The Syracuse Journal, Volume 22, Number 18, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 29 August 1929 — Page 7

The BLADE of PICARDY

By « FRED MCLAUGHLIN Copyright by The Bobbs-Morrill Co. W. N. U. Service CHAPTER Xlll—Continued Anita stood In front of me. catching the lapels of my rough coat with dainty fragile Angers. She raised her face and let me look into the ’deep amber eyes. What I saw there made me catch my breath. I put my arms —reverently—around the slim shoulders. and held her for one brief, dea licious Instant; while Neville studied his boots and Brugiere looked out the window. “Senorita mia," 1 said, “1 am not worthy of your smallest thought.” “He is not worthy.” cried Brugiere; “did you hear, Neville? We will be upon our way.” Neville put his great arms around rue. “Francois,” he said, "we will walk with thee tomorrow—early ” He turned toward La Anita, and. to Justify the tears in his eyes, said softly: “Some day I will have to tell his mother.” I She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Adios.” she whispered. «•••••* We were alone in that gloomy cell, with the agony of parting before ns. I took her in my arms. “You did not come to see me in Cuernavaca.” I reproached her. softly. "How could I? Had you not spurned-me; had you not thrust me aside when I mentioned love to you; did you not say my loves were legion, and that 1 used my love for motives that were questionable? Ah—Dios!” I had—or rather Madrella had; and It was not in me to try to offer alibi now that her cousin was dead. That cowardly piece of indecision of mine had cost me dear. I could have saved I.estrange, could have prevented the stabbing of Lopez, and avoided my consequent odyssey. “Yet you came to my funeral, senorita.” “Aye.” She smiled a little. “You were a beautiful memory, dear friend.” “And you loved me as a—as a—” 1 was unable to proceed. “As a—what, Francois?” “In Cuernavaca I asked Brugiere —Brugiere of the golden heart—and he said: ‘Dead, my dear Francois, you are a saint, and therefore greatly beloved ; alive— ah, Mon Dieu—you are poison !’ ” She was silent. “So,” 1 continued, “yoa came to sny funeral." “Yes, Francois." “And 1 would rather be a saint—to you—than poison.” Now she raised her eyes to me again. In their, sweet depths lay a light of understanding, of fear, of wonder. “You tricked me once most grievously, Francois, and gave my pride a lasting hqrL I had gone to your funeral: alive again you had saved me and my uncle and General Juarez in Cuernavaca.” She pressed the soft brown curls against my shoulder. “1 went to Cuernavaca to live, Francois, so that I might be near your simple, unmarked grave in the little cemetery. Each day I went up there —and my soul called out for you.” Now she was sobbing softly. “I—l heard you,” I said, helpless in my misery. ' She lifted her face and I kissed the shining eyes, the tender tremulous lips, and pressed my face against the soft hair. “1 have loved you. Francois.” she whispered, “since that hour when you stood up before the pistol of my cousin; and then when you gave me his life—ah , .‘ .” Fear seized me—consternation, horror What was she saying? When 1 had given her the life of her cousin . . . and I had taken Madrella’s life. Tne same hand that now caressed the glorious curls had held her cousins throat until he died. «'o«ld 1 tell her; could I bear to lose her? I must tell her. “It was I who killed your cousin, senorita—not the Indian, Pasqtial. I must tell you this, though It breaks ray heart to do IL” She smiled into my eyes. “I love you for your courage, Francois; such courage as you possess is a gift few uieii hare had. Lieutenant Brugiere told mt only this afternoon.” “DM he tell you anything else?" I was .sorry that he had not told her of Madrella’s masquerade. “Nothing else. Francois. Poor Pablo! I think, when we love, we are not quite sane. Love is a madness—and Pablo was mad. 1 have been, unconsciously, an Instrument tn his death; and—and you should have been brothers, you and Pablo.” There was a long silence, a silence tn which I hardly breathed because of my happiness. La Anita—lovely La Anita—lay against my heart 1 could hear her soft breathing, and I caught the faint elusive fragrance of her hair. 1 had dreamed of this and my dream had been a golden glory. Tomorrow, which would bring my death, was an unconsidered thing; the knowledge that she loved me would give me strength. One hour of life with Anita would pay for a thousand deaths. She sighed. “Francois. 1 went to see Lopez.” “Yes?” How exquisite was her face! “He offered to sell me your life?” “Humph!” “But the price he required—" “Ah—my sweet—!” A “ —was more than you would have me pay.” “Oh. God —Just for one more day of life, to kill him; just to get m*' fingers—” “Never mind, Francois; 1 think I put a hurt into his soul. When we Spaniards love —or hate —nothing in lite is as great as that love or that hate. If Colonel Lopez goes through this night without committing some act of fearful folly 1 do not know the Spanish mind.” “Whatever he does, my sweet, can never take this hour away from me; you have brought a Joy into my life that shall live forever; the very an gels sha< Usvy me my happiness.”

She traced, with a dainty forefinger, the deep lines that had come into my face, a mist of tears In her eyes. “How old are you, Francois?” “Twenty-eight.” “And lines of' pain in your face . . and the thoughts of deep solitudes. and mental anguish, and hardship, and bitter disappointment. Ah —dear heart, you have suffered!” “In eight months 1 have lived a thousand years; I have been an old man—and now 1 have come back to second childhood again." I - laughed. “You have, at least, lost those awful bruises on your face. Do you remember, Francois, that’ you tore up the pass of Juarez and gave me Pab lo’s life again?” I nodded, and she continued: “The sun was just going down; and I kissed you because I loved you. because you knew how to sacrifice, because you were great in forgiveness I never forgot those bruises, dear, because your face is good to look at I saw the love tn your eyes that day. and the thought of it has made me very happy. Those bruises Francois were—were . . . Why, Francois—your face!” “What, my sweet—my darling . . . Is aught—?” “Mother of G—d. Francois! Your face—?" I touched it with questioning fingers. “Is anything wrong with it, Anita? If so I am desolated, for it is all I have.” “The man who killed Lestrange. and stabbed Colonel Lopez, had no bruises on his face.” Now my eyes sought the floor, for I could not look upon her unhappiness. “You d-did not tell me—Francois.” “Pablo was dead." said L “and we may not—” She came into my arms again; sobbing, with laughter on her lips, and laughing, with tears in her eyes. “Brugiere of the golden heart has said you are a man!” “Brugiere is generous.” “And you did not scoff at my love, Francois, nor thrust me away from you. nor—nor question—?” “Os course not.” “Kiss me—kiss me, and hold me; hold me close to you, for we have so short a time!" So 1 held her while the sobs that had shaken her frail body subsided Finally she raised her face, smiling again. “Do yon love me, Francois?” “An, my sweet—there are not words—!” “Then —may 1 drink with thee?** “Assuredly.” I filled two glasses and gave her one; and, holding it, she turned toward the window. “Can you see La Cruz from here, Francois—the great convent where Maximilian has his headquarters?” I approached the barred window and pointed toward the graceful bulk of the beautiful convent that stood out against the deep blue sky with Its tiny points of light. “There it is. dear heart; had 1 five minutes with his majesty I should be saved. He loved me, and I think he would un derstand.” But she had stayed beside the table and I left the window and came back to her. She held her glass of wine with fingers that trembled a little, and she looked at it with a strange mixture of fear and hope and indecision in her eyes. “You will remember, Francois, my own, that I have loved you?” “My angel!” “Then—” Her eyes were smiling, and her lip—unconsciously, 1 believe —formed one word: “Adios!” Now, even as her dainty mouth touched the glass, i stretched forth h hand swiftly and caught her wrist. Why, 1- do not know, unless it he that our love was so deep a thing that I could read her thought. A hurt, frightened look came into her eyes. “Please. Francois,” she cried “let me drink.” “No. dear heart.” “A Spaniard’s love, Francois, Is all there is In life. I cannot live without you. Let me drink—let me drink and hold me; let me fee) your arms around me while I die. let me look into your face.” “No. my sweet.” She clung to me. “You must, Fran cois; the world will die with you: may I not die also?” “This beautiful world holds much for thee Anita mia; time—” “Time will stop, Francois, tomorrow. Let us both drink; there Is more than sufficient to kill two of us. It is swift and painless. We will drink, Francois, then you will take me In your arms and we will put but lips together, and so—” “1 cannot be so great a coward.” I covered her sweet mouth with kisses. “My sweet," I cried, “we canno* commit this act of madness. You are young and beautiful beyond compare. Time will heal the scars—” “The sears are *n my soul, Fran cois. and time will only add to mv unhappiness.” Bolding the sweetly pointed chin I raised the exquisite face until she must, perforce, look straight into my eyes. “Look at me. Anita mia; you will find in my eyes, only love for you, only a worship that my soul will hold for you. That love for you has given me courage, has caused me to do things Hint made you love me; It will not permit me to do the thing that might lead the world to call me coward. We must face—bravely smiling—what be falls; it is our heritage.” ‘Francois. I shall come each day—and my soul will call to you. You will hear, dear heart, will you not?” “Just as I have heard you always, so shall I hear you again.” I in dicated the glass of poisoned wine. ’’lnhere will be no more of—of this, dear one?” She shook her head. “No. Francois; long ago you taught me love* and forgiveness; now you teach me courage. The guard comes-*! hear his footsteps Kiss me, kiss me, Francois-*-and hold me to your heart again!" When the guard reached the door of my cell he found her standing

straight and slim, all sweet composure, with a brave smile on her lovely face and a fragile band held out to me. So she left me. but, long after the sounds of their going had died away. I heard a voice—which might have been the voice of an angel—catling: “Francois, Francois,” and again. “Francois!" CHAPTER XIV A Fallen Empire I went to the window and looked out 1 studied the stars, and wondered which was the star of my luck, and what 1 had done thus to have lost its favor. They seemed so near to me, so very near indeed the twinkling mantle of the stars and the wide blue arch .of heaven—so very near to me. The graceful outlines of the con vent of La Cruz stenciled a pretty picture against the sky. Windows were alight; I wondered which was Maximilians. I visioned the vast preparations for tomorrow’s flight They would leave me—leave my body .dangling. Yet 1 had done no wrong; I had given all my majority to my country; I had committed no crime against the Empire. I had served faithfully, and for that service I now faced the noose. There bad never been a need for me to serve, for the extensive De Vigny estate was vjcprtb a fortune. Yet, because of my love of service to my country. I was here. What was ft Madrella had said? “The gilt on the emperor’s crown grows thin." And now his majesty forsaken by the powerful friends in Europe who had sent him here, planned a last desperate dash to freedom. And La Anita had prophesied that Maximilian would face a firing squad, that the people of Mexico would rise up and crush him. Gould such a thing be; could an emperor fail; ’ould an empire fall? I found the crude uncomfortable bed and stretched my weary body upon it, where I lay, passing from a semiconscious stupor to a troubled sleep. 1 saw again In dreamy retrospect the sweet Carlotta, empress of Mexico, every inch a glorious qu&en; and I saw his majesty, the handsome Hapsburg, who—with his great, graceful height and his golden hair and beard —looked more like a Norse god than a man. 1 saw the smiling, cyni cal face of Madrella—the face of myself as well. He spoke to me: but you must be preserved for a less kind fate, for the noose awaits you.’ Madrella was dead —dead by my own hands—yet he had prepared the noose for me. I saw Pasqual and his lovely little Dolores, and 1 wondered if they knew where I had gone. Through ail these pictures came and went, like a will-o’-tbe-wisp, the figure and the face of La Anita, and her amber eyes were fathomless wells of love, and her red lips were smiling, and the slim hands beckoned to me. And, doubtless because of my fear of the ever-tightening Liberal lines, my dream went back to the emperor who nad loved me, and who—before I had failed so miserably—bad trusted me. He was all alone —standing alone —and the bare encircling hills of Queretaro cut the sky behind him. He faced a squad of dark-faced men with guns, who stood —solemn, silent —awaiting an order. They raised their weapons and I saw the spurting streams of flame. The great figure crumpled, half rose. fell, and lay still Mon Dieu—they had killed him! 1 cried out in my agony: “The Emperor—they have killed him I They have — I” The vivid horror of that dream brought me to sudden, startled wake fulness. 1 lay trembling, thanking God that it had been only a dream A beam of sunlight, entering the barred window, shone full on my face. 1 got to my feet Jowly, and looked around? surprised to find familiar things. The night had gone and with it half the morning, for the sun was high. How quiet was the world. I looked out. The convent of La Cruz was still there, and the bare encircling hills as well. Had they forgotten me, or were they merely waiting? Was this a scheme of Colonel Lopez; to wait and wait —letting my hopes run high? It was such a thing as he might do While I stood, half dazed and won dering, I heard a deep voire and the sound of footsteps in the narrow corridor. Now they were coming, coming to take me out and hang me What was it Madrella had said? “We tall, tong-legged men wiggle a vasit deal on the end of a rope.’’ That was it I waited. Courage—that was al! I needed: 1 would show them how to die! So. with eyes upon the floor I waited. A key scrai>ed In the lock, a gruff order in Spanish, the guard's reply, and the door swung open. A vision floated into the cell, a vision in gold en tan, with a halo of hair the color of desert smoke, with sparkling, am ber eyes, and red. red lips that sash toned my name, with soft warm arms that went round my neck. “Francois.” she cried. “Francois, my dear!” “Have I died, dear heart—and are you an angel? All night I have seen you. Such sublime loveliness cannot be real!” “Put your arms around me. Fran cois; does an angel feel—like thjt? Would the Liss of an angel seem—like this?” “How beautiful you are. Anita 1 Yet the morning is gone, my sweet, and they-A” “Will nev% come. Francois.” She loosed me so that I might look upon her and who had come with her. “General I cried, "in the name of God. senor. how came you here —here within the lines of the Empire?”# “There Is no Empire. Captain Vigny.” he said. “Am 1 still in the land of dreams senor?” “We hold the town ot Queretaro and the garrison—as well as La Cruz. We have taken all.” .“But I heard ( no shot, no firing Can an army take a city—and a gar rison—without a fight? There are ten thousand soldiers of the Empire tn Queretaro. Have they—have they gone?” “They have not gone," he said slowly.

THE SYRACUSE JOURNAL

“And you have taken all. with m. fighting, no casualties?” “One.” He smiled a little. “One casualty; a man has died, and a trai tor has been horn. A garrison, senor. the heart of which is bad. cannot survive.” “Lopez." I whispered, awed. ■•Yes, senor; Lopez. He has delivered into our hands, under cover of the night, the city, the garrison. La Cruz, and the person of the emperor. The Empire Is dead." "And the emperor, general—be is—?” “Quite well, and under nominal guard at La Cruz.” Then the, emperor had failed, the Empire had fallen. Ah—the glory and the pity of it all. I dropped be side the table and put my arms upon It and my head upon my arms, and I cried as I had not cried in twenty years. And Anita bent over me. and clasped her loving arms around me “Francois." she said, “1 love thee. My brave Francois, who is so strong —and so weak ; so courageous—and so timid; who is so deep and fine—and so simple. Do not you see. dear heart, that this will give you life?” But life was a small thing com pared to an empire. Now 1 felt the hand of Escobedo on my : shoulder. He was Anita’s uncle, and doubtless loved her very dearly; he could not, therefore, have been devoid of tender feelings toward the man upon whom Anita had bestowed the blesatng of her love. “Does a great, strong, brave man. Francois.” she continued, “cry?” “The greater they are, Anita mia,” said Escobedo, t’and the braver and the stronger—the easier they cry And the fall of an empire is a thing to cry over; but there should be In our hearts, some quickening ot joy In the birth of a new republic. When one nation dies another one is born.” I got to my feet and extended a hand toward her uncle. “When I was a soldier of the Empire. General. I played a base trick upon you and General Juarez.” He smiled. “A very clever trick indeed, senor; and, had it not been for your act of reckless daring in Cuernavaca—and a few tears from the Irresistible Anita—your life should have paid for it. As it is I think the new republic has gained a stalwart.” “What of Colonel Lopez?” I inquired. “We use him.” said Escobedo slow ly, “and kick him out—just as we would any other dog. Lopez is done ” “And—and Maximilian, senor?” I was afraid, for his majesty had signed death warrants for many Mexican patriots; and Mexico’s treatment in the past of deposed, ambitious rulers had been most severe. Escobedo’s voice was grim: “Maximilian's life is forfeit. When ambition calls, senor, we answer; and we follow that lure until we have attained our goal or until death shall stop us. He has missed his goal, and only death may put an end to striving. Juarez is just—but hard—and the welfare of his people is his life. I do not think the world can blame us." Death for the Norse god. death for rhe kindly dreamer who had given his best, whose soldiers had loved him. whose people had forsaken him! Mon Dieu—failure! The Empire had reached a miserable ending; the cur tain that was falling upon its closing scene was a pall of death. Yet 1 had gained life—and love; hut tny heart was heavy, for Hie favor of Maximilian had been a rich blessing to me. ‘ls it permissible, general, that I see his majesty? He has been an elder brother to me.” Anita turned to her uncle. “May we both sro and see him and tell him we are sorry.? For I stood before him once—defiant—and prophesied tins thing. I would go before him now—humble —and tell him that I am sorry.” Ah. bow sweet an angel—this lady who had given me tier love! “Assuredly.” said Escobedo. • •••«•• We found him. that beautiful May morning, in a vast sunlit chamber of the convent. He sat at a walnut table, his handsome face turned to ward an opened window which offered a view of jhe bare brown hills: and in his deep nine eyes lay an ex pression of hopeless resignation. Doctor Bartsch was with him. The doctor caught my hand. “Captain.” he whispered. “Francois after all these months! You come hack to us from the grave." “Aye, from the grave indeed-’’ said I; “and I bring an angel with me” He bowed over her hand. “1 have seen the senorita often, but have never had the honor—” ’ He led us to the emperor, who. rec ognizing the senorita. got to his feet He extended a hand and she took ft in both her own. “Your majesty." she whispered. He smiled nt her. though his fine eyes held a haunting hurt. “Senor Ita, hehold the fulfillment of your prophecy!” Now sobbing softly, she went to her knees before him. “Ah, your majesty, your majesty—l would not—” She stopped, and he put his hand, as in benediction, on her head. The gracious lady who had stood, defiant and unafraid, before the mighty Maximilian had become —now that be was broken, helpless, facing alone rhe great tragedy of death—all gentle hu mility, all tenderness, all sweet and womanly sympathy. * We waited, and while we waited Maximilian looked at me. in his eyes I found the old love, the old friendliness, the'old trust. I was very happv. Maximilian found my hand and took it in a warm firm clasp. “Lieutenant Neville and the Belgian lad. Brugiere, have been here, Francois; and thev told me a moving tale of faith and devotion and courage and hardship; a tale that made me love thee very much.” “They have been good friends to me. your majesty. ’ . “We have treated our faithful Blade ot Picardy badly.” said Maxi ttiiHan softly, “yet J have the happy consolation. Francois, of knowing that, although you may have lost an empire and an emperor, you have surely gained a queen.” (THE END]

1 HE NEVER REMOVED | HIS HAT | <© by D- J. Walsh » THE little town of Flossingham had never quite recovered from the blow it received when Dickson, its neighbor by but seven miles, was declared the county-seat and given a new courthouse. Only those who have lived in an ambitious little town know the bitterness of the defeated in such small triumphs and the poorly concealed exultation of the successful. Flossingham, after this blow, sank Into a doze which might have deepened h|to a Rip Van Winkle sleep if it had not been for the new drug store. it had long been the consensus of Flossingham opinion that the town could not support two stores of any one kind. So when a very good looking young fellow with up and coming manner came to town, rented the largest room in the new Butler building and announced that he would open a pharmacy there in the near future, the general feeling was one of pity rather than anything else. There was one man, however, who felt nothing but resentment Asa I‘efferle had owned and run the only drug store the town ever had known. Asa was getting along in years and wasn’t well. His store had been advertised as for sale in several county papers for some time and it was not without anything resembling equanimity that Asa received the news of his rival’s approach. He longed to realize some money on his place so that he could go to a good sanitarium for a nice long rest. To be sure Millicent, his niece, and only living relative, was to be thought of but Millicent had assured him again and again that she would gladly go to work somewhere else whenever she was freed from the cares of him and tiis home. “The only tiling 1 can do.” Aso told his niece bitterly, “is to give that young smart-alec a husky run for his money and I’m going to begin tnsta nter.” Miiiirent was forthwith appointed a committee of one to keep a line on whatever was being done at the new pharmacy and report. The first thing she saw installed was a splendid soda fountain with all the latest improvements. There followed a magnificent line ot toilet articles such as would bring to rhe lips of the eternal feminine only superlatives. The bottles on the shelves shone resplendently and the drugs were supposed to come from The most up to the monrent laboratories in the country The furnishings were exquisite. The color scheme would attract any artist and the orderliness and cleanliness appealed to the most fastidious. Halsey gave an opening for which the latest thing in radios was installed. He sent to the city for dozens and dozens of hothouse roses, which he gave away as souvenirs and distributed leaflets among the visitors telling of n handsome prize he was going to award to the person who presented the most suitable name for the new store, the judges to be selected from among the townspeople. The place was packed. People surged in and out all through the day and evening, commenting amiably upon rhe magnificent outlay, listening to the radio, drinking free ginger ale and root beer and wearing roses of every hue and variety, but it was not the radio, the equipment, the free drink or the souvenirs about which the people buzzed when out of earshot. it was about Halsey, the handsome proprietor. During the entire day and evening he had worn a soft gray fedora hat pulled low over his face. He had served sodas and free drinks, adjusted the radio and passed out souvenirs without removing it even Once. Asa I’efferle was not so well. The news of the grandeur of the new pharmacy and the crowds which continued to patronize it even after opening day seemed to make his decline more rapid What difference did it make to him that curiosity was the leading motive which took people into the store? In vain had he scrubbed and cleaned ami rearranged his own place. In vain did he offer a souvenir with every purchase over a dollar. Even the people on the outlying farms around Flossingham heard about the new store and dropped in to take a look at the man who never removed his hut. They never failed to spend tickets and dimes and quarters before leaving tor soda water and other things. The gossip grew and waxed extravagant, it was even re ported that clerks at the Flossingham hotel told how the new druggist ate and slept with, his hat on. people in Dickson heard about it and came to Flossingham to buy their drugs. Drummers learned ot Halsey; came and sold him goods, left and spread the story about Halsey’s gray fedora over half the state. Millicent Starhright felt perfectly

Great Men Who Toiled at Shoemaker’s Bench

The occupation of shoemaking has furnished to the ranks of statesmen, philosophers and scholars many men famous tor their abilities in later life. As an occupation which is conducive to reflection it no doubt tends to encourage and develop studious qualities wherever they exist by the gift of nature. Nearly alt modern civilized conn tries have possessed great and famous men who began life on the shoemaker's bench. Roger Sherman, a patriot, jurist and statesman of high rank, worked at the shoemaker’s trade until he was twenty-two years old. It is said that Sherman always kept a book open before him as he worked that he might not lose a single instant when the cessation of his duties gave him a chance to study. He became a judge, a congressman, a senator, and was considered in his time one of the wisest of American public men. Whittier, rhe poet, and Henry Wil son. Vice President of the United

justified in going to the new drug store' for sodas. Uncle Asa had no fountain in his and all the time, with each and every passing day. she was falling deeper and deeper in love with the new pharmacist. In less than a year Halsey’s business grew so rapidly that tie was forced to acquire additional space. H< put in several new lines and leaders and still wore his haL Flossingham had never beheld him without that hat. The store was still Spoken of as Halsey's pharmacy, but the votes for the new name were scheduled to be judged on the first anniversary of the store’s opening. Curiosity was rife on that momen tons day. Asa I’efferle had taken to his bed after placing his rapidly de-, dining stock in charge of a neighbor’s son who had clerked for him off and on. Millicent, his neice, having voted a name and slogan, waited among the crowd in Halsey’s while the judges looked over the list. When they came out of conference and announced that the grand prize—a wonderful toilet set of many pieces—had been awarded to Miss Millicent Starbright for her name, “Halsey’s Hat,” with its accompanying slogan, “Look for It in the Hat," site was never more surprised in all her* life. Afterward, when H. Halsey managed tv tell her in an aside that he’d like her to wait or come back after the crowd had gone, she couldn’t possibly have described her emotions had she tried. She went out and walked and walked, waiting for the multitude to disperse. When*she finally went back to the store only one old lady remained and Halsey promptly got rid of her. When they were alone he locked the outer door and led her into his private office. “I've loved you ever since the first time you came in here,” he told her without preface or preliminary. “Do you think you could ever come to care for me, even a little bit. Millirent ?’’ “Oh—but I—1 —first ot all. you’ll have to tell me why you never take off your hat,” she said, flushing very red. “Are you bald?” “Well —I—er—” “Don’t tell me It’s a disguise and you’re hiding from some one! I—l couldn’t bear that! You see—l—l do like you a little bit already!” “I'm not bald and the hat isn’t a disguise,” he told her, smiling as he reached up to sweep the celebrated gray fedora from a wealth of curly chestnut hair. “1 merely wanted to start a business here in a pleasant little town which I realized could not support two drug stores. 1 knew your uncle wanted to sell out but 1 didn’t have money enough to buy at first. It was easier to start with a little money and plenty of credit but 1 knew I’d have to think up something radical and startling to make business come my way. My mother and father; expected me to be a girl and they named me Hattie for my mother. When I disappointed them they changed the name to Hatton but everybody else in the world called me Hat. 1 hated it. It never seemed to arise above the indignity of that awful name. Maybe that is why 1 was prompted to use the hat idea for my specialty—an urge to make an unpleasantness pay for itself —anyway, it worked.” “Will—will you feel that you must keep on making it pay? And may I call you Hatton? 1 don’t think it a bit unpleasant. “I’m through with the gray fedora, Millicent. I’ve money enough to buy your uncle out now so we ll be the only drug store in Flossingham and if you’ll marry me I’ll spend Hie rest of my life trying to make you happy.” “I—l suppose 1 might as well say yes,” she said shyly. “I've thought ot such a lot of ways to use the hat idea for advertising, it would be a shame to waste them, wouldn’t it?” Light Belt in Sky The milky way is the great belt ot zone of tight which stretches aerosij the sky at an angle of about 63 de* gress to the equinoctial and from horizon to horizon. It Is produced by blended light of myriads Gl stars, though when viewed with un* aided eye it appears as a great ex* pause of diffused light. Stars are n<>| distributed uniformly throughout tin* milky way and many of them, it is thought, are suns, the centers of planetary systems. Provident Ant The eggs ot a certain aphis, which are of no direct use to the ants, are brought into the nest and protected carefully from the severity of winter until the warm weather comes, when the young aphides are brought out and put on their food plants, walled in by little “cattle pens” of earth. By keeping these eggs safe for six months the ants insure a supply of the food delicacy during the following summer. Not Unrelated, Perhap* A contemporary says that he can-, not think of anything that looks as awful as a woman regrowing her hair, unless it’s a darn that a man tries to put in his sock.—Boston Transcript.

States, were also shoemakers. The, lives <>f both men were a triumph; over early disadvantages and their utterances always revealed keen sympathy with workers. Germany produced two famous shoeqiakers. Hans Sachs of Nuremburg, the Minnesinger and early writer of German lyric poetry, and Johann Joachim Winckelmann. the historian of ancient art. in /England the shoemaker’s bench gradiiated William Gifford, who be* chine a distinguished editor, publicist and author. Robert Bloomfield, a work shoemaker, was a popular poet, and his “Tlie Farmer Boy” is still remembered. Another English shoemaker was Thomas Holcroft, man of letters and dramatist. Still another was John Brand, antiquary and clergyman.—New York Times. French Canadian stock is increasing more rapidly than any other la* cial element in Canada.

| SUB i ’ I 1 * :t ROSA : mimi ■: An Era of Etiquette WOU can hardly pick up a'magazine * nowadays without reading something about etiquette, which Is one of the highly advertised things of the times. There are as many or more advertisements about how to make money . along with these manuals of manners. The two seem to work together, in a way. In the old days when kings and queens were In fashion, the business of fine manners was confined to courts. Then it got into the drawing rooms or parlors, and now we are trying to run it Into the scramble of modern life. That’s why the books on etiquette are on sale. Dur ancestors had the manners. We have treatises on the subject But goodness knows theres need ot something to Keep us from being crude and boorish. We live et such a pace and are so full of the go-getting spirit that our manners are ripped off rhe way lace would be. if we wore any these days. But at the same time 1 can’t just savvy why a person who has any kind of feelings and as much good sense needs a ,ook to tell him or her how to behave We are supposed to do that sort ot thing naturally. The attempt to get good manners by buying a fancy book is just about as foolish as the idea of making money by reading about gold mines. About ail the etiquette book can do is to call your attention to the fact that there IS still room for manners in this world which is Jammed so full of people that they keep parking out on one another’s toes. The real manners which a person should have and display, the way flappers reveal knees, are things that you must cultivate for yourself. If you haven’t the etiquette urge, the book isn’t going to put It into you. a The best recipe for manners is the Golden Rule. Act as though you had some idea that other person is more or less like yourself, if you don’t like being pushed Into the gutter, chances are the other fellow Isn’t itching |o t»e bumped o" the curb either. And the positive side of manners depends upon your having self-confidence and strength. To have good manners you must assert yourself—but in a clever way. You must have poise, which is only personality nicely balanced, if you are shamefaced, and overmodest. you will make other people feel wriggly, and that Isn’t good manners, is it? My recipe would' be —equal parts of strength and fineness well mixed Or you can cook it ap by combining egoism with altruism, love of others and self-respect Season with pepper. That’s a popular commodity ami in good taste. Use sugar—but not too much. Employ a certain amount ot pep and sweetness as also regard for others. and the book of etiquette need never be read. Prehistoric Women WHENEVER a mummy is unwrapped, it turns out to be a man. The same is true when they excavate the primitive men who flourished hundreds of thousands of years ago. They are always gentlemen. Why is it that they find no prehistoric women? Nlaybe the ancient Egyptians, who were so fond pf undertaking, thought the women weren’t worth preserving, but it seems as though Nature might have saved a few fetnales of the species to keep the men company in the museum. Dear me! what problems a woman has to face! Os course, tiiere were women In those old days, for men wouldn’t have been contented without 'em. but it’s hard to find traces of them. The scientists dig up stone hatchets which the men wielded, hut they can’t seem to unearth any old hairpins or corset steels. They may hit on these later wiien they have dug deeper. The fact of the matter is that woman is still buried. You don't have to read Kdgar Allen Poe to read the stories of people alive, for that’s the condition ot the average woman. She’s buried beneath rhe ■home and all the traditions of the race. She’s like the miners who are entombed in their coal caves. She isn’t as much so as she was, but there’s still a lot of excavating to be done before women are brought up to the level of terra firma. t'ustorn and costume have kept her down in the mine. One of the signs of the times is the relief expedition which is working to unearth woman. She may seem to be free when she goes about in the derby which man has just cast off and when she does the voting trick on the first ironing day after the first wash day of November. But hats and ballots aren’t enough. Trousers and cigarettes help her some more, but the full freedom of woman is still to come. Woman’s trouble is that she has the habit ot being a female. She togs herself out as a man and acts in a masculine way, but at heart she is still a woman. That is as it should be, but womaa has still to find herself. Then she cap. be worth something to herself and to man also. (© bv the Bell Syndicate, tnc.t Ghost’s Problem The ghost writing industry Is growirtg by leaps and bounds. Some of the successful ghost writers have so much work to do that they are hiring other ghosts to write Tor them, and you can easily see what that will lead to. —Spokane Spokesman-Review. Adapted-From Mohawk The name “Adirondack" as applied to the mountain group in New York state is said to be from the Mohawk Indian word “Hatirontaks,” meaning “bark-eaters." 1