i
1
my hair parted In the middle?* Tie pro
tested, appalled at the prospect.
“Now you cun see.” she cried In trl
umph, with dancing eyes, “how strange
It would seem to ine to get np lu the
morning!“
Tom saw that this was his hour, and
be met It unflinchingly.
“It’s a compact. Dorothy. I’ll part
my hair In the middle or anywhere If
you will got up In the morning and oc
casionally consult n timepiece.”
That same evening Dorothy received
the first piece of advice ever bestowed
upon her by her adoring father.
“You are quite grown up. Dorothy,”
he suggested gently, “and don’t you
think you should he a little more xys
tem atlc or punctual In your mode of
life r
“ ‘Et tu, Brute!* ” she thought, saying
kloud: “Bay no more, papa. I have
promised Tom to get up to breakfast
every morning and that I would try
and he on tim e generally.**
“You have?’’ he exclaimed In surprise
and with the thought that she surely
must love Tom.
“Yes, for a consideration. He is to
part his hair in the middle.”
“Tom Dalton part his hair in the mid
die! I’d as soon think of Abraham
Lincoln dressed as Little Lord Fauntle
roy.”
This comparison amused Dorothy,
and she began to wonder how Tom
would look.
“!’ •'» hi v I ted hiui to breakfast with
us iorrow. so we will have an op
portunity to see how his hair becomes
him."
Dorothy did not face the next morn
Ing in a spirit of buoyancy. She came
into the dining room listlessly and
with u feeling th at life was a desolate
waste.
H er father and m other were already
at the table, and Tom soon entered,
looking sheepish and conscious. A d
unwilling smile of am usem ent was
forced back by Dorothy as she looked
at Ills hair and expression. It was in
congruous, but she was not going to
adm it It.
Her words were few. her voice sad.
her m anner m artyred throughout the
meal. Whon later Tom came to take
her for a drive she w as patiently and
dejectedly w aiting for him. In the
evening she was again on schedule
time.
Three days of methodical life drag
ged on. and then Tom felt that he could
no longer endure the new life and the
surprised glances at his head.
“Dorothy.” he said Impetuously, “yon
&eew uuhuppy. Will you tell me why?
Is it coming to ’ reakfast?”
“No. Tom,” she refilled, with a little
laugh that wms more liiie a sob. “I
think It’s your hair. I can’t bear to
look at you.” and she burst Into tearful
laughter.
“Dorothy, darling,*’ he said, “I am
glad you can’t. Let me. too, make a
confession. 1 have learned that your
most delightful trait was your blissful
disregard of time. To come In from
the city where man. woman and child
were on a mod rush for trains and
see your delicious obliviou to the
twelve figures ou a timepiece was most
restful."
“Then shall we go back to our old
life?” she cried Joyfully.
“Yes—or will you begin a new life
with me. Dorothy?”
"W ithout breakfast?” she asked eu-
treatlngly.
"W ithout hreukfast!” he replied sol
emnlv
Tom Dalton paced the blue gravel
road in front of the palatial hotel
waiting for Dorothy. W aiting for Dor
othy hud been Ills normal condition
this summer.
lie was a man who.se well made shoul
ders alone marked him as man of ac
tion. This nAw role of his was not
consistent with his principles and hab
Its.
He consulted his watch frequently
and said things under his breath, but
the Instant he caught sight of the fair
young form In the doorway he forgot
bis impatience.
Whon Dorothy’s Ingenuous, dazzling
eyes looked luto his he drew a quick
breath and told himself she was well
worth the waiting, however prolonged.
Time was made for slaves, not for
Dorothy. It did not even occur to her
to ask him If she were late or if he
V
•*I
'
¡
H A V E P U o a ilS K l) TOM TO GET U P
BHF.AKFA8T.”
TO
had been waiting long. She was the
only daughter and had been subjected
to no rules or regulations.
Her father. William Lloyd, had been
perceptibly troubled when approached
by Tom on the subject of bis love and
desire for Dorothy.
“I don’t know of a fellow anywhere
I think as much of as I do of you.
Tom, and then* Is no one else whom
I would like to have for a son-in-law.
but you haven’t said anything to her
yet.”
“No. Still, of course, she must know
I love her.”
Lloyd smiled.
•‘Very likely But I don’t w ant you
to suy anything to her until you have
known her longer—until you are en
tlrely sure you enre enough.”
Tom stared.
*‘Do you think any one could know
her at all and not love her?”
‘‘I must admit.” replied Lloyd, “that
we have done ull we could to spoil
Dorothy, and yet she Is not spoiled—to
us. She lias always had her own way.
but It bus been such a witching, sweet
way we were glad to give It to her. It
Is our dearest wish and hope that she
may always continue In her princess
role.
“Nhe has ninny little characteristics
that we can laugh at. hut to a eon
ventlonal, practical, system atic unture
like yours I fear will prove distracting.
Her oblivion to the flight of time, her
Irresponsibility and utter disregard of
anything approaching a system will he
wearisome to you. I fear, after the
glamour of courtship and honeymoon Is
over. You must take her as she Is.
with no thought of alteration.”
Tom protested that he loved Dorothy
as she wan and that In naught would
he have her changed, but Lloyd had
seen his looks of Impatience and their
sudden vanishing this morning.
‘•There’ll come a time when his Im
patience will linger after Dorothy’s ar
rival on the scene.” he reflected, with a
sigh.
Meanwhile Toni was mildly remark
Ing to Dorothy that he feared they
would ho late for the starting of the re
gatta. Dorothy gayly rejoined that she
had never seen the starting of any
thing
‘‘I ain dreadfully unpunctual,” she
added, with a little sigh. ‘‘It’s Incon
venient for my friends, hut I can’t help
It I get up late In the morning and
everything has begun. l*ve never seen
the first net of n m atinee yet.**
“Don't you breakfast with your fa
ther and mother?” he asked gravely.
“ Breakfast!” she echoed, with a little
shriek. •*I’ve never seen a breakfast
table. I Tens brought up that way. 1
was a delicate child, and they never
awoke me. and now. oh. there’s some
thing «lordly In the early morning sun
shine! It seems so 1 meaome at the
starting of day. Do you think It such
a crim e ns your face Indicates T*
‘‘I really think you ought to break
fast with your parents. Dorothy,” was
the seriously spoken rejoinder.
“Do you, Tom?” she naked deject
Humor
Philosophy
B j DUNCAN N. SMITH
PERT PARAGRAPHS.
We may know Home evil minded peo
ple. but we never »peak of their fall
ings—In their presence.
Things that lie In the direction to
ward which blH Inclination tends al
ways look k < mh 1 to a man, no m atter
w hat their degree of obliquity.
Many people who make a practice or
being wise as a scr|>ent forget to add
the dove’a specialty.
S om e p eo p le
have a poor
m em o ry . fo r
which the rest
of us are duly
thankful.
He who argues
Is lost.
The greatest Joys of life are the lit
tle everyday ones.
Perhaps one reason why we haven’t
wings Is because our Inclinations so
seldom take up In the direction wings
would.
Some people work anil wait. Others
just wait and work the others.
Perhaps If a few rumors were a t
tached to a flying machine the success
would lie assured.
Making good at s talk feat ts the
m easure of excellence in some people.
Identifying Him.
“H aven’t i seen you lief ore some
w here’“
“Maybe. I have often been some
where.”
“No. but haven't I. on the square?"
“Probably 1 have been on the
square.”
"But. Joking aside."
“Well, Joktug ankle, were you In Chi
cago at the last Itepublkan conven
tion?"
“Yea.”
"Stopped at the Palm er House?"
“Y'ou bet."
“W ell. I w as In Europe that year."
edly
‘Tie doesn’t know—be can’t I magi no—
wbnt a difficult thing It would be for
me.” she thought. *Tt would lie at
vtraage to me as ft would to him.**
An '.nopiration came to her.
"Tom.” she asked. “If I turn o**r «
new leaf so«l get up to tveskfast, will
you do something for me?”
His face glowed with enthusiasm and
something else.
“There's nothing In the world I
wouldn’t do for you. Dorothy “
“Well. I ll get up to breakfast and
make an effort to he on time If ye
will p irt your hnlr In the middle.“
“W batr*
“Yea: It’a the only flaw !*re d’acov
•red In you. Tom. I can’t hear hall
parted on the aide It’a an old fash
"B ut I'd look B vfecU j
and
Tims Softens Thom.
“The man I m arry must give op
drinking, smoking and the clubs.”
"Let's see—you are about eighteen,
aren't you?"
“I will be on my next birthday."
“1 thought so.”
"B ut what has th at to do with It?"
“Ob. nothing, only by the time you
are twenty eight you will be matt*fled
If you can get one who will give up
J."
|i A MODERN OLD STORY j
< >
It
[Original.]
Elijah Chubb, who wrote over the
pseudonym of Lionel Malcolm, bad
been writing realistic stories wherein
nothing happened, the humdrum of life
w ent on as it rer.lly Is. people m arry
ing and dying In the ordinary way. till
he was weurted. He determined to try
his band at the old fashioned tale of
complicated events. He realized that
his story, th »ugh old lu method, must
be new In substance. Unfortunately he
could not overcome literary habits that i
had controlled him for yeurs. H ere is
the result of hi* labor:
An automobile, tw enty horae|>ower
aud of the latest pattern, stood before
the door of a stately mansion near the !
border line between New York aud
Pennsylvania. Within the house two
people ou the very threshold of life, a
youth of eighteen In leather dress and
a maiden of sixteen en prlucesse. stood
in a draw ing room furnished in I-ouia
Quatorze style. At the windows were
curtains of rich renaissance lace. Over
those bung heavy satin brocade. The
girl was looking up timidly Into the
youth's face.
“Luclla,” he said, taking both her
hands lu his, “I have a confession to
make.”
“Make It.” she replied, with a shud- |
der.
“1 am a married man."
She moaned a low, deep, melancholy
moan.
"I was married at eighteen, divorced
in South Dakota at eighteen and six
months, and my form er wife lives m
Pennsylvania. A suit for alimony hat
established the fact th at the Pennsyl
vania laws do not recognize the South
Dakota divorce. I am free to wed yon
here, in Pennsylvania my m arriage
would be bigamy.”
H er head fell ou his shoulder. He
raised her face aud saw that she was
weeping. Then she spoke:
“I, too, Lawrence, have u confession
to make. I was married at tlfteen and
only secured my divorce a mouth ago,
us la your ense, in Dakota. My hus-
buiul has contested the divorce in
Pennsylvania, from which state we
have but recently removed, aud lost
his suit. W here I am free to marry
again. But. alas, lie has followed me
here, and my lawyer tells me that the
New York laws make me still his
wife."
She had no sooner spoken than there
was a sharp ring at the telephone. Do
ing to the instrum ent, she took up the
receiver and said softly:
"Hello!"
A fter listening a few moments she
dropped the receiver, staggering, when
her lover caught her lu his arm*.
“Heavens!" she cried. “It was my
lawyer. He says th at my divorced
husband has got an order for me to
show cause for something or other and
I m ust get out of the jurisdiction of
the court. W hat shall I do?”
“My automobile Is at the door. Let
us go a t once."
As she passed through the hall she
took up a dust proof w rap aud put on
a pair of goggles, as did her lover.
Both Jumped into the machine stand
ing a t the door and sped away at twice
the speed allowed by the city ordi
nances.
“Deurest,” he snld. “why should lov
ing hearts regard these conflicting
laws? Let us be m arried and defy
them .”
H er head dropped upon his leather
sleeve.
Passing the rectory of St. Jam es’
church, lie saw the rector coming down
the steps. Drawing up at the side
walk. the fugitive hastily asked him to
perform the m arrlnge ceremony. Law
rence, turning Ills head anxiously, saw
au automobile coming rapidly down
the street. W ith a herculean effort he
pulled the dondnle Into the machine
and was off like the wind.
"W e are followe I tiy an officer of the
court,” tie explained, "and cannot stop
for marriage. Marry us as we go."
The dominie dem urred to such an un
usual proceeding, but after much per
suasion consented and performed the
ceremony. Scarcely had he pronounced
the couple m an and wife when Law
rence gave a.groan.
“W liat Is It dearest?” asked his wife
—th at Is, If she was his wife.
“We are headed southw ard aud have
either passed or are passing or nbout to
pass the Pennsylvania tine."
"There my m arriage Is legal,” she
said quickly.
"Aud there I am n bigam ist.”
"WhHt shall we do?"
"W e cannot turn. We are followed
too closely. The slightest curve would
upset the machine. We m ust go ou.
TTiank heaven, dearest, you will he
free from these odious laws."
"And you will be liable to arrest?"
F ar In the distance apt tea red a cloud
of dust, a cloud as large as a m an's
hand, which the fugitives supposed w as
nothing to them but a coming aiftomo-
liile which they must pass by. keeping
to the right as the law directs. Alas,
how little we know what Is in store for
us! Just before meeting the coming
machine Lawrence saw an opportunity
to take a road to the left which curved
and would enable him to go northward
without upset: ug. The automobile be
hind had gained perceptibly and was
close at hand. Lawrence swerved to
the left, which was tho right of the
coming machine. The tw o met going
at a rate of a mite a minute, and the
machine coming from the north plung
ed luto the two wrecks. All were
killed.
•
• • • • • •
The snthor sent this story out to the
magazines with a note explaining that j
the complications rendered the death
of all the character* Inevitable.
H OPE HOPKINS.
Opening a Snell.
During the recent straggle In Moroc
co the Moors one day found In their
camp at Casablanca an nnexploded
shell, and. w ishing to find out bow It
"worked.” tney summoned their most
proficient arm orer, who, although he
knows everything about hand gun*. Is
most Ignorant In regard to projectiles
This man thought that the best means
of bpenlng the shell was to use • ham
mer At the second blow the shell ex
ploded. killing and wounding many of
the M oon who w en crowded around
¥
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