew Jackson’s com
muoiration to congress in which he
opposed the granting of n new char
ter to the United States bank and
there I had found one sentence which
Webster great as he was. had not an
' *ered and <ou!d not answer
“Judge Spencer with great dignity
asked me to point our. that sentence
I took Jackson's message and market!
| a single sentence. It was this:
“ 'To recharter the United States
i bank will be to make the rich richer
and the poor poorer.*
” That sentence.’ raid I to Judge
Spencer, will apt>eal to every Ameri
can citizen except the few who pos
sess great riches, and until some one
so speaks as to show that to rechar
t«r the bank will not make the rich
richer and the iioor poorer. I shall ccr
tainly not attempt in my paper, even
by indirection, to take issue with An
drew Jackson.'
“Judge Spencer looked at me with
a queer expression for a moment, and
then, taking his hat. went from my
oiflce without saying another word.'
I 'Copyright. Bit. hv K. J. Edwards. All
Rights Reserved.)
fa CkryMothfiiim Land.
Scaat J«yum sdvertiaemnats pos
sen* a oeaKb of imagery no know ■ ti
•kr •enter* advertiser A Tokii
draper atau -UM (bat “Oaf gaabt an
mt 'o caeurtnern' bo—a eltb lb
tiadl of a atm from a rifle "
A {farrr proclaims bis vinegar ti
be -more biller than tbe gall of cb.
most ciapobral of mother s-ln la*.1
And a biff b-aa<~b • koaae displays i
paster i asm bed Sly not visit ou
asts1 We ran satisfy every possl
We east of yaor* Kvery one of on
gtafustf is as complaisant an
abiig fA as a father *bo seeks to dii
po,r of n doaeriets dangblrr Yo
•Id b* as edfoat ss a ray of sue
shtoe < mb lag after a day of ceaseles
ra*a " __
An Objection
-SSm.~ said tbe flatet unassumm
r.»- -| don't libs tbe idea a
’Inquired *r» Harm* Bar
**m*s41 some of tbe smartest men 1
pad life are “
ooaidn't sta»d aay <*»*«* ‘ 1
Courtship Like Jenny Lind’s
- *
was indeed, a master of the violin.
“Before he went on the stage, Pare
pa. who had the blackest, merriest
eyes I ever saw, would approach Rosa,
whose hair was fair, whose complexion
was pink, and whose eyes were the
bluest 1 ever saw, and ask him in Ger
man how the weather affected his vio
lin She would do it charmingly, her
eyes dancing, her olive tinted cheeks
suffused with a delicate blush. Then,
after Rosa had finished playing and
had sought the wings she would ap
proach him and say fascinatingly what
in English amounted to this: 'Ah. my
little violinist, you brought the music
of the heavens out of your instru
ment!' The boy—he was then only in
his twenties, while Parepa was in the
thirties—would blush like a school
girl at the compliment, ahd look with
sly. furtive glance Rt Parepa while he
stammered his thanks for the compli
ment.
“When Parepa's turn came to ap
pear upon the stage she would flash
the merriest of glances at the timid
violinist and say to him that she
wanted him to listen to her singing
because, if she knew that he was lis
tening, then she would be sure to sing
her best. And again the violinist
would blush furiously and look fur
| lively at the great singer, and his
; long, drooping blonde mustache would
tremble In his agitation.
I “As soon as she had finished her song
j'Parepa would seek out Rosa in the
wTHfes and say softly, 'Well—?' and
; then wait for the compliment which
i she had invited. And the embarrassed
hoy. blushing red. would say stammer
i ingly to her: 'You will see bow you
inspired me when I play my next se
lection.'
“Oh. it was a beautiful case of visible
courtship and Parepa made love not
coquettishly. but charmingly. And she
j iiad to. The fact was that Carl Rosa
| was so modest and so complete a devo
: tee of Parepa and admirer of her ar
I tistic work that he was afraid to assert
; himself as her lover. Like Jenny Lind
I with Otto Goldschmidt, she had to do
• all the courting; she knew that Carl
Rosa’s timidity was all that stood in
the way of his becoming a most de
voted and impassioned lover. At last
she hinted,to him that her hand and
heart were his for the asking, and the
next day, 1 have been told, Carl Rosa
played superbly and Parepa sang as
1 never before.
“They were married shortly after In
1 New Y'ork. Then they reorganized the
Parepa-Rosa English opera company
out of which, after the death of Parepa
in 1874, grew the Carl Rosa English
opera company, the most successful
I and the longest lived of all the com
! pantes organized to give opera in Eng
; Hsh.”
j (Copyright, 1911, by E. J. Edwards. All
Rights Reserved.)
—
Some Few Change*.
"Well, well!" said the man who had
wandered back to the old village. “So
the Eagle House is still the Eagle
House. No change after twenty
years."
"There have been a few changes,”
responded the oldest inhabitant.
''Since you've been gone the hotel has
been respectively the Grant Central,
the Grand I'nlon, the Grand Junction,
the Great Northern, the Great South
ern. the imperial, the Regal, the Em
pire. the Regent and the Mansion
House. She’s just starting around the
circuit tor the second time.”
Primitive Ideas of Hygiene
i
I
► Hindu ambassadors once sent to
England by a native prince were re
» garded as so polluted that on their
! return to India nothing hut being
' born again would purify them, and
i they were accordingly dragged
r j through a gold image of the sacred
- Yon!
A writer describes a curious rus
1 I tom of the Baretse in South Africa.
j A few days after the death of a man
' the doctor comes and makes an in
cision on the forehead of each pf the
1 survivors of his relatives and fills it
with medicine to ward off the conta
; gion and the effect of the sorcery that
, | caused his death.
] Leland calls attention to a custom
of taking medicines on the threshold
„ in ancient Tuscany, the idea being
that the threshold was the border line
, between the outer world where evil
1 spirits freely roam,
i If a person dies within an Eskimo
hut everything in the hut must be de
stroyed or thrown away as well aa
everything which had come into con
tact with the deceased —Dietetic and
Hygienic Gazette.
Unusual Case.
Two summer gtrls, sitting down by
the silver sea. were talking.
"Whatever can be the matter with
Claire?" said one. "She mopes about
as though she bad lost her only rrlend
1 on earth.”
”0. you know,” responded the other
very earnestly. “She Is engaged and
takes it seriously."—Judge.
Instituting a Reform.
| Prospective Renter—I don’t object
to your terms, but how about the
steam heat?
Agent (of .apartment building)—It
will be more than satisfactory, I tbink.
Our janitor is a man from the torrid
zone, who never has spent a winter
in the north.
Trio of Wool
. ■■
Photographed by Underwood & Underwood. N. T.
Wool will be very much in evidence in stylish out-door raiment this
year. Here is an attractive coat, made of frieze or soft Vienna, with ice
wool knitted scarf and rough wool hat. trimmed with flowers made of
woolen yarn. This represents real warmth, and is thoroughly appropriate
for all out-door recreation.
LINEN COSTUME.
Putty-colored linen is used for the
smart costume we illustrate here.
The skirt has a panel front and back,
and at sides is trimmed with two
shaped straps with a button in each
poiut. The coat fastens below bust
with one pointed strap; the large
turn-over collar is strapped on the
outer edge with black and putty-col
ored striped linen.
Hat of putty-colored straw, trimmed
with a black feather mount.
Materials required for the dress:
Five yards forty-two Inches wide,
fourteen buttons, one-eighth yard
stripe twenty-seven inches wide.
Chic Kerchieft.
Very small handkerchiefs of color
ed silk with a hemstitched border are
sold to wear In the breast pocket of
one’s rough morning coat. The color
scheme of the costume can be car
ried out by this small touch in a most
effective tnanuer, and the idea has
been taken up by the Americans who
are now in Paris.
Style in Shoes.
Among the popular low shoes for
dressy wear at present is the Direc
toire slipper. It comes in patent
leather, dull kid and black satin, and
Is ornamented with a square or oval
gold or kid buckle on the instep.
Low shoes promise to be tar more
elaborate this year than for some
time past, as the narrow skirts and
Blashed hems have brought them into
more prominent view. Bronze slip
pers with fancy insets of gold on the
toe, trimmed with bronze beads, are
In good style, aq are the Directoire
and beaded slippers of black satin
with short vamps.—Harper's Bazar.
In the Dining Room.
Plates should be heated before they
are sent to the table. An entire meal,
prepared with great care, can be
spoiled by the use of cold plates. Do
not reach across another person’s
plate. If something beyond your cov
er is desired, ask the servant or the
person nearest to pass It.
When a second portion is being
served place the knife and fork to the
right of the plate with the ends rest
ing on the butter plate.
STORY OF JAPANESE GOWNS
Interesting Facts Concerning the
Origin of Garments Worn in the
island Empire.
Nearly every woman nowadays
cherishes a Japanese gown lor bouse
wear without realizing how interest
ing a garment it is. The sleeves them
selves have a curious history. From
the middle of the sixteenth century
they began to increase in length, and.
especially those for young ladies, have
extended till now they are from three
to four feet. This style, known as
furisode. became very fashionable.
The width of the obi, or sash, das ]
also varied, at first front two and a
half to three and a half inches, and
to six. seven, eight and nine inches.
It is interesting to note that our .
own new fashions in sleeves and :
sashes originated among the common
people of Japan, and from them were
finally adopted by the upper classes, i
The young ladles of the Satnuri class
were the first to follow the popular
styles in this respect, and the higher
classes began to follow suit, until now
these fashions prevail everywhere.
It is only from about the middle of i
the seventh century that the women '
of the lower classes began to wear
the long haori, or overcoat, at present j
so common among all classes of both
sexes. This garment w as originally a
duster worn b.v men to protect their
clothes when outdoors, and was then
called dofuku, or traveling coat.
Finally they came to be worn in
doors, and the women adopted the
garment. The upper classes in time
followed the same custom, and now !
the haori is an indispensable part of
the clothing to be worn on formal oc
casions. even in summer.
NEWEST IDEAS IN GIRDLES
Many Materials for Choice and Design
Is Altogether a Matter for the
Individual.
The newest girdles are nwde ot
rope, bead, metal, fabric and chenille.
The latter are particularly well liked, !
as are also those made of pierced
metal pieces run with ribbon and ob
tainable in assorted colors. There
are also those made of colored pyroxy
lin, ribbon laced. These pyroxylin
girdles, while extremely light In
weight, have an effect similar to the
heavier metal ones Another of this
class of girdle fc? the heavy linked
chain or metal rope, made In either
gilt, silver or oxidized.
Due to the great popularity of cord
girdles, there have been manufactured
special ornamental pins in plain and
chased effects, also set with colored
stones, intended for use as a fastening
for the girdles in place of a knot, be
ing both practical and ornamental,
and at the same time eliminating the
knot tying wear on tne girdle.
Newest in Suits.
There Is a tendency to get away
from the large collar which has been
in vogue for a year or more, says the
Dry Goods economist. Many of the
suits will be made with small collars
and fancy revers. in round, square or
pointed shape, which start from the
shoulder and are entirely separate
from the collar. A few are made col
larless. but have the trimming inset
to give the effect of a collar. While
the tendency during the late fall has
been to favor coats buttoned at the
shoulder, this is not considered a good
spring idea and low openings are ex
pected to be in vogue.
Latest Sweater.
The latest thing in sweaters are first
cousins to the fuzxy wuxxy tam-o’
shanters that abounded some five
years back. They look like goats
and camels. Tor “they are wild and
they are woolly.” with a sheen and a
long beard nap. all combed out smooth
and shiny—until one buys them, then
they will probably gather up in lumps,
but they will continue to be just as
warm and comfortable and much soft
er than the regular worsted ones.
A Vagabond Dreamer
* * *
By DOROTHY DOUGLAS
Il II ll—M^—
(Copyright, 1911, by Associated Literary Press.)
"You are trespassing on my prop- j
erty!” came a voice from the moon- |
light
Blair scrutinized the clump of \
bushes. He had supposed the white j
thing flitting about there to be a slim
beam from the moon.
"But the gardeners never come
down here and uncle is away, so it is
all rignt” The voice was nearer to
Blair than before.
He shaded his eyes and looked more
closely. A low ripple of laughter ac
companied his search.
"Here I am.” She had parted the
bushes and still Blair felt that a
wedge of moonbeam had squeezed
down through the trees. He stared
at her with his hand shading his eyes.
"1 can’t see whether or not I like j
your eyes,” she said half petulantly.
Blair obediently dropped his hand
and turned toward the light that
came from the small door of his cara
van. The dreamer's look was in his
eyes and the dreamer's whimsical
smile on his lips.
Molly looked at him with grave
eyes for a moment. "What are you
doing here?" she asked, edging nearer
to him.
"Looking for fairies—like you.” he j
said in the tone of cne speaking to a
child.
"1 am eighteen.” She resented his !
tone. "And then what do you do?”
“I weave them into fairy tales.”
“I suppose that you mean you are a j
writer and that your name is in all
the big magazines?"
"About that," be smiled.
"Couldn't I just have one peep into
your caravan?” she asked. "It looks !
so cozy.”
“It is cozy.” He was amused at
her quaint curiosity. “I will have
to lift you up on the step.”
"Isn't it darling!” She turned
toward him. ”1 didn't know gypsies
had such exquisite—”
“But I am not a gypsyy.” put in
Blair, and in the darkness a strange
bitterness crept into his eyes. "If I
were I would shut that door with
you inside and lash up my ponies!”
"Oh, wouldn't that be lovely!” She
clapped her bands joyously. “But
poor uncle would never get over It”
"He has managed to survive other
losses.” Again that pained bitter
ness swept into the vagabond's eyes
"You know he is not really my
uncle.” She had not noticed his re
4 \ * u
I \ gg
Blair Watched Her Go.
mark. "1 have lived here only five
years. I'm adopted and Uncle Gray
is going to give me all his money,” she
confided naively.
"So ] understand.” Blair said.
"You have heard of me?" Molly's
eyes opened wide.
"I have heard of the protege of
John Gray—yes. But I had not known
she was so—grown up,” he finished
lamely.
"Well—beautiful then.” He looked
deep into his eyes.
She returned the look wonderingly.
“Oh, oh—I feel such a funny little
thrill inside—here!" She clasped both
hands over her breast; and stood gaz
ing at him.
Blair turned swiftly away from the
innocent awakening in her eyes.
“Perhaps you had better comedown
from my caravan.” His own voice
was a trifle husky. “Or I will be
tempted to become a gypsy and run
off with yon.”
“But 1 don't want to come down. 1
feel diappy — 1 want to sing—and
dance—and—” She broke off ab
ruptly and that wondering look swept
Blair’s own.
Blair was silent for a moment
while he struggled against the tu
mult in his heart. This witch had
breathed on hidden chords; he felt
strangely unaccountable for his ac
tions, his words.
"You are tired,” he said finally,
"and little girls should be in bed at
this time of night Come!”
But Molly Ashwell stood still and
looked down at the arms extended to
lift her from the step, then her eyes
traveled up to the face on which the
light shone full.
"Do you know,” she stated, "that
you look very much like Uncle
Gray?"
Blair turned swiftly from the glare
of the lamp. ‘•Come!" he said, and
his voice held a note of command.
With a little hurt look in her eyes
Molly put out her hands For a
breathing spell the universe seemed
hung in midair. Molly tore herself
free then and fled in the darkness.
Blair watched her go, a moonbeam
darting from path to path and finally
into the old rose garden and up the
great stone steps between the guard
ing lions and out of his sight through
the French windows.
For a long moment he sat staring
at the windows through which she
had gone. Finally he arose, unteth
ered bis horses, hitched them to the
caravan and drove off into the night.
“She is too wonderful,” his lips re
peated. “I could not withstand her
long."
Three years came and went before
Molly Ashwell and the Vagabond
Dreamer met, three years in which
her eyes had worn a pecular, brood
ing look—a look which John Gray
had tried in vain to fathom or to
lighten.
"You are not so happy looking
yourself," she had chided him on one
occasion.
He had grown a shade paler.
"I have cause—a terrible cause for
being miserable—but ] deserve it,"
was all he bad said.
She glanced quickly at him now as
they sat in the theater. The curtain
went up on a new play. The scene
was an interior.
"It is almost exactly tike our draw
ing room!" exclaimed Molly breath
lessly and waited for confirmation of
her words.
John Gray neither answered nor
seemed conscious of her presence.
As the play progressed Molly felt
the peculiar tension that held John
Gray. After a spasmodic clutch of
the hands on the chair arms he re
mained as one turned to stone.
The play was the old, old story of
the son who had frequented the stage
doors and had been turned away from
borne by an irate parent. In this case
the son had lived in the theatrical
atmosphere merely as a stepping
stone. He had run away from home
to go on the stage that he might gain
intimate knowledge of stagecraft.
The strong plot woven in this fabric
was neither here nor there except
that at the close of the last act the
author was called forth.
He came from the wings.
"My son!"
John Gray sprang to his feet and
held out a pair of shaking arms to
ward the man on the stage.
“My Vagabond Dreamer!" came a
girl's voice through the hush that
followed the meeting of father and
SOD.
Regardless of the excited audience,
the two meo met and the older man
clasped the other in his arms as if
be was still a very small boy.
Finally the quiet tones of the vaga-.
bond went out to answer tbat un
asked question.
"My father and 1 have been long
estranged—I am too happy to say
more, except that I thank you lor re
ceiving my play so kindly."
During the thunder of applause
that followed a slim little figure
slipped quickly out of the theater and
into the great limousine that crept
up to the curb at ber call.
Her heart was heating painfully 'r»
dull, miserable beats.
“Nobody loves me." she wept softly
into the kindly cushions.
She sat huddled and broken, neither
seeing nor hearing the excited crowd
that came forth from the theater.
It seemed ages before the two men.
arm In arm appeared. Molly dried
ber eyes hastily and peered out as
they approached.
The younger man glanced at the
car. Then Molly saw bis hand go up
to shade his eyes. He made a quick
movement.
She was very near him and the
limousine had turned into a darkened
street when next she beard his voice.
“Mine! All mine," he whispered
against her lips.
“Can we go in the caravan?" Motiy
asked by way of answer to his ques
tion of a moment later.
MISTOOK BEAR FOR FUR COAT
Member of the Association of Automo
bile Manufacturers Tells Story
About Motor Wearing Apparel.
“The cold weather is coming on, and
we shall soon see some very remark
able cold-weather motoring 80118.“
The speaker, Coker F. Clarkson of
the Association of Automobile Manu
facturers, sat in his New York office.
He resumed:
“I’ll be glad when cold-weather mo
toring clothes are made more sightly.
They give us such a shaggy look now,
don’t they? Did you ever hear about
the performing bear?
“Well, a country hotel, a good deal
frequented by motorists, took in a
showman and his performing bear, and
one morning the bear escaped from
the stable.
“Everybody fled before the animal.
The hotel man, however, pursued it
courageously. It entered the hotel,
mounted the stairway, pushed open a
bedroom door, and vanished.
“Then the hotel man, close behind.
t
heard from the bedroom an angry ex
clamation in a feminine voice, and the
word*:
"George, dear, how often have I for
bidden you to come into my room
without knocking—and in your auto
mobile coat, too!’"
The Delight In Adornment.
Both Miriam and Molly belonged to
the new age, and were in revolt against
the treadmill of recognized order
Miriam knew It and Molly suspected
it Nevertheless., they took a savage
delight in personal adornment From
their feet to the necks women are
fairly civilised, and still progress,
though with awful setbacks; but on
their heads savagery still sits tri
umphantly. Through maternity and
the milliner they keep secure hold on
primitive nature. When they emerged
at last Into the light of day Miriam
sighed, like a cannibal reformed by
force, who hears of a feast he hankers
for in his heart.—Morley Roberts in
“Thorpe’s Way."
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