Lakeland Evening Telegram Newspaper, May 4, 1915, Page 6

Il P00R VINCENT LIND —— By EDNA DALE WILKERSON. (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.) “Three lovers!" | “Yes,” calmly nodded easy-going.! comfortable-minded Mrs. Noyes. “One too many,” declared her mar | rled sister, sharply. “What are you ! thinking of, Mary | “Of Eugenie—first, last and all of | the time. As you see and acknowl- | edge she is a frank, open, loving- | hearted girl. We have let her have| her own way. With all her attractive- ness, of course it is no wonder that she has suitors. There have been a dozen of them. They have narrowed down to three.” “And she encourages—?" Mrs. Eunice Ward “None of them. There is Ray Blackburn—substantial, practical and clear headed. Eugenie thinks he is the smartest business man ir the vil- lage. Then there is Vernon Morse. It Eugenie had her way, he would be elected circuit judge toworrow. And finally—Vincent Lind. Poor Vin- cent!" Mrs. Ward looked interested. “Why do you say that, sister’” she chal- lenged, keenly inquisitive. “Oh, he is a dreamer—artist and | poet. Oh! he is so soulful. I favor him most, but Levi, my husband, con- siders him shiftless, and actually pities him and likes him because he is.” “Um-m. It must be interesting to 8ee the young men,” observed Mrs, Ward, who had arrived at the Morse home for a two weeks’ stay. She was awarded a full opportunity during the next few days. Blackburn, the young manufacturer, called upon Eugenie the next evening. He was brisk, all business, constantly talking of his big iron factory, full of himself ventured -h(fil\t He Would Wander in the Woods for Days, and the same. He had made and Was making money and fancied that meant the acme of success. “A model young man," commented Aunt Eunice after he had gone. “In- tensely practical, but he will be a good provider, you can count on that that.” The the following evening Morse strolled along. He was witty, hand- some and bright, “My very idea of a rising young lawyer,” was Aunt Eunice's commen- dation. “He is ambitious and you can read force, determination and success in his very face.” To both these young men Eugenie was friendly and charming. No gir) could have acted more discreetly ana Impartial. Keen eyed Aunt Eunice very readily traced that the heart's desire of her gracious niece rested with neither of them, however. One atternoon as Eugenie and her aunt sat engaged at some fancy work under the shade of a lawn tree, there was a click at the gate. Mrs, Ward knew at once that the tall, graceful young man who entered the garden must be Vincent Lind. She noted a quick brightness in the eyes of Eu- genie, a conscious flush as she felt the penetrating questioning glance of her aunt. “Well, aunty, what do you think of our young poet?” challenged Eugenie, brightly, an hour later, as Vincent departed. “He 18 fairly enchanting,” Mre. Ward, with enthuslasm. beautiful thoughts!" “Which don’t answer for the bread and butter, though,” put in Mr, Noyes, who had drifted up to the 8pot. “He 18 a dear, good fellow,” cham- ploned Eugenie with more than usual animation. “Just look at this lovely bunch of the first wild violets he brought me. Mr. Blackburn wouldn't do that. It would take time and he counts the minutes as though they were gold dollars. As to Mr. Morse, be would buy half-suffocated flowers at the florist's and consider his duty done.” Dreamer and poet as Vincent was, there was quite a practical phase to his temperental idiosyncracies. He did quite some profitable work as a replied “Such * magazine artist. His occasional writ- ings, too, were acceptable at several sources. The trouble was, however, that he would wander in the woods for days, idly dreaming, worshiping e Value of a Hearty Laugh. When a man laughs heartily there I8 a change in the character of his blood like unto that of high oxygenis- ation. And, as a matter of fact, the mere mechanical action does oxygen- ize the blood, providing, of course, that the person is in the open or a well ventilated room; but this phe- bomenon, due to laughter, is more veychic than phvsical. Warmth From the Meart. Hearth warmth is generated by the friendly towoh of another’s hand. | heart. cus that would enable him to produce something marketable. At Bridgeton there was just then a theme which filled the public mind with interest. A pioneer of the dis- trict named Burton had died, leaving an immense fortune. His only heir Was a nephew who resided in Chi- cago and who was himself substan- eially rich. i This nephew had decided to show < appreciation of the magnificent ¥ by designing the erection of a costly statue in the market place of the town that his uncle had founded. A prize of ten thousand dollars was | offered for the best design of the pro- | spective work of art. The Noyes family, Aunt Eunice and | Blackburn, Morse and Vincent were | gathered in the garden one afternoon | engaged in animated conversation. Mr. Blackburn was in high fettle. “I have made a very pretty penny in the sale of the property for the | site of the monument,” he vaunted. “Got just about six prices.” “This Burton statue business has | been quite a windfall to me as well,” boasted Morse “How is that?” inquired Mrs, Ward, | with curiosity. “I am appointed trustee for the project and will have charge of all construction details,” explained the young lawyer. Eugenie glanced at Vincent. Hae sat silent, modest, abstracted as usu al. She pitied him in her inmost While Vincent evinced no envy as to the good fortune of the tWo young men, she felt that he must experience a natural depression at not figuring smartly as they in the current good fortune of a local inter prise. “Don't go,” she murmured in pass- ing him, as the others arose from the rustic benches. “I want to hear that new poem of yours.” His face, suddenly shining, his eyes, illumined with grateful recog- nition of her kindness, rewarded Eu. genle for a free condescension she would have considered unmaidenly if bestowed on others of courser mental mold. “I can't help it whispered Eu- genie to her aunt, as the latter gave her a quizzical look as she walked away to a sheltering garden nook with Vincent. “My heart just goes out to him. He seems 80 lonely, so unused to worldly ways.” What an hour it was for the poet and dreamer! And for Eugenie, too! She realized that she was giving en. couragement to her enraptured com- panion. Within her secret soul she realized, too, that she was glad of it, Suddenly he took her hand. He looked pleadingly into her gentle, winning eyes, “I must say it now,” he said, “and 80 away, perhaps. It 1g {n my thoughts day and night—my love for you. Should I have told you, or, too presumptuous, let me crave your for. giveness for daring to lift my eyes—" “Dear eye weet, honest soul!” spoke Eugenie, unable to prevent the utterance. “I did not know it before, but I have loved you all along. Oh, dear!” She started up in confusion, Al tattered town boy had invaded the Preclous spot unnoticed, He started, ' but was all business, “Your brother said you would want this important letter,” he explained, and handed an unsealed missive to Vincent. | He drew out the enclosure. At a glance he flushed, then paled. He gave a quick gasp and clutched atf the top of a garden seat for support, ' as though overcome by some vast in. telligence, “What is it—no trouble, I hope!” murmured Eugenie, solicitously, “Only—they have awarded me the ten thousand dollar prize for my mon. ument design,” replied Vincent, “Only!” cried Eugenie, but joyful. ly. “Yes,” said Vincent, er gaining your love, precious in all the wide stanchly, “Aft. what else 1g world.!"” About Manners. “Soclety is more conventional than it is good mannered at times,” re- marked a man of tanners, “and know persons of both kinds. Particu- larly I know a lady who 1s conven- tional and bad mannered and I know a business man who is unconventional and, if not exactly good mannered, bet- ter mannered than the lady. “Not long ago he was at an evening aftair—he went because his wife want- ed him to go—and he wore a shop-tied tle, a gaucherie a man of conventional habits could not possibly be guilty of. The lady in question noticed it and in her naive way ghe asked him why ne wore that kind of a tie, *‘Well, madam,’ he replied, ‘I do it for two reasons. One is to give stu- pid people a subject of conversation and the other is to show that uncon- ventional taste isn't much worse than conventional bad manners.’ “Of course he had no right to say it, nor, on the other hand, did the lady have any right to comment on his dress, 50 it may be called a standofr, though the man still wears a tied tie and the lady does not make any com- ments.’ —— e Angler Starts Worm Farm. A worm farm is the latest of this town’s industries, and already the out- look for a good Crop is promising. It has been started by William Lee, an ardent angler, who found the frater- nity badly handicapped this Season by the shortage due to the extremely dry weather. His farm has been in Operation a short time, but a sizable increase in its population is already visible The “'stock” is kept in a shelter and fed regularly on soap suds, sugar and bread crumbs. Later on a little milk will be added to the diet, as this is supposed to give the Worms an attrac- tive bright red color, making them more effective as bait.—Indian Orchard (Mass.) Dispatch to New York Worrd. ———e Cause of Bad Manners. Pride, {ll nature, and want of sense are the three great sources of {ll man- ners; without one of these defects no man will behave himaelf il for want of experience of what in the language of fools is called knowing the world.— Dean Swift. Children of Babylon L T T T T T T e W TS R By EFFIE SPOFFORTH PO OSSO (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.) The boy, once back in his hall bed- | room, threw himself down on the par- ' row bed and remained there motion- less. his eyes closed. Sometimes, when | he came home from the warehouse he was physically inert like this. He was only twenty-one, and the contrast be- tween the hopes with which he had gone to the great city and :ctuallty! was harder than the physical fatigue. | He worked at eight dollars a week, packing books for Vincent & Co., pub- ! lishers. With a high school education and literary aspirations, he ought to be able to do something better than that. “We'll give you a chance in the basement,” Vincent had told him. “It | You make good there an opportunity may arise upstairs.” “I'll take it,” the boy had answered. At half-past seven the following morning the boy went to work. He had worked there for four months. He did not know that Vincent was trying him out, that there really would be a chance for him, first at clerical work and then if he proved effi- cient in a minor role among the literary staff of the publishing com- city by storm. In fact, she was an artist of rare ability. But what 1s the use of ability unless someone has brains to recognize it? So day by day she had besieged the offices with her drawings. Once she had sold one, and she had lived on that lingering hope until the remain- | 1 der of her money was gone. Then, at her wits’ end, she had accepted the Pposition which the landlady told her could be obtained at Darrow's She had lost all faith in herself. : She had worked like an automaton ' for four months and had done noth- ing. Her best drawing, one which she had thought could not pass the observ- ant eye, had never been returned to her from the magazine to which she had submitted it, and she had lacked the courage to call and inquire about it. At Darrow’s she had toiled behind the counter of the hosiery department, at the beck and call of vulgar, frock- coated floorwalkers, a cipher among ciphers. She felt crushed by this at- mosphere that surrounded her. She felt utterly out of place among the Young women, of a different type and education, with whom she came into touch; and they, sensing the differ- ence, were not slow to let her perceive their resentment. Then temptation had come to ner, It had been in less loathsome guise than with the boy. It was not one of the floorwalkers, but the son of the owner, young Darrow, fresh from col- lege and taking his fling before set- tling down in the world. He had come into the store with his mother, who Wwas making some purchase there. pany. Vincent had had his eye on him all the while, as was his way. He had asked the foreman of the depart- ment two or three times if the boy was still there. Next month, perhaps, | he would give himsclr. the sincere | pleasure of inviting the boy to accept fifteen dollars and assist Mr. Jones, the advertising manager, in a clerical capacity. Of all that the boy knew nothing. He only saw himsel; hammering nails into packing cases among a crowd of | ignorant, and not too high-minded as- | sociates. And often he had thought of giving up and going back to the farm, to face the sneers of the neighbors, the silent She Had Lost All Faith in Herself. reproaches of his father, and, worst of all, his mother’s pity. Then temptation had come to him. There was a man named Dutton among the employees. Dutton had shown him friendliness, had ®on his confi- dence. “You're a fool, boy, to look forward to a life of this sort of work,” he said. “There's easy money to be picked up in this city. Now listen to me—" In the lunch hour he had outlined & plan by which money was to be “picked up” as he phrased it. It in- volved plain robbery. But, though the boy shrank away, horrified at the sug- gestion, the plausibility of the man worked on his mind and the temptation proved a real one in spite of his scruples Dutton had fearneq a secret about the safe. Every house has its se. crets, its weak points in its defensive system. On Saturday nights there was often a sum of two or three thou- sand dollars in the safe. The night watchman was an old man. The safe Was not a new one. The boy's part Would be simply to engage the old fel- low in conversation until the confed- erates got their opportunity to hit him on the head and take the keys. ™.+ that five hundred dollars was to be nis. Aud, so strangely mind fashioned, that the boy had felt that, to tell cent, would be a be- frayal of confidence. The atmosphere of the packing room was not a good cre. The boy had gone home and flung himself down on his bed, and his mind was in a turmoil In the next room the girl had come home and flung nerself wto the an- cient arm-chair with which the land- lady had supplied her when it became too shabby for use in the parlor She felt utterly unwrought after her day at the department store - She had worked there at six dollars a week for nearly half a year. When ! she left the little country town, is the numan ——— An Anti-Suffrage Viewpolnt, Gaylor (in cafe dansant)—"“There's my wife! And I'll bet sh 8 looking for me!” Fair Companion—“Oh, dear! Why can't some people understand that woman’s place is in the home?"— Puck. ——n Swat the Fly. Would you enjoy your dinner it you ®aw bedbugs, fleas. roaches or spiders erawling all over the foodstuffs? Yet, this form of vermin is comparatively clean in comparison with fiies. the first iy you see. Swat et With worldly wisdom he had not approached her while the other clerks i Wwere present. But he had found the means to see her twice or three times. | And he had asked her to dine with him the following o ‘ening. She was hot ign« rant of the world. She saw from hi: demeanor that it did not cccur to hin that she was any- | thing but one of the underbred, under- Paid drudges in Lis father's store. She had known what significance Would attach itself to ieq : ceptance. But she was desperately lonely, and the thought of an cvening in a restau- | rant, and at a thea'er sight of other faces, (L. life was overwhcl ing. “I'll have to accept she thought wearily If she could have known at that mo- a leiter, s13nod by tee editor of “asuzile, enclosing a check for dollars for her drawing, terward, the touch with or go home,” l iing tor more, lay in the wire 1> the des' of the editd 'y . ready 1) be posted on the morrow—if slie could have known! She got up from ner chair. The boy was &oing out of his room at the same moment. They knew each other by sight; sometimes they sat nenrr each other in the cheap little restau. vant where they got their meals ‘when- ever they could afford the luxury. They were both too shy to speakyto each other, and desperately alone; but now, staring into each other's faces in the deserted hall on the top story of the, rooming house, they drew to. ward each other like abandoned barks drawn by some current into a vortex. “Are you going to dinner?” asked the boy timorously. “Yes,” she answered, looking at him with shy approval, “Let's go together,” ly daring. They descended the stairs together. At the street door she took his arm, and they proceeded toward the restau- rant, without a word being spoken. he said, great- That was the most wonderful meal ' elther of them had ever had. Their conversation was monosyllabic, but there was little need of words in the happiness of this strange sympathy. And afterward they strolled together up and down the lit streets. They Paused at the theater door. Women in costly furs, accompanied by men in evening clothes, were going in. “I'm glad I'm not among that crowd,” thought the girl, and wondered how many young Darrows there were among them. And the boy, utterly abashed at the thought of the temptation that had come to him, and feeling himself whol- 1y unworthy of the girl whose arm was still linked in his, was planning to 8ee Mr. Vincent on the next morning at nine and tell him of the conspiracy. “It's great, isn't it!" said the boy. “Just living, 1 mean.” “Yes, it's great,” the girl answered, and she knew then that she would have strength to refuse young Dar- row and to remain at her post. It was only a humble post in the out- works of civilization, but suddenly she telt like a soldier. “I thought once of going home and giving up—all this,” said the boy vaguely, as they strolled homeward. “But now I'm going to stay.” “And I'm going to stay, too,” the girl answered. They reached the door and went up the stairs together in silence. At her door the girl turned. “I have enjoyed it so much,” she said “I have spent such a happy eve- ning.” She blushed at her own au- dacity. “It has meant such a lot to me—you don't know how much,”’ she continued, feeling absurdly conscious of the moisture in her eyes “You don't know how much to me also,” he answered. And he never knew how it came about, but the next . minute they were in each other's arms, and her lips met his in Which everybody 8sweetest. “We'll fight 1t out together," the boy that first kiss knows to be the said ve Weed, Expeng! One of the most expansive woods | used regularly in an establighed in. dustry in the United States is box- wood, the favorite material for wood carving. It has been quoted at four cents a cubic inch, ang about 31,309 by the thousand board feet. DY e e e bat she thinks oth- OF people think of him. bad confidently expected to take the PROVING IT TO “POP” By GEORGE MUNSON. G. Chapman.) | ™ (Copyrignt, 1315, by W ] Uiy ! | The genial actor-manager hddascur(; ! of offices in different cn_u:. but, o | course, New York was his headquar- | 1 There some dozen young men ters re- ranged his numerous affairs, i :;,‘;;egd plays, shooed off fair applt- | cants and, in the interim of their d:l- ties, bitten by the strange, lnsauah: stage lust, begged the kindly old e to try them out at the same salary .l.lir;i)erlson had been the most per- sistent. Perhaps he might in time have worried “Pop” Garrison to give him a walking part; but he came down with appendicitis, and one morn- ing his desk was empty, and only a pathetic scrawl from Mrs. Rober(so:l indicated that he was in the hospital. “Sure! Pay him each week till he gets well,” said Garrison to the cas'h-s fer. “His wife writes she’ll be down each Saturday to collect. Pay her v she comes in” v‘l;fr‘;mplly at noon on Saturday a plump, fluffy-haired little blol?dé‘ pre- sented herself at the cashier's desk. She wrote her receipt in a laborious hand and took her twenty-five dollars tefully S iHello: How did you get in here? We don't want any ladies in any- | thing,” sung out Pop Garrison. | “I'm Edna Robertson," said the IIE: tle woman demurely. “My husband—' “Good lord! I beg your pardon, { madam,” said Garrison. “How is your husband? Doing well? I'm glad of that. Tell him his desk's waiting for him as soon as he's back again.” “Nice little woman,” he commented to the cashier. “I didn't know Robert- son was married, come to think of it. |1t 1 had a wife like that I'd—I'd go off my head.” Every week for a month little Mrs. Robertson duly appeared at the cash- fer's window promptly at twelve on Saturday, received the money and signed for it | On the fifth Saturday she did not appear. But in the afternoon there appeared, in place of her, a slim and rather tall brunette. She made her way to the cashier's window “I have come for my husband's money,” she announced “Eh?" asked the cashier. “My name is Flora Robertson, and | there's five weeks' pay coming,’ she snapped. Pop happened to be passing through, and he came up at the sound of the | woman's excited tones. , left his cage. | “This lady says she is Mrs. Robert- son, and she wants five weeks' sal- ary,” said the cashier. Pop had weathered many a crisis, and his nerve did not desert him now. “Pay Mrs. Robertson by all means,” | he said, addressing the angry woman. ' “And how is your husband? Better, T hope?" he continued. “I hope s0. As well as he deserves to be, anyway,” answered wife No. 2. “Do you know what was the matter with him?" “Ap-appendicitis, 1 understood,” stammered Pop Garrison, striving to retain his self-control. | “Nope. Bad temper. It went to his insides,” she returned. “Say, young man, you hand out that money before this gink has time to change his mind," she added to the cashier. And. clasping her money to her bo- som, she stalked out of *he office, leav- ing the two men flabbergasted. | “Well, 'm— said Pop. “Ditto here," returned the other. “What am I to charge it to— overhead, Mr. son?" “No. Put it down to petty cash,” re. turned the old actor-manager. “Lord, it I hadn't been a boy myself once— ' but it's too bad, too bad!" | And Pop's head drooped mournfully as he went back into his den, and he | refused to see anybody at all during the remainder of the day. On the Monday morning, bright and early, Joe Robertson was at his desk He had been there about half a minute when the cashier came up to him “The old man wants to see you, Joe,” he said “8ay, you'd best fix up some gort of explanation in your mind, old man." Joe, looking pretty well scared, went into Garrison's den. The old | man rose up and looked at him with a heavy paternal air. | “I wouldn't have thought it of you, | Joe,” he said, shaking "his head. Joe Robertson pulled a hundred and twenty-five dollars from his right-hand ! trousers pocket, Then he pulled a hundred and twenty-five from his left. hand trousers pocket. He slammed the whole sum down on the desk un- der Pop's eyes. Pop stared at the money, made a grab for it, and put it down. Joe chuckled n't 1 the best fe- male impersonator you've ever seen? he asked. “Say, Mr Garrison, blondy Was me. And brunetta was me also I'm not married —but | hope to be when you give me that job as g fe- male impersonator at forty par Say, she'd beat either of them two into fits Dandy little girl—a rea) one, Mr Gar- rison, and her hair's—" “What?” shouted Pop, and then, with a sudden access of generosity he slammed down al the money upon the desk in front of Joe, except two twen- tles, which he thoughttully Pocketed. “Joe, were you, were you—" “Sure,” answered Joe, “I was both of them And, as I was saying, there's & real girl waiting till | get that job, and don’t keep her waiting longer than her patience, because her hair's red.’ i Geat lo Regimental Pot, The everyday goat is responaidie for | :0 nlckname. of the Royal Welsh fy. The cashier | ; GETS THE MONEY YOU EARN? DO Yoy GET DOEvgr:())MEBODY ELSE WHO DOES NOT EARN IT9 YOUR “ERRNING POWER” CANNOT LAST’ALWAhYs, WHILE YOUARE MAKING MONEY BANK IT ANDBg FOR OLD AGE. JUST DO A LITTLE THINKING. w." [EEE BANK WITH us. WE PAY 5 PER CENT INTEREST ON TIME DEPOS|T American State Bap} ‘BE AN AMERICAN ONE! OF Uus.” 3 Now is the Time to Lay In a Supply P 98 Ib. Sacks Best Plain Flour 24 1b. Sacks Best Plain Flour 12 1b. Sacks Bcst Plain Flour 98 Ib. Srif-Rising Flour The Expression “Cut and Dried” Is used to describe some action or event that s prearranged—all plapneq in ad- Yance and carried out accordingly, t also applies o our stock of which is certainly A Cut and Dried Proposition - arefully ang accurately cut to the dimen- ons required. dry and sound, there’ | ere’s no better lumber Y to be found. g B S 0 Lakeland Manufacturing Company LAKELAND Fra PHONE 15 laskan Dogs. horseflesh {g ing operaty tched to a -::; excellent servige Patch ang 5 team of sty 1.900 pounds of pre. fumber C sil