Lakeland Evening Telegram Newspaper, April 30, 1915, Page 7

e ' Chiropractor DR. J Q. SCARBOROUGH, Lady in Attendance (n Dyches Building Between Park snd Auditor .. OFFICE HOURS. $t011:30am. 1:30to 5 p. m. 7:00 to 8:00 p. m. Censultation and Examination Free Residence Phone 240 Black « W.L D. C. D. VIA. D. C. Doc of Chiropratic. Over Post Ofice. Hours 8 to 12. a. m. and 2. to5apd 7 to8p m. Graduateg and Ex-Faculty mem- pers Of the Palmer School of Chirapratic. Consultation and spinal analysis free at office. G D. & H. D. MENDENHALL CONSULTING ENGINEERS Sulte 212-215 Drane Building Lakeland, Fla. Phosphate Land Examinations and Plant Demigns Karthwork Speciailsta surveys. Resldence phone, 278 Black. Oftce phome, 278 Blue. DR. SARAH B, WHEELER OSTEOPATH Munn Aopnex, Door South of l‘lnll + National Bank YLakeland, Florida QLT o e S DE. W. R. GROOVER PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON gooms 6 and 4. Kentucky Bulldins Lakeland, Florida DR. W. B. MOON PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON Telephone 350 Hours 9 to 11, 2 to 4, evenings 7 to 8 Over Postoffice Lakeland, Florida Iaw Office of A. X. ERICKSON Bryant & D. 0. Rogers Edwin Spencer, J* ROGERS & SPENCER Attorneys ot Law, Brysat Bullding Lakeland, 3. H. HARNLY Ay Live Stock aal Gene! o h“l'\ucmnwn * Sales: Manager NATIONAL REALTY AUCTION CO. Auction Lot sales a Specialty 11 Raymondo Blag. Lakeland, Fla I R EPPES TUCKER, JR. ' LawYER Raymondo Bldg, Lakeland, Florida s 1 5 o A BLANTON, A AT LAW Office In Munn Building Lakeland Florids PN i # SR SRR DR. RICHARD LEFFERS PHYSICIAN URGEON Rooms 2-3, lAkl’zls Building veeess Over Postoffice .......: —————————— W. 8. PRESTON, LAWYER Ofice Upstairs East of Court Hous Examination of Tities and Res X tate Law a Speciaity Dickson Building Ofce phone 402. Res. 312 Red Special attention to drafting lega! papers. Marriage licenses and abstracta taraished i —————— W. HERMAN WATSON, M. D. Morgan-Groover Bldg Telophonesy Office 351; Res. 113 Bed elephon e N Dickson Bullding .Practioe in all courts. claims looated and contested Bstablished 1u July, 1900 W. 5. IRVIN - DENTIST Roem 14 and 16 Kentucky Building —————-__——__- LOUTS A. FORT ARCHITECT Kidler Hotel, Lakeland, Florids T. M. BRYAN ARCHITECT Room 8 Elliston Buflding P. 0. Box 605 SICK? %8| insignificant part with a mediocrity of ability. Her work was not good and it was not conspicuously bad. commonplace, and the audience paid little attention to her. On the bill her name was Clemina Culpepper. | thongh they live for thirty-five i i By Annie Hinrichsen IR S !\ Richard Seymour caught his breath ' ) (Copyright, 1912, . quickly and leaned forward in his seat. It was only a resemblance which had startled him, he assured himself. Dor- othy Blair would not be playing a minor part in a second-rate company. This tired, work-aged actress with Dorothy’s clear, beautiful eyes could not be the charming young woman who three yedrs before had refused to marry him. He had gone abroad immediately aftter her refusal and bits of home B0ssip reached him at long intervals, He heard that Dorothy, pursuing & dream she had always cherished, had gone on the stage. failure he had heard nothing. Tonight, his first evening in his own land, h had gone into this theater because ff was near his hotel. Of her success or The woman on the stage played her It was Seymour’s surprise at what he had considered a regsemblance became ap- prehension, dread and at last an ach- ing horror. The actress was Dorothy. The hard, strained voice, the stiff, stereolyped movements, the lines and shadows which showed beneath the paint had belonged to the Dorothy he had known. Only her eyes were un- changed, and by them he recognized her. ‘When the play had ended, he was at the stage door. “Richurd, you have come back. ‘When did you come? How long have you been in the city?” “I arrived today. I went into the theater tonight and recognized you. Let us go to some place where we can talk. Don’t you want something to eat?” She hesitated. “Do you mind going to a quiet place, Richard? 1 am wear- ing a very shabby gown.” It was a shabby gown, he noticed ‘when she removed her long black coat in the little resiaurant. Her hat, too, “Richard, When Did You Come?” was shabby. She had removed only a part of her make-up and her face was full of lines and shadows. “Tell me about yourself, Richard. You have been successful. I am glad. 1 want to hear about your work.” “I don’t want to talk about myself. I want to talk about you. Are you happy on the stage? Are you satis- fied with the work you are doing?”’ “You did not !ike my acting tonight, did you?” she asked, ignoring his ques- tion. “You think I am a poor actress in a poor company.” “I hoped for greater success for you, Dorothy.” “Of course you did, Dick, and you are disappointed to find me a shabby, second rate actress.” “Why don’t you leave the stage?” “I have my living to make. “Dorothy, I can't stand this—I ¢an’t let you slave your life away in a pro- fession for which you have no talent, in which you have become only a sad travesty of the beautiful, happy girl you used to be. Forgive my brutal frankness. I don’t wish to hurt you. But I am so unhappy to find you in these circumstances that I can't help saying what I think.” * Dorothy's chin was in “the palm of ! one hand. With the other hand she was turning her fork over and over on the table and watching it intently. “You are right, Dick,” she said, with- out lifting her eyes from the moving fork. “Clemina Culpepper is a sad travesty.” “Dorothy, will you marry me?” “Do you wish to marry a woman with no beauty, no talent, a battered failure? Pity, Dick, is not love.” “But I love you, Dorothy.. I have al- ways loved you. I want you even more than I did three years ago. You are still the same Dorothy Your eyes are as sweet and as true as they were the last time I saw you.” “A successful man ought not to marry a shabby actress.” “I hate success. I sat in the thea- ter tonight hating it because It had to come to me instead of to you. I could have driven it away with a club, f 1 could have made it .go to you. Camef’s Working Life. Camels are fit for serious work at five years, and their stremgth begine to decline st tweaty-ive years, Ee foriy years. , and shy away from a gentle girl? ‘Will you marry me, Dorothy?” “Yes, Il marry you—unless you de- cide that you don’t want me. There is something which you will have to know and—and—you may not want me then.” “There is nothing that can come be- tween us.” = “Will you promise me that, Dick? you?” “I promise. Where do you live? he asked, as he signaled a cab. She mentioned a well-known hotel. He stared in amazement. For several minutes neither of them spoke. As the cab turned into a brilliantly lighted street Dorothy laid her hand on arm. “Look, Dick,” she said softly, “at that sign.” Before a large theater stood a huge billboard bearing in electric lights the names of the leading members of the company playing there. “Dorothy Blair” flared at the top of the board. “What does that mean?” Are there two of your name or have you been—" | “Dick, your voice is hard and cruel. Don't speak so to me. I am the Dor- othy Blair who is playing in this the- ater. Clemina Culpepper is a pcor, broken-down actress who was in the same company that 1 was the first| year I was on the stage. She was very | kind to me; she mended my clothes, | comforted me when I was homesick | and discouraged, and took care of me | when I was sick. She supports ber- | self and her invalid husband. This is their wedding anniversary. There was an accident in our theater today which prevented a performance to-: night. “] remembered it was Clemina’s an- niversary and 1 insisted on taking her ! place tonight sc that she and her hus- band could have their anniversary to- gether. 1 had to be shabby and old and a poor actress in order that 1 should not be recognized either by the | audience or by the people in the cast. I am not a great, famous star yet, but I have a leading part in a good com | pany. And, Dick, you said nothing should come between us. You prom- ised not to refuse to marry me. 1 do care for you, Dick. I've always cared, but 1 did not realize how much until tonight when you told me you loved a shabby old failure that you thought was L. And my career? Is there a woman who would not joyously give up a career if she were offered in| place of.l( something a million times better?” LAUGH WAS ON THE GIANT Story of Thor's Wonderful Sword and the Big Fellow Who Thought Himself Invuinerable. In the olden days, amid the glories of the northland. thére lved 1 mighty glanit who was sure that he was in- vulnerable. So he walked up and down the earth, grinning mightily, taiking much and glorying in his strength. Neither sword of hero nor spear of warrigr could so much as| start the goose flesh on bis leathern hide. And he waxed bolder and bolder in his pride until he was heard one day to shout: “I am proof against eve thing! Thor himself has no spear that can harm me!"” Now when Thor heard of this boast he bent his brows and swore in his beard. Then he threw down his ham- | mer and called for his great sword Balmung, the ancestor of all "wrd.—-! the sword with edge so fine that no lightest hair could balance across it without dropping in twain. And Thor. grasped Balmung and went forth in| search of the giant. When the glant saw him coming he showed all his teeth in one terrific grin and cried: “Ho! Here is where we show them!” and bared his swarthy bosom. Then Thor strode three strides for- ward and with one swinging swish of Balmung he smote the gilant fair amidships. But the giant, looking down, saw only a thin red line around his fat stomach, and feeling no hurt, he cried triumphantly, “O, Thor, have I mot said 1t? [ am invulnerable!” “Good!” cried Thor. “But pray shake thyself!” Then the giant began to shake him- self in a mighty laugh—when sudden- 1y he fell apart in two pieces, and that laugh was- called off forever! So wondrous keen was Balmung, the | sword of swords! | Bubbling Cup That Can Be Lifted. The one great disadvantage of the ordinary bubbling cup sanitary foun- tain lies in the fact that the drinkers, whether they be men, women or chil- dren, tall, short, fat or thin, must place their lips to the cup instead of placing the cup to the lips In an endeavor to remedy this dis- | advantage, one sanitary drinking foun- tain manufacturer has designed a bubbler which may be raised to the height of the lips, 8o that the user may stand in a perfectly easy and natural position while drinking. This is made possible by a hose and cup arrange- ment, the hose consisting of a double tube. The Inner tube is the feed pipe for the bubbler, and the outer tube acts a waste pipe. carrying away the surplus water while the person is drinkinz. The flow of water through the inner tube is continuous, no mat- ter what the position of the cup, but ; when the cup is lowered Into its posi- i tion in the fountain basin, the water ! flows over it and discharges into the basin, instead of being carried away by the outer tube.—Popular Mechan- | ‘es. | ? i ; » t 4 ’I il l' f} R h y i i : ,i i el i 3 ] \ z | i : I i i i : li i i i ! | : % Will you promise mot to refuse to | Spoke in a satisfied way, yet face and marry me when you learn—the—the | manner showed a wearied, stolid un- something which I shall have to tell | dertone. | & disguise, because he had a deep “him, no prospects, no ambition. 1 By IRENE BEATRICE PROCTOR. | | (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.) “Work at last.” The man who uttered the words He was known in the modest board- ing house as Cecil Wayne, but that was not his name. Nor were the bearded face appendages becoming to him. He wore them as might a man secret to conceal, because he feared that after two years someone might stop him on the street and say sternly: ! “You are Ronald Warne!” For he was a man hunted, despised, tabooed, his tortured soul told him fifty times a day. After sojourning, almost in hiding, in a desolate part of western Canada, he had stolen back to his native country to die, he hoped, for life held no comfort for | | [ “The past—dim gulf!” he breathed | bitterly, “I hoped to forget, but 1| never can. Work—work at last! It may help me to keep remorse at bay, at least in my waking hours!” Ronald Warne, alias Cecil Wayne! How had it come about that this man had two names? His quick haunting | memory explained all too vividly. His | thoughts went back two years, he| a roving and dissolute artist, in love | with a humble but beautiful girl, the daughter of the towerman on the Cen-| tral railroad near Bridgeton. { For the first time in his roving life | Ronald Warne had loved. The sweet, | innocent maiden he had wooed, Elsie Barker, knew nothing of his drinking habit. Under the spell of her fas-| cination he had honestly tried to re- form” Then one night, one dreadful night!— He had met her father in the little | village, an easy-going old man, on his | way to go on night duty at the tower one mile east of the big railroad bridge. He was with some friends, | i and the old man, having an hour to il ¢ ‘:i ) “The Past—Dim Guifl Forget!” spare, accompanied them to the drink- | ing place they were bound for. His weak nature soon succumbed to the influence of the unfamiliar liquor. When it was time for him to go on active duty Mr. Barker was in a sod- den state of intoxication. Warne grew grave and self-re-| proachful as he noted the result of his recklessness. He feared what El- sie might think of him if she discov- ered this flagrant dereliction from manhood and respect. The towerman was in no condition for duty, yet some- one must take the signal post for the night, and Ronald called one of | his friends aside as an idea came to, bis mind. { “See here,” he said, “I count on you to keep the old man away from the public street and home till he is so- ber.” “But what about the tower?” was asked. “I will take his place,” explained Warne. “I've spent one or two nights there with him, and I understand the routine fairly well. There's only two night trains to look out for. I'll attend to that, and no one will know about it.” Warne hung his head with shame and remorse as he hastened to the | tower. He felt abased, degraded. How- ever, he made a vow never to touch a | drop of liquor again. He reached the tower and sat down, re-enforcing his solemn resolution by meditating | with sincere contrition over his past careless, useless life. A train passed at 10:15. He gave it the clear signal. A special was list- ed for an hour later. It was to be held until a west train sidetracked. Warne continued his reflections. He would be well out of the present pre- dicament with the morning. Then for a rew life. Alas! As the ef- fects of the liquor he had taken be- gan to wear away a dull lethargy overtook him. Laure of fatality, retribution at the most critical juncture in his life— he slept! It was with a mighty start, a sharp shock that Warne awoke. His face was blanched with terror as he glanced at the tower clock—it wag aft- er midnight! “The special!” gasped the horrified | Hoped to | | Warne, trembling in every limb, Then came the dim echoes of a commotion mering, voices, and among these lat- t | tress, from the tower. the direction of the bridge, townward bound. He shouted to a person scud- | ding by him from the opposite direc- tion: ful wreck!"” a fugitive, half mad, haunted with constant terror and remorse, scarce knew what he did. He had slept while a train dashing by unsignaled, had gore down to wreck and ruin! he could figure it all out! a collision at the bridge, and his the blame, his the sinful, wicked fault! friends and the law, for was he not a murderer? And Elsie! an anguishing memory in his heart of hearts. | the music like a man. Then a rest- ! !mint at Berlin are cleaned about one n the direction of the bridge, ham- Get Your Coupons in the Great Voting Contest at the Hub. This is the only Gents’ Furnishing Store in Town giv- ing Yotes with Purchases of Goods Our Spring Line Is Coming in Daily er accents of excitement and of dis- Hatless, confused, Warne ran down A man rushed from “Over a hundred killed—it's a fright- After that for nearly a week Warne, Oh! Then Canada, to hide far away from | .q | “ | | | | Coward, craven, poltroon, Ronald i Warne called himself a score of times | because he did not go back and face | less longing for old scenes and back | to a city where he was little known. All the finer artistic instincts of his nature were blunted and inert. Now, after idleness, abject poverty, he had secured work. It was cheap, unworthy labor for a man of his former nltnlnmenls—~en-! larging photographs in the crayon line—but it occupied him, it kept the ' wolf from the door. H It was dull, monotonous work, but | there was even more than he could do. | The lonely room he occupied was & safe hiding place to which his work | was sent regularly from the firm em- | ploying him, One day there was a shock. In the | lusk of early evening a veiled lady | ~as ushered into the poor excuse for a studio by the landlady. “Mr. Wayne,” spoke the latter, “this is a young lady who sent some work to your firm and you have it. She is to leave the city tomogrow, and wishes to hurry up the order, if possible.” ‘A great gasp broke from the art- Ist's lips as his visitor cast aside her vell, “It is a picture of a relative,” she began, and then—"Oh, Ronald!" Yes, fate had thus strangely thrown Elsie Barker across his path again, for it was she—the same sweet-faced maiden of old, but richly attired. In her gentle tones was manifest inter- est, the warmth of genuine friendship, See Qur Windows They reflect the Superb Stock with which our Store is filled. The Hub THE HOME OF Hart Schaifner and Marx Good Co 1h'ro P p——— JOS. LeVAY - perhaps something more. She stood rooted, spellbound. Then a pitying look crossed her face. He PP hung his head, self-condemned. She advanced and took his hand. “Ronald,” she sald, and her tones stirred his inmost heart—"what does it all mean?” What did it mean?—crime! murder! | He shrank from her, abject and crushed. In broken tones he qua- vered his miserable story. “Oh, why did you not come to me?” she cried. “It was not your fault. The wreck was on the road that crosses ours just beyond the bridge, and was caused by one of their own broken rails. Our trains went through all right, and even the truth about my father was not learned. Poor, % dear friend, what have you mot suf- fered!” Innocent! a great load was lifted from Ronald Warne's mind. Like 8 | child he sank to a chair, like a child he wept, “Father {8 no longer with the road,” went on Elsie. “Are you not glad— we inherited quite a fortune, and— | and—" She paused there. Then their eyes met. Her face was pleading, tell-tale. When she went away from the dim studio, she left a kiss upon his lips, and in his heart—hope! $ The Financial Crisis Over We are now in shape to give you the be netit of our Low Expenses. Let us wire your House and save you money, Lower Insur- ance, Cleanliness und Convenience are the results, T. L. CARDWELL Phone 397 With Lakeland Sheet Metal Works ) { \ amELECTRIC IT WILL PAY YOU . TO0 CONSULT US ON THE ELECTRIC WIRING IN YOUR HOUSE OR STORE We Are Electrical Experts FLORIDA ELECTRIC&MACHINERY Co THE ELECTRIC STORE Phone 46 Kibler Hotel Bldg. ELECTRIC Makes Chickens Grow. Experiments have been conducted for some time by an English expert in the electrification of small chick- ens, to discover whether the current exercised any influence on their growth. It is reported that the results | have been startling. Not only has the 1 mortality among very young chick- ens been greatly decreased, but the birds grow nearly twice as fast, when stimnlated by the particular electric apparatus, by the use of which the food bill is cut in two. Special inten- ! sive houses are provided for the birds, ' and the electricity is applied by means of a combined high-frequency and pos- itive apparatus, through a large coil of heavily insulated wire wound round each house in the form of a spiral. This produces a large and intense elec- tric field. While the current is on, | the birds are highly charged with | electricity, but appear entirely uncon- scious of any unusual effect. The cur- rent is turned on for ten minutes every hour from 7 a. m. till 6 p. m,, and stimulates the chickens, enabling them to acquire largely Increased welght from a given quantity of food. | El (2] - [ [ Q ] <] E Must Little Homeless Children Suffer In Florida’ WE DO NOT BELIEVE that the good people of Flor- ida realize that there are right now in our State Hundreds of little children in real need—some absolutely homeless— that just must be cared for. Their Longest Run. “Your show was the worst we have ever had here,” said the manager of the Hickeville Opera house, as he handed the manager of the Fly-By- Night company his share of the box office receipts. “That's queer,” said the manager of the company. “Why, when we played“in Chicago we had the longest run in the history of the city.” “I'm sorry,” replied the manager of the opera house. | “Sorry about what?” demanded the | manager of the company. “Sorry the audience abandoned the chase,” replied the maanger of the opers house.—Pittsburgh Chronicle. We feel sure—that they do not know that there are hun- dreds of worthy mothers in Florida who are just struggling 1o keep their little ones alive—and at home. We just canmot believe—that with these facts true—and every orphanage in Florida crowded to the doors—that the people o1 Flornida will-let our great work which has cared for 850 of these little ones this year alone—go down for lack of funds to keep it up. Your immediate help—is greatly needed—right now—Please send what you can to-day—to R. V. Covington, Treasurer of The Children’s Home Society of Florida Florida’s G S 361 St. James Bldg. Whes the chimneys of the reyal ' d dol'ars worth of gold is tak- m the soot | PFameus Connaught Rangers. | Ceonnaught rangers were ..i the “Devil's Owa" be | changed the term from ome of re- preach to one of honor. nn—m‘ d'Onoro and at Badajos they fought with amazing fury.