The Syracuse Journal, Volume 5, Number 29, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 14 November 1912 — Page 3

JosephCLincoln Axxfhor oF / / M iWwh S’"* ! Oy’WhittaJkex’s Place /[ Ij '| '|®sT Caj/n Eri, JStc. ,;,. , ,1/ ■I j, \IWr IH.vuF-tx-n.-fc ions Bvj _ * Ellsworth 'Young, Z7lrn~. Copyri<jßt.l9o9, by

SYNOPSIS. Mrs. Keziah Coffin, supposed widow, is arranging to move from Trumet to Boston, following the death of her brother, tor whom she had kept house. Kyan Pepper, widower, offers marriage, and is Indignantly refused. CHAPTER I—Continued. There was a sound of scrambling. More soot floated in the air. Then around the corner of the high-boy appeared Mr. Pepper, crawling on his ' hands and knees. His hair was streaked* with black; his shirt front and collar and shirt sleeves were spotted and smeared with black; and from his blackened cheeks his red whiskers flamed like the last glowing embers in a fire-scarred ruin. “I was just tryin’ to help Keziah take down Her stovepipe,’’ he explained. “You see, she didn’t have no man to—” 1 “Yes, I see. Well, I judge you got it down. Now you go out to the sink °and wash your face. Heavens and earth! Look at them clothes!" “I do hope you didn’t hurt yourself, Abishai,” said the sympathetic Keziah. Then, as remembrance of what had ?ed to the upset came to her, she added: “Though I will say ’twas your own fault and nobody else’s.” Lavinia whirled on her. “Dear me! Ain’t we Innocent! We’ve got plenty of money, we have. Widowers with property ain’t no attraction to us. Everybody knows that —oh, yes! And they never talk of such a thing—oh, no! Folks don’t say that—that— Well,” with a snarl in the direction of the kitchen, “are you anywheres nigh clean yet? Get your coat and hat on and come home with me.” She jerked her brother into the blue coat, jammed the tall hat down upon his head, and, seizing him by the arm, stalked to the door. “Good day, marm,” she said. “I do hope the next widower you get to take down your stovepipe—yes, indeed! ha! ha! —I hope you’ll have better luck with him. Though I don’t know who ’twoiild be; there ain’t no more idiots in town that 1 know cf. Good day, and thank you kindly for your attentions to our family.” Keziah turned from the door she had closed behind her visitor. “Well!” she ejaculated. “Well!” Steps, Pleasured, dignified steps, sounded on the walk. From without came a “Hum—ha! ” a portentous combination of cough and grunt. Grace dodged back from the window and has’ily began donning her hat and jacket. “It’s Cap’n Elkanah,” she whispered. “I must go. This seems to be your busy morning. Aunt Keziah. I”-—here she choked again—“really, I didn’t know you were so popular.” Keziah opened the door. Captain Elkanah Daniels, prosperous, pompous and unbending, crossed the threshold. Richest man in the village, retired shipowner, pillar of the Regular church and leading member of its parish committee, Captain Elkanah looked the part. He removed his hat, cleared his throat behind his black stock, and spoke with Impressive deliberation. “Keziah,” he said, “Keziah, I came to see you on a somewhat important matter. I have a proposal I wish to make you.” He must have been surprised at the effect Os his words. Keziah’s face was a picture, a crimson picture of paralyzed amazement. As for Miss Van Horne, that young lady gave vent to “ what her friend described afterwards as a “squeal,” and bolted out of the door and into the grateful seclusion of the fog. CHAPTER 11. In Which Keziah Unearths a Prowler. The Jog was cruel to the gossips of Trumet that day. Mrs. Dldama Rogers, who lived all alone, except for the society of three cats, a canary, and a white poodle named “Bunch,” in the little house next to Captain El- ( kanah’s establishment, never entirely I recovered from the, chagrin and disappointment caused by that provoking mist. The fog prevented Mrs. Rogers’ noting the entrance of Mr. Pepper at the Coffin front gate. Also his exit, under sisterly arrest. R shut from her view the majestic approach of Captain Elkanah Daniels and Grace’s flight, her face dimpled with smiles and breaking into laughter at frequent intervals. For a young lady, supposed to be a devout Ccme-Outer, to hurry along the main road, a handkerchief at her mouth and her eyes sparkling with fun, was a circumstance calculated to furnish material for enjoyable scandal. And Dldama missed it. Other happenings she missed, also. Not knowing of Captain Daniels’ call upon Keziah, she yas deprived of the pleasure of wonder at the length of stay. She did not see him, in company with Mrs. Coffin, go down the road in the opposite direction, from that taken by Grace. Nor their return and parting at the gate, two hours later. It was three o’clock in the afternoon before a visitor'came again to the Coffin front gate, entered the yard I and rapped at the side door. 1, \ Keziah opened the door. K “Halloa!” she exclaimed. "Back, * are you? I begun to think you’d been Scared away for good.” Grace laughed as she entered. “Well, auntie,” she said, “I don’t wonder you thought I was scared. Truly, I didn’t think it was proper for me to stay. First Kyan and then Gap’ll Elkanah, and both of them expressing their wishes to see you alone p —er —pointedly. I thought it was »pe for me to go. Surely, you give credit for a little delicacy.” , Vao Horne! there’s born j

fools enough in this town without your tryin’ to be one. Grace, I ain’t goin’ to leave Trumet, not for the present, anyhow. I’ve got away of earnin’ my livin’ right here. I’m goin’ to keep house for the new minister.” The girl turned, her hat in her hand. “Oh!” she cried in utter (astonishment. Keziah nodded. “Yes,” she affirmed. “That was what Elkanah’s proposal amounted to. Ha, ha! Deary me! When he said 'proposal,’ I own up for a minute I didn’t know what was cornin’. After Kyan I was prepared for most anything. But he told me that Lurauy Phelps, who the parish committee had counted on to keep house for Mr. Ellery, had sent word her sister was sick and couldn’t be left, and that somebody must be hired right off ’cause the minister’s expected by day after tomorrow’s coach. And the cap’n was made a delegate to come and see me about it. Come he did, and we settled it. I went down to the parsonage with him before dinner and looked the place over. There’s an awful lot of sweepin’ and dustin’ to be done afore it’s fit for a body to live in.” Grace extended her hand. “Well, Aunt Keziah,” she said, “I’m ever and ever so glad for you. I know you didn’t want to leave Trumet and I’m Sure everyone will be delighted when they learn that you’re going ,to stay.” “Humph! that includes Laviny Pepper, of course. I cal’late Laviny’s delight won’t keep her up nights. But I guess I can stand it if she can. Now, Grace, what is it? You ain’t real pleased? Why not?” The girl hesitated. “Auntie,” she said, “I’m selfish, I guess. I’m glad for your sake; you mustn’t think I’m not. But I almost wish you were going to do something else. You are ’going to live in the Regular parsonage and keep house for, of all parsons, a Regular minister. Why, so far my seeing you is concerned, you mjght as well be in China. You know Uncle Eben.” Keziah nodded understandir-gly. “Yes,” she said, “I know hisa. Eben Hammond thinks that parsewage the presence chamber of the Kvil One, I presume likely. But, Grace, you mustn’t blame me, and if don’t call I’ll know why and I shan*-.. blame you. We’ll sea each other once in a while: I’ll take care of that.” The packing took about an hour. When it was finished, tne carpec rolled up, and the last pjpc® of linen placed in the old trunk, Keziah turned to her guest. “Now, Gracie,” she said, “I feel as though I ought to go to the I can’t do much more’n look ,<tt the cobwebs tonight, but tomorrow those spiders had better put on theif ascension robes. The end of the world’s cornin’ for them, even though it missed fire for the oMiljsrites when had their doin’s a spw years ago. You can stay here a>d wait, if ’tw-jn’t be too lonesome. Wa’H have supper when I get baqk.” She threw a shawl over her shoulders, draped a white knitted “'cloud” over her head, and took from a nail a key, attached by a strong <#>rd to a block of wood eight inches long. “Elkanah left the key with m«,” she observed. “No danger of losin* it, is there. Might as well lose a lumber yard.” They left the house and came out Into the wet mist. Then, turning to in ■ Of*® « IB JU “Cheerful’s a Tomb, Ain’t It?” Was Mrs. Coffin’s Comment. the right, in the direction which Trumet, with unconscious irony, calls “downtown,” they climbed the long slope where the main road mounts the outlying ridge of Cannon Hill, passed Captain Mayo’s big house—the finest in Trumet, with the exception of the Daniels mansion—and descended into the hollow beyond. Here, at the corner where the “Lighthouse Lane” begins its winding way over the rolling knolls and dunes to the light and the fish shanties on the “ocean side,” stood the plain, straight-up-and-down meeting house of the Regular society. Directly opposite was the little parsonage, also very straight up and down. Both were painted white with green blinds. This statement is superfluous to those who remember Cape architecture at this period; practically every building from Sandwich to Provincetown was white and green. They entered the yard, through the gap in the white fence, and went around the house, past the dripping evergreens and the bare, wet lilac bushes, to the side door, the lock of which Keziah’s key fitted. There w£s a lock on the front door, of course, but no one thought of meddling with

that. That door had been opened but once during the late pastor’s thlrtyyear tenantry. On the occasion of his funeral the mourners came and went, as was proper, by that solemn portal. Mrs. Coffin thrust the key into the keyhole of the side door and essayed to turn it. “Humph!” she muttered, twisting to no purpose; “I don’t see why— This must be the right key, because — Well, I declare, if it ain’t unlocked already! That’s some of Cap’n, Elkanah’s doin’s. For a critter as fussy and particular about some things, he’s careless enough about others. Mercy we ain’t had any tramps around here lately. Come in.” She led the way into the dining room of the parsonage. Two of the blinds shading the windows of that apartment had been opened when she and Captain Daniels made their visit, and the dim gray light made the room more lonesome and forsaken in appearance than a deeper gloom could possibly have done. The black walnut extension table in the center, closed -to its smallest dimensions because Parson Langley had eaten alone for so many years; the black walnut chairs set back against the wall at regular intervals; the rug carpet and braided mats—homemade donations from the ladies of the parish—on the green painted floor; the dolorous pictures on the walls; “Death of Washington," “Stoning of Stephen," and a still more deadly “fruit piece” committed in oils years ago by a now deceased boat painter. The blinds and a window being opened, more light entered the ’ room. Grace glanced about it curiously. “So this is going to be your new home now, Aunt Kfeziah,” she observed. “How queer that seems.” “Um—h’m. Does seem queer, don’t it? Must seem queer to you to be so near the headquarters of everything your uncle thinks is wicked. Smell of brimstone any, does it?” she asked with a smile. She threw open another door. A room gloomy with black walnut and fragrant with camphor was dimly visible. “Cheerful’s a tomb, ain’t it?” was Mrs. Coffin’s comment. “Well, we’ll get some light and air in here pretty soon. Here’s the front hall and there’s the front stairs. The parlor’s off to tiie left. We vyon’t bother with that yet a while. This little place in here is what Mr. Langley used to call his ‘study.’ Halloa! how this door sticks!” The door did stick, and’ no amount of tugging could get it open, though Grace added her efforts to those of Keziah. “ ’Tain’t locked,” commented Mrs. Coffin, “’cause there ain’t any lock on it. I guess it’s just swelled and stuck from the damp. Though it’s odd, I don’t remember— Oh, well! never mind. Let’s sweeten up this settin’ room a little. Open a window or two want to do anything before it gets dark. I’m goin’ into the kitchen to get a broom.” She hurried out, returning in a moment or two with a broom and a most disgusted expression. “How’s a body goin ’to. sweep with that?” she demanded, exhibiting the frayed utensil, the business end of which was worn to a stub. “More like a shovel, enough sight. Well, there’s pretty nigh dust enough for a shovel, so maybe this’ll take off the top layers. S’pose I’l} ever get this house fit for Mr. Ellery to live in before he comes? I wonder if he’s a particular man?’ Grace, who was struggling with a re* fractory window, paused for breath. .“I’m sure I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve never seen him.” “Nor I either. Sol was so bad the Sunday he preached that I couldn’t go to meetin’. They say his sermon was fine; all about those who go down to the sea in ships. That’s what got the parish committee, I guess; they’re all old salts. I wonder if he’s as fine-look-in’ as they say?” Miss Van Horne tossed her head. She was resting, prior to making another assault on the window. “I don’t care. I know he’ll be a conceited little snippet and I shall hate the sight of him. There! there! Auntie, you musn’t mind me. I told you I was a selfish pig. But don’t you ask me to like this precious minister of yours, because I shan’t do it. He has no business to come and separate me from the best friend I’ve got. I’d tell him so if he was here — What was that?” Both women looked at each other with startled faces. They listened intently. “Why, wa’n’t that funny!” whispered Keziah. “I thought I heard—” “You did hear. So did I. What do you suppose—” “S-s-s-h-h! It sounded from the front room somewhere. And yet there can’t be anybody in there, because— My soul! there ’tis again. I’m goin’ to find out.” She grasped the stubby broom by the handle and moved determinedly toward the front hall. Grace seized her by the ann. “Don’t you do It, auntie!” she whispered frantically. “Don’t you do it! It may be a tramp.” “I don’t qare. Whoever or whatever it is, it has no business in this house, and I’ll make that plain in a hurry. Just like as not it’s a cat got in when Elkanah was .here this forenoon. Don’t be scarfed, Grace. Come fight along.” The girl came along, but not with enthusiasm. They tiptoed through the dark, narrow hall and peered into the parlor. This apartment was dim and still and gloomy, as all proper parlors should be, but there, was no sign of life. Mrs. Coffin was glancing back down the hall with a strange expression on her face. Her grip upon the broom handle tightened. “What is it?" pleaded the girl in an agonized whisper. “Grace,” was the low reply, “I’ve just remembered somethin’. That study door isn’t stuck from the damp, because —well, because I remember now that it was open this mornin’.” Before her companion could fully grasp the import of this paralyzing fact, Keziah strode down the hall and seized the knob of the study door. “Whoever you are in there,” she commanded sternly/ “open this door and come out this minute. Do you hoar? I’m orderin’ you to come out.” . There was an Instant of silence; 1 then a voice from within made answer,

a man's voice, and its tone indicator embarrassment. “Madam,” It said, “I—l am—l will be out in another minute. If you will just be patient—” "Come out then! ” snapped Keziah. “Come out! Patience! Os all the cheek! Why don’t you come out now ?” “Well, to be frank, since you insist,” snapped the voice, "I’m not fully dressed.” This was a staggerer. For once Keziah did not have a reply ready. She looked at Grace and the latter at her. Then, without words, they retreated to the sitting room. “I hope you won’t be alarmed," continued the voice, broken by panting pauses, as if the speaker was struggling into a garment. “I know this must seem strange. You see, I came on the coach as far as Bayport and then we lost a wheel in a rut. There was a—oh, dear! where is that—this is supremely idiotic!—l was saying there happened to be a man coming this way with a buggy and he offered to help me along. He was on his way to Wellmouth. So I left my trunk to come later and took my valise. , It rained on the way and I was wet through. I stopped at Captain Daniels* house and the girl said he had gone with his daughter to the next town, but that they were to stop here at the waF/K' j vl y/ WMSw zJ’ mi ’JXi Bp M ¥ 'W MV 01 From the Dimness of the Tightly Shuttered Study Stepped the Owner the Voice. parsonage on their way. So—there! that’s right,, at last!—so 1 came, hop ing to find them; The door was op«n and I came in. The captain and kb daughter were not here, but, as I wab pretty wet, I thoughht I would seiw the opportunity to change my clothe*. I had some dry—er—things in my valise and I—well, then you came, you see, and —I assure you I—well, it was the most embarrassing—l’m coming now.” The door opened. The two in the sitting room huddled close together, Keziah holding the broom like a bat-tle-ax, ready for whatsoever might develop. From the dimness of the tightly shuttered study stepped the owrns? of the voice, a stranger, a young nm\ his hair rumpled, Jits tie disarranged, and the buttons of h’s waistcopt.fil’in® the wrong buttonholes. Despite this evidence of the hasty toilet in semldarkness, he was not unprepossessing, Incidentally, he was blushing furiously. “I didn’t speak,” he said, “becausij you took me by surprise and I wasn’j, as I explained—er—presentablj. Besides, I was afraid of frightening yoty I assure you I hurried as fast as I could, quietly, and when you began t<y talk”—his expression changed anti there was a twitch at the comer oj his mouth —“I tried to hurry still fast> er, hoping you might not hear me an 6 I could maku my appearance—or my escape—sooner. As for entering the house—well, I considered it, in away, my house; at least, I knew I should live in it for a time, and—” “Live in it?'* repeated Keziah. “Livsr in it? Why! mercy on us! you donM mean to say you’re—” She stopped to look at Grace. That! young lady was looking at her with an expression which, as it expressed so very much, is beyond ordinary powers of description. “My name is Ellery,” said th* stranger. “I am the minister—tne giinister of the Regular society.” Then even Keziah blushed. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Prince of the Poets. The French poet, Leon Dierx\ waA found lying dead upon his bed by hits landlady. The day before he accompanied Messrs. Henri de Regnier, Viator Margueritte, and other men of letters to the house where the poet Stephane Mallarme used to live, and read « poem which he had written in honor of the anniversa<. He left the case at 11, and as he passed the concierge said: “Ah, well! I would be going tt' rest —if only I need not wake again!” The good woman scolded him fb? saying such things, and soon after hi:? brother called and stayed tvith his; till two in the morning. Next day he was discovered lifeless in his roon\ his last wish being thus fulfilled. Leoa Dierx was 74 years old. In 1901, after the death of Mallarme, the young poets elected him their “Prince," though he was not a candidate for thttt honor. —London Evening Standard. Trouser Crease That Stays. The permanent crease in trousers, as made by many of our city tailors, is somewhat favored just now. Thin idea is probably well known, but as it may not be familiar to all I giv® a description of it here. The trousers are first pressed dead flat, and then the extreme edge of the crease is stitched down, so that it i» impossible for them ever to be without a perfectly straight line down the front. It is claimed that this prevents to a great extent the objectionable creasing at the knees that is so oftee experienced.—London Correspondence of Men’s Wear. Likes Present Fashions. M. de la Gandara, a Parisian artist, says that the present-day fashions for the dress of women are better than those of the past. “It really is worthy of marking an epoch,” he “it is so well adapted to give beauty its value, and it marks the line with such precision and yet with such great discretion that it will remain, I feel convinced, as on« ®f the bn* pleat efforts of fashion th Mfr ■<•>**

Til —IZZLCI Advertising 1 n Talks n OOOOOOCOCOOCW ol a nacoJ c "J _ ADVERTISING COPY NEEDS DISTINCTION Most Successful Ads. Are Those That Attract Greatest Attention. By GEORGE W. MERCER. If your style of advertising is to be distinctive and in a class by itself, or unusual, your copy of every printed announcement, or otherwise, must tell a story in words or picture or both. It must serve a definite, distinctive purpose, indicated by some trade necessity, season phase, public need or transient circumstance, either singly or jointly and universally. The advertisement that is not distinctive and has hot a style of its own is the advertisement which fails to bring advantageous. results, either directly or indirectly, although not instantly, no matter how cleverly written, illustrated, created or circulated. There never was, or never will be. an acceptable substitute tok sound metal, legitimate goods, or honest men. The conscious satisfaction of possessing the genuine, to say nothing of the recognized and negotiable worth of the real thing, outweighs every consideration for the tawdry and the false, however artfully disguised. Your advertising copy will be distinctive and will,ring, or show solid gold if It possesses that ingredient of 24 carat. It must be genuine to possess s style of its own. One of the most distinctive advertising features of any retail business is the merchant's show window. It is in his show window that the merchant can create a style of his own. Originally, the window performed its complete function when it introduced into the establishment as much light as its varyinig degrees of opaqueness and the universal presence of dust laden cobwebs permitted. That was : in the “good old days” before the store window was promoted into the sales division and forced itself into its present place at the head of the j procession Us a money producer, i Light can be produced in various oth- | er ways, but business drawn into the ■ store by reason of goods displayed in the show window cannot be obtained In any other way. Hence, the modern show window. A Silent Partner. The display in the window become a partner in the business. A silent partner, to be sure, but one whose silence is particularly golden. The power of the display window is measured by the cash in the register at the end of the week. The real value of the distinctive window display is measured by these two standards of business units: New customers made and increased sales to old’- customers. Now, if anything more can be asked from a bit of space confined within the limits of a pane of plate, glass, two walls and a background, I would like to have someone name it. The development that has come in recent years is based on such a principle that it seems almost incredible that it was so long in reaching the present stage. Perhaps that is due to the fact that only within recent years was it discovered that window glass may be cleaned by the use of certain com-, pounds of water, soap and elbow! grease, and it is surprisingly true that we have some merchants on our main ' streets today that have not discovered the peculiar properties of the above compound. The principle is this: “Every one wants to buy what he can.” The converse of this principle is about 20 per cent. tVue, that is. “No one wants to buy what he cannot see.” Your advertising copy, to be distinctive and have a style of its own, must be just as opaque as the merchant’s window, so that “he who runs can read,” as we are all running today. Example of Distinction. One of the best known and distinctive advertisements that had a style of its own of the pictorial class that has ever been published was the famous Bovril illustration of the ox in the teacup. In addition to its effectiveness for its primary" objects and purposes it was also, in a striking degree, typical of the business tendency of the time —the condensation and crystallization of whatever lends itself to the process. Advertising is not an exact science. If it were everything could be done by rule. Advertising is an experimental science. Each case must be treated on its own merits and in accordance with its special conditions. It is needless for me to say that one of the most engrossing matters of concern in the conduct of modern business is advertising. It is no longer a theory but a condition that confronts the merchant, and its compelling force is felt in every department of trade. Without advertising an undertaking has little or ho chance in the long run. Publicity is a wave of information which rolls along and gathers force by its very momentum Study it over, your advertising. Study it over, your copy. Study it, your proof, and here in closing I want to Advertised for a Lost Hotel. Funny thing happened in Pittsburg the other day. A form ar member of the United States marine corps came ti@;own and took a room at a Liberty street hotel. He then went out for a stroll about town. When he wanted to return to his hotel he had forgotten its name and location. After a twodays’ hunt he inserted an advertisement in the Leader, which he hoped would aid him in his search, as he had left in it some valuable paper in a dress-suit case. Fortunately, the I

say that it is -the proof, the set up that counts the most of all. Youi story may be well told but if it is not well made your efforts can be counted as lost. The printer that handles your copy is the man to keep your eyes on. BEST NEWS IN THE PAPER Classified Advertising an Efficient Salesman and Interesting to All Readers. Several newspaper men from differ ent cities got to discussing the other day what was the best news in the newspaper they were reading togeth er. One of them insisted that the game between the leaders in the two league baseball championships at: tracted the most readers. Another persisted |hat ij was the page of political speeches for the day. A third argued that the best news in that paper was the column of classified ad vertising, under the beads of Wants, For Sales, To Rent, etc. He argued that the information ip these columns was read with keener interest than anything else, because it related more to people’s daily lives. The women, he contended, were particularly affected by such advertisements as those for housemaids, and of housemaids looking for positions Even if they were not looking for servants themselves, it threw a bright light on their own household troubles. The men, he said, were touched by the things that were being offered for sale. The farmer found out which oi his competitors was trying to dispose of market produce; owners of houses were interested to see what other houses were selling for. Men that rented houses were always looking out for something better than wha they had. ■ Whether or not the newspaper brother was right, it is certain that a column of classified advertising al ways comes down very close to home life. It is scanned by a great many people who enjoy seeing what others are trying to buy or sell, even 11 they are not searching for anything themselves. If then you have any unsuppliec wants, or you wish to sell anything if you want a better job, if you want help, the classified advertising in this newspaper gives you an audience list ening with keen interest to know about the trade you want to make A small amount invested in this fora of advertising brings quick and won I derfully cheap returns. It is a singn larly efficient form of salesmanship.

ADS CUT HIGH LIVING COST Advertising a Public Benefit and ot Great Help in Aiding Proper Distribution of Goods. Advertising is a public benefit anc in nowise a contributing factor in th« high cost of living, according to the consensus of opinion voiced by speak ers at the luncheon given by the Hawkeye Fellowship club at Chicagc the other day. Were it not for ad vertising the public would be bank rupted. as the result of soaring prices it was asserted. The meeting was the second one called by the club to consider the high cost of living problem. At the preceding meeting the discussions were so animated and the speakers had so much to say on the subject that it was found necessary to ad joum to a future date in order to fin ish the program. The elimination of advertising as a factor in raising prices of daily neces sities, it was agreed, left the responsi billty for highei- cost of living with other factors. M. O. Smith, who was assigned to a talk on the effect of advertising, said: “Advertising is a proposition oi salesmanship. Its chief usefulness is 1 aiding in the proper distribution oi inerchandise. It is far cheaper than the services of high salaried salesmen whose offices, in part at least, it per forms. “For example, take the sewing ma chine as an article that has been dis tributed almost exclusively through house-to-house canvass. You will fine that among the necessities of life the sewing machine is sold at a percentage of profit in relation to the cost of production than almost any other thing you can recall.” Interesting Women in Advertising. A three-column article in one of the advertiser’s magazines is taken up with an effort to answer the question ‘.‘Why Women Are Difficult to Interest.” The lengthy explanation offered shoots wide of the mark. The simple truth is that if any advertiser finds it dis flcult to interest women it is because he does not make proper use of space n a good home newspaper. When 8 newspaper gets into the home it gets into the hands of the women. They make a pretty thorough job of read ing it Every item in the home news paper that relates to dress, persona'; adornment, entertainment, diversion or domestic economy in any of its thousand ramifications gets the wo man’s immediate attention, whethei she’ finds it in the news or in the ad vertising columns. Must Keep Name Before Public. It makes no difference how long ) man has been in business or hov good a reputation he may have, hs must his name and business be fore the public if he is going to con tinue to succeed. A new generatlor is constantly coming to the front anc must be made acquainted with the olc firms and the merchandise they handle. clerk of the missing hotel read the ad; and, remembering that a man wh< had occupied a room in the hotel hac suddenly disappeared, leaving behinc dress-suit case, he answered the ad and the marine was soon in posses sion of his property. She Saw Him First. "Is Fraulein Elsie at home ?” “No, sir.” “But I saw her at the window jus/ now.” it'’*

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OTHERS KNOW US TOO WELL Easy to Deceive Ourselves, but the Rest of the World Is Generally Too Wise. Senator Pomerene has a happy knack of driving home a statement with an epigram. At a luncheon Senator Pomerene described a would-be literateur. “Thanks to whisky and strong cigars,” he said, "the poor fellow has failed to make good. He earns a precarious living by newspaper work, but, though he is 50 now, none of the wondrous novels and thrilling stories that he used to prate about have appeared; “And yet, in his shabby apartment, over a bottle of cheap liquor and u box of cheap cigars, he will boast by the hour —poor, gray, wrinkled duffer —of his unfinished MSS. Oh, they will appear yet! Yes, he will yet illumine the world with the light of his genius.” Senatof Pomerene sighed and concluded: “Ah, if we could deceive others as easily as we deceive ourselves, what reputations we’d all have, to be sure!" MENIAL POSITION. Mrs. ‘Hoyle^—J can read my husband like a book. | Mrs. Doyle—l’ve heard he was once a page. Built Her Own Home. / Miss Francis Lyon of Westwood has the distinction of being the only woman in New England who lives in h house literally built with her own hands. Miss Lyons belongs to a club whose members are practicing the doctrine of going back to the farm. The club is limited to 40 members and owns property to the amount of SI,OOO and about 70 acres of farming land not far from Westwood. Each member holds a deed to one acre and the balance of the land is held in common to be rented to any member who wishes to try farming on a larger scale. So Many Like Tribble. "Tribbles is a discontented fellow. I don’t believe he ever knows what he wants.” “Oh, yes. He knows what he wants. What makes him discontented is the fact that he also knows ho can’t get it." Really a Small Matter. “Have you anything against Timpers?” “Nothing more than the (fact that he make ‘film ’a word of two syllables.’

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