Evening Star Newspaper, August 9, 1925, Page 68

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. ¢, AUGUST 9, 1925—PART : YOUNG man, newly arrived in | was Monte rcade it about bruary of ordering Carlo, 12:3 ¥ Intention lunch toward A Care-Dispelling Potion; A Tragedy; the earnest No! For Heaven's sake, no!" reply, “except you| came along the | and your wife.” | “Just as you like, of course. Now, Ciro's restau-| “Good!” Londe exclaimed. “I have |l have made another discovery which 30 on a brilliant | reasons for wishing to preserve my |I am anxious to try,” he continued, ng, with the | incognito.” | leaning back. a table for | S Brookes said, firml 1 am| can make you insane like me. | not” likely to forget that you saved|I could give you a draught tonight my life. You have only to hint at|and you would awake tomorrow, to He had scarcely exchanged greetings with the maitre W'hotel stopped short and gazed eagerly at the | when he |all appearances exactly the same per- son, but you yourself would be con | a request.” “Under those conditions,” Londe occupants of a distant and retired | sured him, “my wife and I—you real- | scious of the change. anie | ize, of course. that I married Nur: “You would be lighter hearted Something in the woman’s expres- | Judith—will be happy to renew o }u ver, happier and, in some things— Si0r. ot thet misintat L aelen T AbL |lacanaletancs Awith vou. If my |such as gambling, for instance—your vourg ma sense of memory. He ! memory serves me right. you were not | success would be extraordinary.’” Touns aanis e in the Regular Army.” he went on. | Brookes looked around him, dazed. it g beg your| Brookes shook his head. | “What do I have to do about it?" pardon, Sir Joseph Londe, and Nurse| "I am a tea and rubber planter in| “You submit to a slight injection A [‘, small way, sir.” he announced. *I|before you leave this house,” Londe The man who had beef accosted by | came home to join up and I've been |explained, “and you take a draught the name of Londe looked steadily | Pack in Ceylon two vea I mot off | which I shall prepare for you. at the newcomer. The woman was |the P. & O. boat at Marseille to take The young man rose from his seat e | a fortnight of my holiday here—the and walked to the window. His heart “You are mistaken, sir.”” the former | first since the wa B poinding. dochmad R A ot Lande 1| “Then you have no friends in the| Somehow or other, although he had declared. My nbime 8§ notiLonde I Lanfeiarsinten | affected incredulity, ‘he felt a curious SEER | " “T 'haven't come across a soul 1|conviction that this amazing offer was The voung man seemed dumb.|KNOW yet” the young man weved, |5 Ripipcy Sor g aus. TSN B e | @ litle disconsolately e g e T Al e T drdsie tiale thae) tin: SASGaw e will take you there in(, ° Shall now go to prepare the possible: but you, sir—vou took my | % YSEy short time. iThe Villa Violette, | (U " Do decareds, L ez off, back In Ypres, in '16; a_mar- | 245 O/SI00K, 1f tht b Wwas the en.|the favor to entertain my wife for a velous plece of surgery. Brookes, my | of Shall be de | quarter of an hour. You will find her ame is 3 S A n the salon.” | _“AlLT can say Mr. Br e is m‘-' T was, in its way, a wonderful din-| . The Young man, in a state now of | you ar was e ety | L er. Brookes expanded with the | feT¢e excitement, hastened to obey his e a somewhat ‘ yineiand the slamour Gf his sierouna- |y it was it stbting, ihaif veclin =St s, e told them both his story. | % St s o Y Annd apologetic rSireat, and| After the wir(hé had mone.backito] Saapon Xuo sate. 5 he entenad: § ks L et s white arm as she mo small estate in a lady was laughing at h n a childish | tioned 0 4 y . She was suddenly sober. however, | Iiibber, of which half his planting con- | “ugin ' poe ' gha murmured. when she caught the glint in her hus: | Sisted. had fallen to nothing “I love yo R sk : | In despair, after two vears of un-| B3 g D ook Mo band's eyes a few minutes later Spl n| _“I adore vou, Judith. Come back to “How ‘would you like,” the Iatter | Successful tolling, he had closed down | ceylon with me.” ) asked cruelly, “to go back to Chig-{the estate, collected all the moneyv he| ™y "y "vou ™ 1 have affection to well again for the rest of your life? | Could, which amounted only to about | give she told him “You are too clever ever to let that | Bine hundred pounds, and come 0| wr’ win love you a little when o England, for a holiday first and then | givo me o present like thisor " ~C" “IE'T am left ito| myself, yes, helil ik & fresh 'start | Rt nine | * iy heldiup fher s, fcomiwhich! rled. “It was you who inststed) hundred pounds he had lost at ”“";Irnnlped a strange bracelet, a thin yon coming here. ables @ on. . 1. | band of pl um a si o What about the gambling?” she| ‘I must make money somehow,” he| jjnteq e e pleicase with a slow smile Vho was | declared. . *T can’t think why I can't| ““rSum a5 1t he promised. “One vered that you must win?" | Win at the tables like you do. Every-|yiss Judith: one kiss.” ve luck he mad make | thing you back seems to turn up. She leaned toward him, then sud- a certainty of it,” he muttered | Londe's smile became more evident. | gon1y grew back with a warning ge: 1 certainly stumbled upon the| “There is a reason for that.” Londe | yyre’ The door had opened noiseless- truth. You should play vourself, Ju.| remarked g 11y, Tonde stood upon the threshold. dith. You are worse than I am. The | “What do vou mean?™ Do you play| “r have a liqueur I am anxious for patch in your brain is bigger." on & sysiem . . you to try, Mr. Brookes,” he said. For a e moment the sweet| /We need no system.” Londe con-|” The young man hesitated. For a childis of her expression van.|fided. | single moment a qu ination of | face—hatred, which flared to me my wife nor 1 are perfec sane. A | A black gulf yawned at his feet— his. mad person, as you Lv‘.”““ will win at! on the other side of it Londe, Im A revealing moment. carrying with | ANy game of chance | penetrable vet menacing g it trail of reminiscences. It I beg your pardon,” the YOUNg| “He nad an impulse to fly from the passed. She laughed lightly man ventured. | house. Then he heard Judith’s whis- You were wrong to have sent the| “You, yourself, know something of | per “low and caressing, carrying with young man away she remarked. | Our activities during the war. 1In the |y e g i o promise. 3 #You might have dealt with him more | end. a small portion of my brain be-| =Gy with him now and return.’ safely came affected. My wife, curiously| ge o)owed his host into the dining They wandered to the rting | enough, developed sympathetic SYMD-| 1oom . An old dust-covered brandy Club later, to all appearance a nor. | toms. bottle stood upon the table and two mal couple, a harmless, stalwart, mid. ke :;(‘\P!\\ my soull” the young manm|\iojeon gms'es. Londe served the dleaged husband, with a beautiful | BASPeC : b 4 liqueurs with meticulous care. Young wife. | 1A smdMl spot in my brain became | “.piphieen eighteen,” he murmured. Women envied her clothes and her | discolored; it became, in fact, red in-} .ol and sunshine. The best things manner of g them. Men asked | Stead of the ordinary gray, which, you [y, ygo - for her sr She was subtly aware | Ay be aware, is the color of a normal | ™ groiyes qrained the contents of his of both and insidiously responsive to | Pe] o iadiated vualy| 188 He felt a deliclous sense of | the latter. = v high.~ Londe| thet T mecded was a Small atom of |(FAEANt warmth steal through his | g nnexed to mine. | VeInS- told her It may be our last chance.” healthy matter to be Londe drew another bottle from be- lie sizhed | I advertised for a subject. Shall Tiping 4 howl of roses, poured out a “It will break my heart to go,” she °__‘,p"“ w‘ ;,O;‘l‘ T B | wine glass full into a fresh glass and declared ” I " carcerated in a lunatic | passed it over. “We should never have come,” hel /o W e It cuatlc] His guest did not hesitate. He rejoined. i 4 | raised the glass to his lips and drained A totally sane person of normal | YRUTL L contents. He saw Londe's face, intelligence, like Daniel Rocke, is usu- | [JOPKeS WAS Past Sheech, o on.|sinister but triumphant, and then a ally easy enough to outwit, but once | .o A€l R B IR M imd & sub. | hundred faces. A mist and a roar. in ten times he may t to success. T am uneas; recognized me.” H ually his pile grew When he changed his table. for the limelight winner sits. The wheel spun on the hand that guided comprehension of man in became conspicuous He had which rlunder his way y since Brookes * played for half an hour on the even chances in maximums Grad he ney large no the destiny. the to it_bevond The warning | ery of “Rien ne va plus™ preceded the little click of the falling ball by only a few seconds. “Quatorze, rouge et pair,” the crou pier’s mo Londe collected his winnings, drop- ped a mille note in the boite and strolled away In a corner of the bar he found Judith For a single moment his lips closed tight and there was a glitter in his eyes. She was seated side-by-side with the young man who had accosted them in Ciro's “I have ¥ n telling Mr Irookes that you would like to speak to him,” she remarked. “How opulent you geem. Can I have the ermine wrap? “I have been winning Get the ermine wrap if you want it He handed her a packet of notes she sprang up with the eager cry of child *“Joseph. you ar adorable 1w meet you here at % She forgot to say od-bye to the young man He med suddenly to| have lost all interest for her. She moved across the room, nely ful, a happy. beautiful young n, without a care in the world. yokes seemed, almost stupefied. He gazed after her until she had passed out of sight Nurse Judith!" he muttered. “Im p»»\,., eless, true,” Londe ob. served, calml “I desire to offer you my apologies. I am Sir Joseph Londe and it was I who opera on you in the fie hospital behind Ypres." ¥ 1S e of it the young man declared. “But why St Londe pted. “1 de- sire to ask vou a question. Have vou mentioned meeting me o a soul in Monte Carlo? | “I haven't spoken t HE IN MAXIMUM: HIS PILE GREW. stonous voice PLAYED FOR HALF HOUR ON THE EVEN CHANCES announced. soul here, AN GRADUALLY Afterward nothing. bl | ject, only this time I knew better tha to advertise. I investigated the brains | | of ‘several persons who happened to|rHE n come my way, but in each case I| : [found a small red discoloration just | to Brookes. He woke with an |in the same position as my own. "My | unusual sense of buoyancy, to find | efforts seem to have created an ab-| himself in his hotel bedroom, the valet ird prejudice against me on the part | : - OV r abo rool 4 g iy, moving about the room laying out his norning was full of surprises | vou are | clothes. | “You really believe tha | | both a little mad stil!, then?” Brookes | “Hullo!" he exclaimed. *How did T | faltered. ot Rarao | PathoutsasSdoubt, s osttas “Monsieur arrived home soon after R R 1 o'clock.” fhe man confided. He was m;m\l 1's hand rested on the YOUng|accompanied by an older gentleman.” Brookes felt absolutely no more “I shail go to my salon,” she mur-| .ypjogity about the events of the night | mured, the door | toward ‘ | sured Sowes ) before. ~ He sprang out of bed, whis- : s tling lightly to himself. | e From the moment he stepped into ROOKES resumed his place at|his bath he was conscious of a new the table. “I have a proposition | ight-heartedness which he seemed to to make o you, Mr. Brookes.» Londe | CCept as a _matter of course. He | shouted for his breakfast, which he | devoured eagerly, dressed with inter est and strolled out afterward on the terrace, full of an exhilaration such | a5 he had not experienced for years. | He talked to all announced You know, of you that T am a great geon.” “I have heard it said that you are the greatest surgeon in the world own experience, in ‘It is possibly true.” Londe ac % his neighbors quiesced the famous bar where he took his |~ “Iam also a great scientist. I have|morning cocktail and made several invented a new anesthetic which has| NeW acquaintances, and before lunch marvelous properties. had won a trifle over 40 milles. I have a tube in my pocket now.| Four o'clack found him at the Sport- I could take the strength from your ing Club. He played for a short time | with a curious loss of all sense of ex citement, but left the tables directly Londe and Judith entered. h a b limbs wi ing vour other or single whiff, while leav. 1in normal. Or I have an with which 1 could entirely | reckoned MADMEN’S LUCK | BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM. Whose Handiwork? was eager, pelling. She, on her part, was all the time impetuous, almost com- gracious. She at no time rebuked him, but he felt, somehow or other, | conscious of a barrier which had not | been there on the preceding day. He | refused to accept the possibility of its existence, however. / “You are an ardent lover today,” she murmured, “but I have come to see vou play. Remember, you must win.” He suffered himself to be led re- luctantly into the rooms. At 7 o'clock he had won half a million francs “You must dine with me, both . he insisted I shall have to go home and dress,’ Judith said. ‘“‘However, 1 suppose—'" Nine o'clock at the Hotel de Paris,” Brookes interrupted of yo! The dinner was a_banquet—wine, food, flowers were all the most per. fect 'of their sort Londe, immensely interested, was an appreciative gu Judith, on the other hand, occ nally showed signs of a wandering attention Several times she smiled across the room at a table where a young Frenchman, an acquaintance = from the club, was dining alone. Once Brookes _intercepted her glance and broke off in the middle of a_ sentence. The stem of the wine glass which he was holding snapped in his fingers. Judith laughed at him “He's such a dear,” ghe murmured. “Why don't you ask him to have coffee with u “I don't want to,” Brookes an- swered “Very well, then, let's go,” she suggested, rising to her feet at the same moment as the vicomte. “We'll have our coffee at the club. The vicomte will take me.” Brookes seized the menu and tore it in half. Londe watched his dis torted face with a pleased and under standing interest. “A capricious pe afraid.” he sizhed. “Hang you and your wife!” insolent reply The young man's opportunity was long in coming. He had won many thousands of francs and drunk many liqueur brandies before he found Judith temporarily alone. He drew a small packet from his pocket, opened my wife, I am on, was the “UNUSUAL SUICIDE CARLO. “The body of a well dressed yvoung man, subsequently identified as Mr Ernest Brookes, a tea planter from Ceylon, was yesterday picked up on the quay at Monte Carlo. He appears to have jumped from the parapet above and broken his neck “Notes and plagues amounting to over half a million francs were dis covered upon his person, besides some valuable jewels. “His only acquaintances Carlo seem to have been a Mr., and Mrs. Broadbent, who had dined with him at the Hotel de Paris on the night in question. From the evidence of the valet at the hotel where the deceased was staying, it appears that he had dined on the previous evening at villa,occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Broad- bent, and that he was brought home AT MONTE in Monte BY AMA BARKE! OOKS of & scarce bool are not at price are alway But scarce books always costly. It fs the favor of competitive col- that its value begins to be in_hundreds and thousands v grace of the collector’s lectors of dollars. F rev process. Would you like| - Winning?" Londe inquired. Liclol ity OY.grace of the od Sl s : ‘es, I've won.” he admitted. “What | Whim, Poe’s “Tamerlane” has become 2 about some tea, Nurse Judith? Or |the most cherished of all American 4 first editions. Accordingly, the last | | shall somewhere and dance?” | “I've come to play,” she told him. | “We'll have some tea first, though.” | Londe strolled off, and the young man | eagerly carried Judith away to a cor- ner table in the bar He had lost all his nervous inco- | herence of the night before. He made | | open and unabashed love to her. He | we g0 1 r copy sold brought about $12,000. Tamerlane,” Poe's fir: work, was limited to perhaps 200 copies or less. However, the supply was ample in 1827. The few who had chanced to hear of Edgar Allen were inclined to dismiss him as a mel- ancholy, dissipated young per: was trving to write verse. His thin book, in its cheap board covers, was treated with about as much solicitous care as we reserve for last month’s magazines. It is doubtful if more than five or six copies have survived Hawthorne, who comes next to Poe in the esteem of collectors, is not a close second on the price list. His rarést book, “Fanshawe,” can be bought for $2,000, when it is to be had at all. Hawthorne burned much of his earlier writing, and “Fanshawe” was his first independent work to It was published and the author likely achieve publication. anonymously in 1 afterward suppressed it, most wishing that he had destroyed the first place. For reading, shawe” is scarcely to be compared with “The Scarlet Letter.” Not that collecting has anything in_ particular to do with reading. If one happens to have any curiosity about the contents of a rare book he has added to his col- lection, he buys a medern edition and thumbs the hat. A few years ago “The Scarlet Let- ter,” first edition, could be bought for $10 or $12, and good copies, too. Now it costs $75 to acquire a copy. Bren- tano’s declines to venture any opinion about why a collector considers “Fan- shawe” worth $2,000 when he expects to buy “The Scarlet Letter” for less than $100. . Another American first edition which seems to enjoy a secure hold on the collector's interest is Walt Whitman's “Leaves of Grass.” This book, in good condition, has long been quoted at $250, but probably if a copy were.to come up in some big book sale a new and much higher figure would be put upon it. The poet was his own typesetter and printer when it was published in Brooklyn in 1855. It is safe to say that “Leaves of Grass will never be any cheaper, for bibliog- raphers are agreed that it is becoming one of the rarities of American letters. “Uncle Tom's Cabin” is not a really rare book; good copies in original bindings are selling for only $100 or thereabout. The publication of Dickens’ “Pick- the | only when a rare volume wins | t published | Poe | on who | Blanche Bates Began as Teacher late at night by apparently, from exceedingly his host suffering, intoxication. He cheerful during the but complained oc ness “He appears to havg confided to the valet while dressing for dinner Ahat he had been m: BY PRESTON WRIGHT. NE November day, some fifty odd years ago, Lucius Lane, | owner of a large farm near Charles City, Iowa, hitched | team to his spring wagon the gray moroc case, and the glit —then called a *“democrat” wagon ter of diamonds flashed out nd started off to town to cast his Diamonds!” . she exclaimed dl,s-j vote in the pending election He paragingly. “I hate them took with him several farmhands who He shut up the case with a snap. |had the same purpos His expression was almost terrible. | It was the first time that his young “I bought them for you,” he de-|daughter Carrie had noted there clared. were such things as “elections” and *“I have become as you and your | “voting. husband are for vour sake. “Father,” she asked, “why don’t you “You should have known better,' |take mother with you she_told him Women are not allowed to vote,” “Your only t tion to me was |[he replied he drove ¢ that you were on the other side of The child pu led the remainder of the border. You were sane. Now |the day over this mystery of why you are just like us. You do not in- | Lucius Lane and his hired men were terest me.” allowed to vote while her mother, | Brookes rose to his feet and walked | Maria Clinton Lane, was denied the out of the place hatless and without |privilege. Her father, driving to the a word to the servant whom he | polls, did not know it, but he was to passed. {face 'a most embarrassing catechism He crossed the road, descended a |on his return home. His daughter, little way and sprang onto the top of | climbing to his knee, resumed her the wall. For a moment he stood | questions that night there, poised—a horrible sight. Then | ther, why aren’t women allowed he dived downward into space. | to vote?” ‘she asked * ok ok % | “Well,” he replied—probably with a ANN LANCASTER brought _the |Srin—"they don’t know enough newspaper containing the brier| Ten-vearold Carrie was deadly notice of the young man's suicide to | SETIOUS- 2 2 her employer, Daniel Rocke, one| My mother knows more than morning a few days Tater B e ooiiiio e rcDaniel adjusted his spectacles and course—but there’s another ! reason—women don’t own property.” “Mother does.” Mr. Lane saw no particular profit {in the discussion. He ended it “At any rate,” he said, “women |can't vote. Now many young girls soon would | have forgotten all about this remis ness of the menfolk in not allowing the womenfolk to vote. But if Carrie Lane had allowed it to slip from her mind she would not have been the girl who ultimately became known to the world as Carrie Chapman Catt, presi dent of the National Amevican Woman | Suffrage Amsociation and leader of the | movement which succeeded in, having the Federal Constitution amended so | as to give women the vote | Carrie Lane grew up and went to | Towa State College. Later she married Leo Chapman. editor of a newspaper in Mason City. lowa, and went there to live. But all the time she had in | wick de the victim of | Girlhood Experience Launched Mrs. Catt’s Suffragis | some sort of experiment, which was | the deceased showed no likely to affect his brain. A few min utes later he absolutely denied having | asionally of | made any such statement and contin | vally contradicted himself. “The valet, who was also the per- | | ha son who helped him to his rooms on the previous evening, dec that | { | CarL ‘» ANCERSON ——— “HIS DAUGHTER, C | her heart the wish that women might have the same rights as men her lips gave expression to lief. Strangely enough. she didn't know there was a suffrage movement. When, as a_child of 10, she discovered women couldn’t vote ghe believed she had found a_situation which every- body else had simply overlooked. “I thought,” she says, “that all that was needed was to call the omission | to the public’s attention dhd it would | remedy matters at once. It didn’t oc cur fo_me that any one could object.” Something was wrong with the | world, though. There were objectors | Mrs. Carrie Chapman’s activities did her be | IMBING TO HIS KNEE. RESUMED HER QUE: TIONS THAT NIGHT. Often | toxication, but the gave hi imp slon of having been dr ed No further light bhe thrown upon the mystery at present, as it seems that Mr. and Mrs. Broadbent e unexpectedly left Very queer,” Danic Monte Carlo. murmured not lag. but she did not seem to gain as many recruits as she would have wished In 1885—a memc be cause her husband di after they had been married less than a twelve. month—a momentous thing happen Mrs. Chapman read in a newspaper an item that thrilled her to the bone The lowa Legislature had before it a bill which was intended to give to women the right of suffrage in mu- nicipalities! Towa Came shortly the lature a_petition from Mason City which asked Legislature pass the ing municipal suffrs said bill grant women Papers” serially, each | trators during the publication of the |sent thousan dollars when one | ment a separate pamphlet, | series. This was printed on a loose | goes shopping Dickens in the | vided collectors with an el | leaf and inserted haphazard in each | original. | zame, played according to rigid and |copy of the part published immediately | Just now $2,000 is considered a fair | complicated rules. A complete issue | following the demise, and must be in- | price for one of the | edition | of the “Pickwick Papers,” with all the | cluded to make an issue complete. | copies of “Alice in Wonderland.” And original parts in good condition, will | One of the early copies off the press in | even at that figure one is likely 1o sell for $6,000. Indeed, some issues | the printing of each part was sub- | have to wait a long time before th that have all the collecto “‘points” | mitted to Mr. Dickens for scrutiny.|book is to be had. since there are onl $10,000. | have sold for as much The unwary who overloo 3 the “points” are heavily fined—or t jis what it amounts to0 when a man | pays $8,000 for a set of the ““Pickwick Papers” and latey discovers that he failed to note the absence of the im- portant notice of the death of the illus- i | the THINK there's stuff in girl. She has a future.” It was L. R manager and low comedian of a stock company playing at the California Theater. in San Francisco, who was speaking. The time was somewhere in the 90s and he was addressing Mrs. F. M. Bates, a well known actress of the day and mother of the girl to whom he referred. Her reply was not lack- ing in definiteness “I don't want my an actress,” she declared. “Anyway, her acting in that sketch was the worst I've seen in all my life.” Who was right? The manager, of course. Blanche Bates, then in her teens, in the course of a very few years justified his dicsovery of her talent by proving herself to be one of the stellar lights of the American stage. Very likely her mother was not en- tirely sincere in her early estimate of her daughter’s talents. Mrs. Bates had known the sufferings and pri- vations which were a part of the life of practically all the dramatic artists of her day. She was bitterly opposed to her child entering upon a stage {carcer. Probably her criticism of Blanche Bates' acting, as voiced to Stockwell, was due more to a desire to discourage a tendency she feared than to any other reason. - A week or ten days before Blanche Bates had not the slightest idea of going on the stage, despite the fact that her mother, her grandmother and her father wera people of the the- |ater. Her mother’s opposition hither- to had prevented her even from enter- ing a playhouse. Upon completing school she had spent a year as a kindergarten teacher. But at the end of her term she learned that she would not be retained. She was not Sorry. (14 daughter to be About this time the California The- & fixture at the- California Theater . Stockwell. | Sometimes he re two, again he suggested s |in an illustration | dubitably first edition, but the copy | the collector longs for is one of the precious few that came off the pre: before Mr. Dickens’ blue pencil did its work. ~All these small matters repre- down. It had been the the McKee Rankin stock but Rankin had decided to | ater burned home of comnany, Stockwell, his comedian, had taken over the management. It was during his regime that the fire occurred. The house was rebuilt and one of Stock well’s first acts was to arrangs a benefit performance. Blanche Bates heard of this benefit and an idea popped into her head. Her mother’s forbidding attitude could not possibly erase the effect of two gener. ations of thought and action. She went to Stockwell. ou're going to have a benefit next Monday—don't you want me to piay in it?"" she said. Stockwell looked at her curiously, a twinkle in his eve. He knew all about her. Her parents’ world and his had been one for many years. Why, ves,” he said finally. can you do “Anything,” she replied. The curious thing was that she felt just that way. Although she hadn’t thought of it, the theater was bred into her very bones. On her first visit back stage she felt as much at home as if it had been her daily playground. There happened to be a part that needed to be filled in a one-act play by Brander Matthews called “This Picture and That.” It was the lead- ing woman’s role. Young Miss Bates got the part, and, with one week’s study, made good in it. The audience gave her a fine round of applause. In later years she said that this first audience was “kind to her, as it was filled with those who had known her most of her life.” How- ever, she must have earned a large amount of this “kindness” or Stock- well would not have encouraged her, above her mother’s objections, to continue in the theater. She became “What try his fortunes in the East, and L. R.| | [ I | | ed only a word or |a dozen or so known copies in exist »me change | ence. First edition is in- [ her public in London in When Alice was ready to seek 1865, Lewis Carroll suddenly stopped the publi tion and determined to rewrite the tire book. Nobody knows just how it happened—probably while the p lisher tried to reason with the temper and remained there for vears E the next five this time even Mrs. Bates ad mitted she was destined to a career. And so she proceeded to New York in search of bigger things. Her progress was phenomenal Augustin Daly used her for a vear and a half in’ Shakespearean produc tions. Next, George Tyler made her leading woman with James O'Neill in “The Three Musketeere.” Then David Belasco, seeing her in the latter play signed her to a contract as soon a she was free. | Her first part with him was in the farce, “Naughty Anthony which Was not a~ succes: It was bolstered up with a oneact pla Madame Butterfl and Blanche Bates in the | t hit. The next title role made a gres year Belasco starred her in “The Darling of the Gods.” The story is that Belasco saw Mis: Bates in “The Three Musketees through a mere chance visit to the theater in which she was appearing, and that he exclaimed “Why, there's Mrs. F. daughter! I must have me! There is every reason to believe that this exclamation actually was made by Mr. Belasco. But, in Blanche Bates' mind, at least, there is Ssome doubt as to whether he first saw her on a New York stage through accident. “I have a secret feeling,” she says, “that my mother—bless her . sweet | heart—wrote to Mr. Belasco and ask- | ed him to go and see me." | | AL her Bates’ with That Mrs. Bates might have made such a request is plausible. In the | days when she and her husband man- politan Theater, in San Francisc aged a stock company at the .\n-m,,i David Belasco had been In their em ploy as call boy. but performing | many other varied tasks and even then acting as “play doctor,’ (Copyrighi, 1925.) of in-|* es- | name “WE NEED NO SYSTEM,” LONDE CONFIDED. “WE WIN ALWAY BECAUSE NEITHER MY WIFE NOR 1 IS PERFECTLY SANE.” mmon Ann replie yse chase.” T suy ed At a inshine t Career Volumes Worth Thousands of Dollars 1bout > the ord The fir: them De i you know, althoi sle. been had forward lisk t vould sin th countries. He issue rican edition, happily iz norant of author's whim. So t text of American first edition c of * in Wonderland” is the s of the rare twelve wh th hor’s ban in F The difference is in the p American “firsts”_well f | first English editi6h, published a year later. is quoted at $350, despite the does not relate Alice original adventures _Beginners find the bibliography « Keats easy enough to learn, since he had only three volumes of verse pub ished during his short lifetime, T kes the collection of Keats qu | simple when one can pick up the first book of “Poems” at $1,000, “Endym for £5.000 and his last poems for er $4.000 making a complete col n of Ke s for only $10,000 his friend Percy B. S ody else again. Shelle 0 different publication: 1 his socialistic pamphl Mab™ is one of the collector's prime fave because Shelley h self wielded S0rs on many copies of the first edition. The publishers were prosecuted by the government and restrained from the publication of this book because of the socialistic and atheistic ideas it promulgated. But Shelley, nothing daunted, snipped ¢ the publishers’ imprint at the botton of the front page, took out the dedica However Jey has includ ‘Queen 1he es i tion a.» cut off the printer's name fs: the back page and gave “Queer Mab"” to his fri s. He thu AbSOTY e both the publishers and the printe and at the same time created a rare book. for which collectors are ready to pay $2,500 or more. The first quartos of Shakespeare are almost beyond price, for they are al most unobtainable. ' From the early q rtos published before Shakespeare's death and his manuscripts written for the actors the first folio was printed in 1623, A perfect copy of this folio would bring at least $40,000 or $50,000 if there were one for folio, published in 1663, is a he because most of them destroyed in the great London which occurred soon after the printing. But the third folio, rare as it is, can be bought for $7,000 or $8.000. So much for the glamour of first editions!