Evening Star Newspaper, June 4, 1922, Page 70

6 ‘The Secret of a Girl's Indiscretion HILE engaged upon a stren- uous governrient propa- sanda during the war I was one night addressing a large audience in 3 public hall in Edinburgh concerning the insidious efforts of the Germans to secure our undoing, of the marvelous system of Prussian espionage in our midst, and even the preparation of German uni- forms to be used as a surprise to us on the day when the enemy set his iron heel upon our shores. The day upon which I addressed that packed audience, which was pre- sided over by a well known Scottish peer, and at which the el te of Edin- burgh were present, had been a black one. indeed., 1t was Tuesday, June 6. 1915. and at midday the nation had received a profound shock at the news that Lord Kitchener had been drowned off the Orkneys. At Hooge the Germans were advancing and oc- cupying the British trenches,’ the Austrians were advancing in the Trentino, while the admiralty had told us that we had lost the battle of Jutland. The spirits of the nation were falling on that, one of the blackest days of the war. * ok ok % COULD feel that my audience. that | a of pale faces which showed | dimly across the footlights, was de pressed Therefore 1 had taken cheerful note of optimism and urge them to look and work for lvr|zhl?r] da when Germany should be| crushed 1 had spoken for an hour and a quarter. and had resumed my chair. To the applause T bowed my ac-| knowledzgme and then, after the usual vote of thanks, T passed igo and was putting on the hallkeeper came to the anteroom my coat when me and said “There’s a voung lady who wishes to speak to vou e says she| it if you are engaged.’ an autograph hunter, T sup- T said. with a smile. “Ve Tell her to bring up her book.’ a2 lecturer, like every other, I| any applicants for specimens I uneven scribble. don’t think the young lady| “nts an autograph, sir,” was the lan's reply. “She wants to see you— %o speak to vou." “Very well. In ten minutes.” I said May the lady come In, sis?" asked | the hallkeeper, putting his head inside | the door. “Certainly.” 1 replied. and the next | moment a tall. dark-haired, extremely good-looking girl was ushered in. She | was quietly dressed, and her bearing | was that of a lady “I ¢o hope, Mr. s Le Queux, that you | will forgive me for troubling vou. 1 have come here tonight expressly to see you and to ask your advice upon | ell. upon a private affair of my | own, one which of gravest con-| cern to me | “I haven't the pleasure of your name.” 1 said “lda Duffield,’ she replied. “I'm sorry I haven't a card. But I'm stay- ing with my mother at the Caledo- nian Hotel. We live in London—in is Deanery street.” “Well, Miss Duffield.” I said. &lith some curi “what is the circum- | stance which is distressing you?" She hesitated. Then she said: “It would take some time to tefl you here, and no doubt you are tired after speaking so long and want to get back to your hotel. Would you see me if I called upon you tomorrow morning?”" “Certainly. I'm at the North Brit- ish, at the other end of Prince’s street But I have to leave for York at 11:30. I'm lecturing there tomorrow night. I could see you at 9:30. Is that too early?”’ “Not at all. If 1 stay late tonight my mother might think it strange. I shall be so glad if you will see me in the morning,” she added. * x x % PUNCTUALLY at 9:30 next moming. while I stood in the entrance hall of the hotel, she came in, and, put- ting out her hand. greeted me. Then I took her into the circular lounge beyond, a rather gloomy room, which is usually deserted, and there we sat together. “Well.” she said, “mhat I'm about to tell you will at once strike you as curious. And you will. no doubt. sus- pect that it is all my fault. But I tell you now it is not. T know I have been indiscreet, but—well, it was be- cause 1 was terrified!” “Ot what?" “Let me tell you the whole circum- stances,” she said “I know that you have had a very wide experience in contra-espionage work, and that fs why I presume to trouble you with my private affairs and seek your ad- vice.” “I am ready to listen,” I sald. “Well. in the first place, my mother is head of a war hospital at Deau- ville, on the French coast, and I am a voluntary nurse there. My father established it and defrays its whole cost. Our patlents are mostly French poilus, ;my mother and myself and the whole staff speaking French fair- 1y well. Indeed, my mother is French. We established it in December, 1914, and it has been golng on ever since, with 250 beds.” “Very generous of your father,” I 5aTd, inwardly reflecting that the cost of such a hospital must be very con- siderable. dare say you know Deauville, It Is very fashionable in summer, quite close to Trouville.” “I was once there during’ the race week,” I sald. “Well,” the hospital is on the Plage. | One day | daring robberies during the two years |den the knife—a long double-bladed i thought me the ‘Queen of Deauville'—why, 1 do not know. Once I asked him, and he &nnoyed me by repliyiig, ‘You are my queen.’ I told him not to be silly, but I saw that T had attracted him— that he had become infatuatéd.” “Ah!" I remarked. “Many a pa- tient has been infatuated with his It is unfortunately so in my was her reply. “When he grew better he used to help me in the ward, and became my most devoted servant. I feared always that my mother would notice his attachment to me. three of his friends came from Paris to see him—a woman and case, two men of the Apache type. Hor- rible people! 1 found myself in a quandary, and was longing fer the time when he would be discharged and sent home." “You had no affection for him, take it “Not in the least. The fact is 1 am already engaged to an officer who fs now at the front. I told him so, but he would not believe it." she satd. “One day 1 was off duty amd I met him on the Plage. He compelled me to sit upon a seat and listen to him. He told me a weird and terrible story | —how he was one of those motor bandits who had committed so many 1 revious to the war. He admitted hat he was an apache—a Paris hooli- gan. The police haq arrested five of the gang, but he had escaped and worked his prssage to South Ameri- ca. There he had fallen in with an- other criminal gang, which had in- included murder. He showed me his| knife, and then, looking me straight in the face. suddenly said: ‘If you forsake me I shall use this as 1 have used it before. You are my queen, and nobody else shall have you as wife!" 1 rose at once, and, telling him not to be so foolish, left him." “And then?" “When later we met at the hospital he tried to renew the conversation. but I refused to listen. So, he turned upon me and upbraided me for al- lowing him to think that 1 loved him." * ok ok % €6\ HAT did vou do then?" I asked. “I told the medical officer pri- vately that he had a knife in Mis possession and I thought his injuries had unhinged his mind. Next day the officer spoke to him. but he had hid- one of Swedish make—and not be found. That gver. anotfer patient gave me & packet. saving: ‘This is for vou. nurse, from Levigne. I openéd it and found the knife.” “At any rate vou had the weapon.” T sai it could me night, how- | Fes, But he seemed to worship | it. It was his mascot. he had told me. While he held it he was im- mune from arrest. The police could never find him. Oh, If I had but time to tell you all the strange, sen- sational stories of crime which he had told me from time to time. Sure- 1y his career. from his boyhood, had been a romance stranger than one even imagined by a novelist." “Certainly your position was a most curfous and unenviable one,” I marked. t was! re- And the more so when, a few days later, some more visitors from Paris to a middle-aged man who occupied the next bed identified | him. I saw one of the visitors start. and then cry: ‘Why, Rossignol! 1| were dead” Levigne ‘No! Not here! Somebody overhear! Be careful’ Very extraordinary,” I said “Yes. This caused me to fear him even more. 1 had heard of the des- perate motor bandit known as ‘The Nightingale'—the man who had been tracked by the police to a house out- side Provins, and there he had held a large force at bay and shot dead two gendarmes. The papers were full of it just before the war; how he held the place and got away scot- free. Le Rossignol had terrorized the suburbs of Paris. as vou prob- ably know, until people hardly dared to sleep at night.” “Rossignol.” 1 repeated. “In the Parls argot, though the word means nightingale, in French It is also the sobriquet of a plcklock or a skeletan key.” Ts 1t?" she asked. “T do not know Parisian slang well enough to know that, though I speak French. At any rate, the fact that I had discov- ered horrified me. I was being per- secuted by a man for whom the po- lice were still searching. Was it surprising that he exhibited his knife so exultingly “And what else?” I asked, glancing at my watch. “Ah, I see you are in a hurry. I must not keep vyou, Mr. Le Queux. Will you help me “I should like to hear the whole of the circumstances before I make a promise,” I said. “Surely, with the knowledge you now possess it would be easy to hand him over to the Paris police for murder. I recollect the case well. It was said that he wore an armored jacket, and that the revolver bullets fired at him by the police did not harm him.” “That is so. But you must catch your train,” she urged eagerly. “You have anotner engagement. Where can I see you again?” T reflected for a moment. “Would you care to call at my rooms?” I asked. “I should be only too pleased,” was her reply. “Of course I have to be caretul, because I don’t want mother to know anything.” vo cried. ma; Eight of those summer villas have been connected up by covered ways,” she went on. “I have been there ever since it was opened, and— ana—" * % x* ~HE hesitated, as thougl® half in- clined mot to tell me. “Yes? Go on” “Well she resumed in a changed wvoice, “one night there arrived among others a poilu named Louis Levigne, who had been very severely wounded, and the hospital orderly on ‘the train told me that he had been given up.as a hopeless case. He was put to bed in my ward, and his face was so thin and pinched, with such a hopeless expression, that I took compassion on him and did all T could for him that night. Next morning he seemed bet- ter, In a weak voice he thanked me, ang from that moment he improved. ‘His vecovery was so rapid as fo amase the surgeons. He knew Eng- {Ciish fairly well. and T used often to "read to him. In fun he nicknamed I — — - So I gave her my address, and she made an appointment to call on me on the following Thursday afternoon. * %k * * > In the train as I went south I reflected upon the curious story the handsome young girl had told me, and became convinced that she had confessed only half the truth. She must have allowed the fellow to make love to her. I saw plainly that she was of a romantic turn of mind, and that in all probability she had in- dulged in a violent flirtation with the disabled poilu who had become an orderly and was ever at her beck and call. In every war hospital there have been similar instances. Nurses, and especially the voluntary ones, who had in so many cases been drawn from the leisured claswes, thirsting for sensation, had been prone to flirt with the poor fellows hover- ing between life and death. And T Any girl who has served in a war hospital will testify to the many lit- tle romances, and the many tragedies, which occurred in the wards, both in England and France, during the five years of the great struggle. 1 tulfilled my engagement at York, and next day in Lincoln, the next at Bridlington, and then I went direct to London for three days' rest. Trav- eling and lecturing makes one very fatigued, and while on my tour, which lasted over two years, I was always glad to be-back in the ease of my own home, if only for a couple of days. On the afternoon appointed Ida Duffield called upon me, and I took up the fhread of her curious narra- tive. ’ “Well, Miss Duffield,” I exclaimed, “I have been thinking over all you have told me, but I cannot see what hold this fellow has upon you. 1If DUFFIELD'S JEW you know him to be the notorious Rossignol, why not tell the police?" he hesitated, and I saw that she s nonplussed. w Ah, if I did that I should act against my own interests. Arthur | would then know of my indiscre- tions.” | But 1 thought you had aiready | told the man to whom you are en- gaged.” I sald “So I have. But not all, en?" No." she admitted. “Not all! Ah, Mr. Le Queux, you cannot know the | horrible position in which I now find | myself.” | How " | “This man, Levigne, who so insid- | iously made love to me, now threat- ens me with exposure of my letters to him to Arthur! There was a scene between us once—three months ago— | which—which has terrified me.” YPlease describe it I said. “If I| am to become your adviser in this matter you must tell me the whole | truth, Miss Duffield,” I said. | x ok ok % R some moments she hesitated to | contess to me. As I had sur- mised, there was more behind it all than she had told me. “You men- tioned letters,” I added. “What let- | ters have you written him?” “Little notes written In pital,” was her low reply. I was extremely foolish, but I did it out of Kindness to him. 1 thought when he was cured and discharged that he would think no more of me. It began when the doctors declared that his injuries must prove fatal.” “Then he has those letters of yours — amorous ones, of course —and he threatens to send them to the man to whom you are engaged to be married. eh? The fellow is a blackmailer as well as an assassi “Yes. And not only that, he threat- ens to send them to my father.” “Has he put that in writing?” inquired. 0. He is too clever.” 'You spoke of a scene three months ago. What was it 1 was in Paris at the Hotel Lotti with my mother. He had been dis- charged two months before, and somehow he knew I was in Paris. He watched me cross the Place Ven- dome alone, and _then came up to mc. ‘Ida, you must meet me in the Bois tonight at'7 o'clock.’ he said, and in- dicated a spot not far from the Ar- menonville. I told him it was im- possible, but he said that he must see me for he had something secret to tell me—some secret information he had gathered concerning a German agent in Parls. At first I refused, but at-last, terrified by his attitude, 1 consented.” “And you went?" ‘Yes, I met him there. He was quite nice to me, recalling all our pleasant hours together, and was, of course, full of passionate phrases, telling me that he had never loved anybody but myself. I protested, re- peating my engagement to Arthur. This maddened him, for suddenly he sprang up and drew a knife, telling me that I had uttered my last words and that hs wauld serve me as he had served other women who had discarded his love.: I screamed. He took hold of me, and we struggled. He tried to kiss me, 'and I shouted for help. By good fortune a taxi- cab came along at that instant. The driver pulled up on hearing my scream, and two gentlemen got out. Levigne escaped in the darkness, but I told the gentlemen what had oc- curred, and they kindly drove me back to the Place Vendome.” the hos- “1 know | 1 many a pafhetic romance of the af- fection of a soldier for his kindly nufsé remains unwritten and un known. \ “And you have not seen him since?” “No. He has written to me telling that he is coming me.” HE SUNDAY STAR, S§ HAVE NEVER SINCE BEEN SEEN. “Why not see him and give him into custody?” 1 suggested. “Because, as I have explained, he would then send my father coples of my letters and the originals to Arthur.” ¢ “But you surely cannot afford to be blackmailed by a man of such characte 1 cried. "It is mon- strous!” * ok k% «] WAS so foolish," she declared with extreme nervousness. “I as- sure you, Mr. Le Queux, I only a lowed him to make love to me be- cause 1 thought his last moments were near, and I felt that I ought? not to repel him." “You kissed him? it 1 satd, gravely. “I do not deny it. now." “And you met him clandestinely es, I did.” “You made pretence of loving him in order to humor him?" 1 said, vet it seemed amazing that a lady such | as she was should fall in love with a low-born Parisian Tapache, a man who defled the police, and whose criminal deeds had, before the war, been the talk of Europe. — “Yes.” she replied, in a low voice. “That is so. But now T do not know how to aet. All this is driving me mad—mad!" she cried, in despair, ris- ing from her chair and placing her hand upon her brow. “I feel that I shall go out of my mind. I get no sleep, no rest. The image of that terrible man haunts me!” And her eves glared out at me in Come, confess But T regret it the tense strain of her overstrung nerves No. mo." 1 sald. ‘Do not take it that way. We must find a way by which we can combat him." “He swears that he is coming to London: that if I still refuse him he will kill me “The affair is quite simple. him arrested.” “I should\have to appear against him. Look at the scandal.” “But you have already totd Mr— er. i “Arthur Mansfleld.” she said. “You've already told Mr. Mansfield that the fellow is persecuting you,” 1 remarked. “Therefore, why shrink from taking a frm and drastic hand?" “Because of those letters. If they come into his possession they must cause a breach between us" she de- clared, hopelessly. ‘“Look," she added. “I have brought séme of the,letters that Levigne has written to me. Read them.” Have * ok x % ] TOOK the half-dozen ill-written letters in French, scribbled upon ruled paper in an llliterate hand. The passionate outpourings were just suhh as 1 should imagine an apache would address to the hatless girl of his heart, the girl of the lower class- es in the Montmartre. They were full of fierce affection, of admiration for her beauty, combined with expres- sions of desperation and of a flerce determination that she should marry no one else. I noticed that none of them bore any address, except the last. That was dated from a French convales- cent hospital in Lwon a month be- fore and contained distinct threats. “I demand that you meet me in Paris, my dearest Ida.,” wrote the notorious Rossignol, “at the same place in the Bois at 6 o'clock on the 18th. Recollect the date. Oh, no, I shall not hurt you. Do you think I could go any injury to the one I love better than my own life? You can easily come to Paris on a visit to madame your friend in the Avenue Villlers. - T know all about her, and more about you than you think, so do not fall me this time. - WASHINGTON, D. C, JUN By Williani Le Queux | know. flect. 1If the-fellow was really d perate, then it was quite within the bounds of possibility that he might attempt to do her bodily injury. The reputation of Le Rossignol was a very sinister one, for he was certainly one of the mpst dangerous criminals in all France. Had he demanded money by men- aces I could have quite understood it, for he had done so times without number, and bis terrorized victims had paild in order to obtain peace. But he simply desired to marry this voung English lady of the highest social standing, whose father was heir-presumptive to an earldom. After discussing the situation for some time I advised her to make a clean breast of the whole affair to Mr. Mansfield and tell him of her indiscreet letters. “Tell him the whole story just as vyou have told m T urged. She shook her head. saying: “Arthur would never believe me. He would declare that while he was at the front with his regiment 1 was flirting with the patients in the hos- pital’ I he really loves you he would believe your version of the affair,” I remarked. Mr. Lé Queux.” a hard, strained voice. that—Ireally cannot.” “I suppose You have not replied to this letter?" I said. 2 What could I_say?’ she an- swered. “That is why I am in such fear that at any moment he may ap- pear in London. He has got his dis- charge from the French army, I He has invalided out. * kX X HER decided reluctance td® inform the police struck me as extreme- 1y curious. I pointed out to her that if she wrote to the prefect of police in Paris.informing him of the where- abouts and identity of the notorious Rossignol she would suffer no fur- ther persecution. To this she de- clared that if she did so he would know that she had betrayed him, and that he would then be relentless in his revenge. He would call her as a witness at his trial and then expose her having written letters of affec- tion to him." “Think of my family!” she cried in terror. “Think of the “scandal and all it means to me—my love for Arthur and all my future. No!®No! No! “Well,” 1 said with a sigh, “if you are so determined, Miss Duffield, not to tell the police, then I should see him should he come to London and endeavor to temporize with him. We know him to be a flerce and desper- ate character who will hesitate at nothing, as was proved by his ex- ploits as a motor-bandit and his fight with the police. Therefore it will be best to humor him, and, if possible, entrap him.” “But how can I do it?" she asked, in blank despair. “I will assist you if you like, replied. “I must not appear actu- ally upon the scene. You must act as though entirely upon your own initiative.” i At this she thanked me very warm- ly, saying: “Ah, you do not know how grate- ful I am to you, though we are com- parative strangers. I feel now that I have a friend and protector—some one to advise me.” “My sdvice is to make a clean breast of the whole affair to Mr. she replied in “I cannot do E 4, 1922_PART 4. “And you have, of course, agreed.” Yes. Tondght at 9 at the foot of the steps in the Mall,” she said. “But what shall I say to him?” “Pretend that you regret having treated’ him with Indifference. Hu- mor him. Tell him anything in order to gain time and Yemove jealousy re- garding you. It is that which is dangerous. You will know how to treat him. Make pretense, but at the same time be discreed while you humor him.* You'll be nearby, won't you?” she begged of me. I promised, and later she left to join her aunt at a lunch party she was giving at the Ritz. Her mother and father were both away in Scot- land. They had gone north on.the previous day, she had told me. Just before 9 o'clock I passed through Spring Gardens into the Mall. It was a rather dark evening, and there was an absence of lights owing to a fear of air raids. As I approached the steps which led up from the park to the Duke of York's monument I saw the lean figure of a man lurking in the shadow. I could distinguish that he wore a dark overcoat and soft felt hat. It was evidently Louis Le- vigne, known In the underworld of Paris as “The Nightingale"—thé elu- sive criminal for whom the police of Europe were in active search before the war. | I drew back into the shadow and | watched. He staed motionless &s a statue until a female figure in black came cautiously down the unlit steps, and suddenly he confronted her. Then I saw it was Ida Duffield. The pair stood for a moment talk- ing. and then together they strolled slowly in the direction of Buckinge ham Palace. Presently 1 crossed the road and followed them at.a re- spectable distance. But I could hear him speaking volubly in French in a high-pitched voice, though I could not distinguish what the fellow said. Only now and then the terrorized girl replied to him. I could discern in the gloom that | “Well—well, he gave them back to me,” she Teplied rather lamely. So I see. You took him to Dean- ery street,” I said She started and turned pale. “Then—then you know that—you know? %I know that you let him into your house with your key “I did not thwrs you followed us there. I looked round once or twiee but could not see you,” she said. “But you will not say anything—not a word—will you?" she asked eagerly. Certainly not. But how did you get your letters back from such a fellow?" 1 repeated. She drew a long breath. Then. look- ing me straight in the face, she re- plied: “Mr. Le Queux, wait until tomor- row, or perhaps the day after, and | then you will be able to guess.” | * % x ox HE would tell me no more, but| shook hands with me, and, thank- | ing me for my advice, she went off happily and full of confidence | P —— The evening papers of the day fol- lowing revealed to me the truth. A serious roblery of jewels was reported from the house of the Hon George Duffield in Deanery stireet, Park lane, when a fine rope of pearls and a number of. other ormamenis had been stolen from Mrs. Duffield’s bedroom during her absence with he- husband in Scotland. Tne steel jewel case had, the papers Teported, been broken open by some exypert burglar and its contents extracted. The po- lice had visited the place, but them was absolutely no clue to the thief or how he had managed to enter the premises! Mrs. Duffield’s jewels have never since been seen, and both she and her husband remain in entire ignorance of the compact made between their daughter and the notorious Rossignol. Ida Duffield 4nd Maj. Arthur Mans- field were wedded at the Brompton Oratory two months later, and are now, ufter the war, one of the hap- piest couples in the whole kingdom. (Coprright, 1822.) By Ring has been a of Weeks O the editor: The regular epidem around N. Y. lately includeing Clean Up Week. Good English Week, Music Week, Mall Early Week, Physical Culture Week and ete. and 1] suppose the contagion is gen. through out the ountry but sd they's a | few places where the iment ain't | spread to, why 1 may as well ex-| claim to people that lives in them| places what it is like, We will take forinst. Clean Up| Week. The mayor of the town comes | he was gesticulating violently. Then suddenly they crossed the road oppo- site St. James Palace and walked in the direction of the Victoria Memorial, where stood a single well shaded lamp to guide the vehicular trafic coming from Buckingham Palace road, * ¥ % ¥ T this point T hurried on and con- trived to pass the pair as they were in the zone of faint light, for I wanted to reassure the girl of my presence. As I went by 1 glanced swiftly and with curiosity into the face of one of the most notorious criminals of modern times. I saw that he was a dark-haired, swarthy fellow, decidedly handsome, though not refined—a countenance like that of a Hungarian gypsy. As for an in- stant my gaze fell upon him I saw that his big eves were black and searching. and that his little black moustache was well trained. Truly, he was of that type of low-born lover which we have seen upon the stage for two generations. Yes, he was a handsome fellow, without a doubt. As 1 passed 1 overheard words— words of passionate affection pro- nounced with that curfous accent which is so essentially of the Mont- martre. And she, a lady moving in the best society in London, walked on. listening to him without reply. 1 knew she had seen me, so I went forward and agdin effaced myself. A few minutes later it began to rain heavily, and apparently at her suggestion they turned abruptly to the right, and, passing Buckingham Palace. continued along Constitution Hill toward Hyde Park corner. At a respectable distance I followed. At last they halted. He was speaking loudly, but whether in ap- peal or threat I could not decide. Not daring to pass again lest his alert eyes should discern that he was being watched—for I recollected that he was a hunted man—I also halted. They stood in a very dark spot, and as they receded I lost sight of them.l Presently, however, from the point of vantage that I had taken up, I saw them emerge from the shadows, and. walking quickly through the now pelting rain, they gained Park lane and went on to Deanery street, where 1da opened the front door very softly with her latchkey. She admitted him to her father's house in secret! Why? » * % *x x T SAW the door close noiselessly after the pair. I had told her to humor him, and apparently she had acceded to his suggestion that, he knowing Rer father and mother to be away, they should seek shelter from the rain, This action puzzled me consider- ably. 1stood at the corner of Deanery street for nearly an hour, until at last' I saw the front door reopen and the fellow slunk- noiselessly out. In an instant he looked up and down and then hurried in my direction, brushing past me in the darkness as he turned the corner. DONE, YOU WOULD JUST SMILE out with a announcement in the pa- say per that such and such a week the week beginning May 21. w be known as Clean Up Week and dure- ing that week all citizens posed to pick up the rubbish a d their house and try and improve the looks of things and wile a great ma citizens seems to resent th ter ference with their personal liberty. why really it ain't such a har as it sounds like because with any kind of management why by the end of the following week you can have things looking just as sloppy as they was before and that leaves you 50 weeks out of the yr. ta live in dirt and luxury. (OF take Good English Week ing that week everybody to talk nothing but good gramms is * * % % Dure- This is a staggering blow to a ma- jority of citizens, but they should ought to remember that in most My first impulse was to ring at the door and inquire for Miss Ida. But I hesitated. I would go on to¥my room and ring her up on the telephone. This I did. “Well, I saw you,” I told her ten minutes later. “What has happened?" “A lot,” was her reply. “Is it too late for me to come and see you?" “Not at all,” I answered. “I shall be pleased. I'm very anxious to wow. So she told me she would be with Mansfleld,” I.said. “But as you have decided against .such _a course, we must adopt another, and I will con- sider it for a day, and we will meet here the day after tomorroy." “But if he comes in the meantime?” “Keep what appointments he may make, but inform me of it over the telephone,” and I gave her the num- ber, while she gave me that of her father, and ten minutes later I saw her out. : * % * X EXT day, just before noon, she “I give you one last chance, my dearest Ida. If you do;not reply and keep the appointment I shall know that you no longer 1dve me. Then I shall come to London and see you and your mother again. What will she and your father think when I show them copies of your sweet let- ters to me, eh? Think, reflect. Do not be cruel to your Louis any long- er. No man shall marry you except myself. I repeat that a hundred times. I kiss your dear sweet hands. Write to-the Poste Restanté af Lyon. Your devoted 8. i = to mgd to_ses TBA'!' Tetter was certainly & weri: ous ope, and-causpd me to re- rang me up on'the telephone ask- ing if she could come and see me. The matter was véry urgent, so I at once consented. ‘When the good-looking girl en- tered my room I saw by her coun- tenance that something had taken place. “I have seen him!" she exclaimed breathlessly. “Wihen I went out this morning I met him at the corner of Deanery street-and Park lane. He was awaiting' me_there, and spoks to me. 2 "Well, whit“did he have to say?" “He ‘wants to see me tonight in St. James' Park.” v i me in a quarter of an hour. ‘When she came she was buoyant and radiant. I had never seen her in such good spirits. “Your advice was most excellent,” she declared. “It worked well. When we met 1 expressed regret that I had not reciprocated' his great affection, whereupon his manner at once changed. He made all sorts of fool- ish declarations of love, of course, and repedted that he intended that I should marry him, notwithstanding my soctal status, Recollecting your advice I raised no great objection. And——"" Then she hesitated, appa~. ently- somewhat unwilling to tell me the whole truth. “And—well—I have been suctessful—thanks to your ad- vice I have got back all my letters! Look!" And she took from the pocket of the thick fur-trimmed coat she was wearing a big packet of letters tled with tape. “Tha excellent!” I cried. “Then you have nothing to fear from Mr. Mansfleld! Howeva did you manage 1t?" I inquired, most agreebly sur- prised. o . “WHEN ALL THE PEOPLE THAT WANTED TO TELL YOU A NEW ONE WOULD HALF TO GET IT OUT OF THEIR HEADS.” cities where this is in effect, it is the mayor that suffers the worst as he has to remain practally dumb. Mail Early Week is in order to help: out the post office people and not_give them such a rush of work in the evening which is when the big congestion usually comes on acct. of it being most men’s habit to not sign their mail till 5 or 6 o'clock when they get back from lunch. But the Mail Early proposition is easy to beat as all you half to do is sign the letters late in the P. M. as usual and then tell the help to not maltl them till the next morning. Personally T am heartily in favor of the Week system as a gen. propo- sition though if T was running it 1 would run it along different lines For_oné thing 1 would suggest a Work Week when everybody would half to do enough work to last a yr. and that would give uys all a vaca- tion ofy 51 weeks when we could go around to different resorts and meet people we always wanted to meet but was never able to meet them because their vacation come at a different time. This Epidemic of Weeks s asked | Lardner Another thing T would have would be Shave Week when every man would be obliged to keep their face smooth and rem@ve their whiskers~ twice a day for seven da other 358 days they would run amuck and the gals couldn’t com plain becaus® nobody’s husband wou look any worse than anybody else’s [¥ the same way [ would have Wash the Back of the Neck Week and a Use Your Handkerchief Week “A PEACE WEER, WHEN, NO MATTER WHAT YOUR WIFE SAID OF AND TE HER YES., DEARIE. and ab Bath Week. To say nothir a Get Your Pants Pressed Wes and a Change Your Week 1 would have a Faney Food: Wer when the Mrs. would be ailowed serve you meals of sweetbrea h en patties. fruit salad, alligatc ir and get those kind of meals disposed_of in a week and the rest the she would be compelled - stick to steaks. chops, roast turkey and ete I would have a Train Late Week when the trains could go and come any tima they feit like, but the rest of the yr. they would half to stick 1 the time table. And 1 would have a Week aglong about the and make it an annual affair last 1 wk. only. like the Elks carnival 1 would also have a Peggy Hopk:r Week when the papers wouid be lowed to print any number of cols regards to Peggy and what she just said and done, but the rest of the yr it would be vs. the rules for her name to be mentioned. T would recommend a Flgb Week when you would do all your topping and slicing and missing shots and dureing the other 51 weeks every shot you hit would be perfect Coal Strine 1st of Jur ANOTHER week I would arrange <\ for is Murder Week when any- body that felt like murdering some- body would half to do it that week 4nd if a person failed to ger murdered that week, they wouid know that they was safe for another vr. as it would be vs. the law to mur- der them in the closed seaso And 1 would schedule a Natural Week when the gals would all be ob- liged to appear in their natural colors and you could find out the truth about them 1 would have a Funny Story Week when all the people that wanted to tell you the new one about the 2 Swiss would have to get it out of their sys- tem. - I would suggest a Bad Weather Week when they would half to put en all the rain, snow and hall, and a Disease Week when evervbody in the family that was going to be sick dureing the fiscal yr. would half to get it over with that week, and a Per- | sonal Remarks Week to which your | friends would If to confine all their remarks in regards to how thin or fat vou are getting 2nd ain't you looseing your hair and eic and iast but not least 1 wou'd suggest a Peace Week whén no mater what your wife said or done, you would just smile at her and tell her yes dearie. And the rest of the'yr. you would be at liberty to raise he—ll. RING W. LARDNER. (Great Neck, Long Island, June 2.) International Candle. | QOME years ago a unit of alectric then illumingtion called the “inter- national candle” was adopted by the United States, Great Britain and France. The American standard candle was reduced one and six-tenths per cent in order to make it uniform with the English candle and the Bougle Decimale of France. The valu of the Hefner, the #German unit, ! nine-tenths that of the intérnation . candle.