Lakeland Evening Telegram Newspaper, May 5, 1915, Page 6

{ i ANEXPENSIVE LADY By JOANNA SINGLE A S S e S NI F (Copyright, 1911, by Associated Literary Press) The Folwells' French expensively at the door, and French chauffeur, Gustave, aristo- cratically bored, looked immovably ahead and awaited his young mis- tress, reflecting that he would have to break the speed limit if she made her train. Her trunks had gone to the station the day before. The dachshund on the back seat of the tonneau yawned in the face of the beautiful morning in early Septem- ber. Finally Miss Katherine Folwell ap- peared, perfect in black broadcloth. Bhe was palpably not intended for life’s grim realities. She would have been out of place in any setting less than luxurious. She knew this. Just a year ago she had told David Rob- ertson so, and as he had never been sure he even wanted to be rich, he dropped out of her life so effectually that it hurt. She had not thought he would take her at her word. So life bored her, which was why she had promfsed to go abroad with the Cheneys—she hadn't seen May since their college days, though they lived far out in some suburb and had only lately Inherited enough money to jus- tity trips—and leaving their two chil- dren. Gustave straightened and gasped— politely—as his mistress took her seat and gave her order. “To the country—anywhere! glven up my trip,” she said. He touched his cap, and they were off. “I couldn't have endured it,” she sald half aloud”— the old round of get- ting away from yourself in dirty for- eign places. I've got to live with my- self anywhere I go, and I like it here as well as any place. at least peaceful.” The car slipped up the avenue, past the clangor of downtown, through the residence district, from woodsy suburbs toward the river road. The sun was hot, but the fresh wind cooled her cheek. Finally they were gliding slowly past pretty little cottages, wide apart, flower- surrounded, almost real country. Then, without warning, the car stopped with a jar, and Gustave, all apology, was out trying the ma- chinery. He ended by crawling be- neath the motor, and after much tinkering, came out hot and explana- tory. She was deaf to explanations. She didn't care. “Pardon, but the sun 1is hot. It may take an hour to mend. Will Ma'’amselle seek a cool spot? That garden, perhaps?’ He waved with Gallic grace at a cottage they had passed where children played in a garden. She soothed Gustave's excitement with a smile and wandered up to the place. This was the sort of thing David Robertson had dreamed she might share with him, a bunga- low guarded by a private hedge and & sentinel row of flaming holly- hocks. She, too, had been among dream possessions — then she saw the children, blonde, rosy little peo- ple, and brought herself up with a start. She would not let herself in- clude children in her reverie of David. His income could never have brought the dream of his love into reality. Katharine spoke to the lit- tle ones hanging over the gate. “Good mornin’,” answered the six- year-old immovably. “'Lo," placidly returned the four- year-old boy. “Does you love holly- hocks?" Katharine sald that she adored them. Then she explained about the droken-down motor and asked if she could come in their garden a while. Would their mother care? They were suddenly solemn. “Mother’s gone to the end of the world,” she sald quaintly, “and Mrs. Bcott 18 drefful sick and Auntie Bess fs to her house and we're to stay I've right here so's she can see us till nurse comes home.” It came in a breathless sentence, as the child clung to her Ilittle brother. Then she opened wide the gate. “I'm sorry 'bout the car, an’ you can come in an’ play with us if you'll be good.” She sank down on the green grass, removed her hat and tried to woo the shy boy to give her a kiss. He would not, but broke a handful of bollyhocks without stems and put them gravely in her lap. The girl, Juney, was hanging over a bed of mignonette like a white butterfly. ‘When Gustave's hour and more had passed, Katharine looked up from her clumsy telling of the story of the “three bears,” to hear more ex- cuses. He could not repair the ma- chine. It would have to be towed in. Would ma’amselle take a train, or wait several hours until he came with the other car? He stood walt- ing, and a sudden whim possessed ber. “I will come on the train. Don't come back for me. I may stop to make a visit. Tell Marie not to ex- pect me.” B8he would not be robbed of this new amusement—she seldom had been with children, and the sweet little experience was bringing Rder a queer happiness. With much prompting she told some of the famillar child-stories, and then, won- dering at herself, made up fairy stories with an ease that brought the little ones snuggling close to her, They told about themselves. ther had to take mother to the Folly of Pessimism. Pessimists lack the muscular reser- voirs which spell confidence and the springs of hidden power. It behooves every gloomy, morose, downhearted, downtrodden, blue, sensitive, blushing, bashful, near or full pessimist to sail right in and educate his and her mus- cles to some degree of proficiency and efficlency. —— Paint of Great Value. A paint is made from the ofl of ®eans which grow in great quantities fn Manchuria which is said te be fire end waterproot. car purred | the | The country {s | end of the world,” said David, the boy. “And now you're here, we can 80 to Uncle Dee’s and see the ducks.” The children were on their feet in {a moment, pulling her wup by the | hands, drawing her after them through a gap in the hedge into a sunken garden, exquisitely Japanese, with a pool where floated mandarins with clipped wings. Everything was icately perfect—even the brown ow off to the left was a de- } Tre children threw upen her, hugging her. “What's your name?" and she answered, “Kittle, because I love soft places,” and she threw off her big plumed hat. themselves they asked, i David rose and began to stick the pink hollyhocks into her crown of sunny hair, and time passed. Peace came into Katharine’s mind. Pres- ently the boy announced, with mas- culine force, that he was hungry. She saw that the noon hour had passed, and rose. They pulled her back through the hedge toward their own cottage. She would have gone any- where. “Uncle Dee has only beer in his ice-box, and he borrows lemons from us,” sald the girl quaintly. “He don’t keep house—and he hasn’t a wife at all. It's lonesome for him. “It's too bad.,” replied Katharine ““He might get one.” “He was going to. but she was too | 'spensive,” sighed the girl. | Kit thought of David Robertson, ,and the humor died out of her eyes. Had she condemned him to a life of loneliness? The boy rambled on ex- plaining. ‘“'Spensive means what you can't afford to buy, like a wife, or a pony.” he sighed ecstatically. At the door of the cottage they met Aunt Bess. and Katharine flew into each other’s arms. “Elizabeth Norton' spring from?"” “May and Tom imported me to guard the kiddles while they go round the globe—thought you were going. too? Haven't seen you in years! Heaven must have sent you today. The nurse was called away, and Mrs. Scott, next door, is ill. T must go back and help. Will you go in and feed yourself and the babies and prom. ise to stay all night with me?" Kath- arine promised. “Go in and get into one of May's house dresses and keep house—though I'll wager you never ' lifted a cup! T must go.” Katharine entered her old friend's Where did you j her to all the village social functions, She stared, and then she | 2nd she was much envied and more 9N, the House By Ward Trail (Copyright, 1912, by Assoclated Literary Press.) | She met him first at the oyster supper in the Memorial church base- ment where she was helping to serve. | Coming from the little kitchen with | & large tray heavily loaded with “fry,” she had looked very pretty | with her face framed with little i curling tendrils and flughed from ex- | ertion, and he had gome to her in- | stantly. He relleved her of the heavy tray and masterfully took her over to eat supper with him, and she did not serve any more that evening. They were never introduced because every one thought from the look of recog- | nition that passed between them that they had met before. He laugh- ingly called her attention to it, ex- plained it to her obvious satisfaction and demanded her name in exchange { for his. All her life Electra Arnold had lived in Rockville, and all during the grown-up portion of her life she had been waiting for the right man to come and take her away. She hoped he would take her to New York. She bhad spurned the tentative attentions of the village swains that she might be fancy free when he came. In her dreamf his name had always been Charles Algernon, nothing else, but when he owned up to Arthur Taswell Palmer, she thought that even better. He saw her every day and escorted quizzed by the neglected belles. Others there were who loved Electra, of taking up with a m whose people no one knew. He misht even be married. The warnings fell on deaf ears. He told her of his work; he was a writer, and one day he told her that he had succeeded in landing in an and they warned her of the dangers |0 his shoulder. and up to her room. lessly in the open grate. had forgotten that she was hungry. gate. “I'll just drive on down to the cars and wait for her there,” agony, stuffing the corner of him back. letter. appointed at not finding you night. out letting me know? once on some preliminary business in | connection with my new job, and I must leave at eight tonight. I love you, Electra. “Arthur T. Palmer.” Electra turned hot and cold as she read the note. He was called to New York. Yes, after last night, he had all the material he needed! He was false, false, false, and he had kissed her and made her say she loved him! She buried her face in her hands. For a week daily letters came from him, but she hid them away—un- opened. A paper came also, addressed in his writing, and that was sadly put away with the letters. And then one day after dinner she slipped off down by the big pines to be alone, but her mother, glancing out of the window, had seen her go. So when Mr. Palmer called she sent him there. Electra, sobbing with hidden face, did not know any one was near until she was gathered up in his arms. and her struggles were calmed by his strength. Her head lay wearily back Little by little he got the whole story of his perfidy from her. “But surely when the lady came | you understood?” “Nobody came. io send her here!” ghe moaned, straining away fr him. Suddenly he toock h': arms from editorial chair at a ary that per- mitted him to marry and live in New , York. She never knew exactly what it was he had sald or what she had | answered, but he had kissed her again and again and slipped a ring on her room, and presently came out radiant in a pale blue wash-dress with her frlend’s children. She re- membered wistfully that she might have married their uncle and been their real aunt. Where was David now? She did not even know—prob- ably gone “to the end of the world” | also. Then she lost herself in simple ser- vice, a luxury she had never known, the sweetness of feeding little chil- dren. Her past soclety life seemed suddenly futile, empty. And while the babes slept away the late after- noon she came to her real, sweet, true self. She knew where happiness was to be found, and if David Robertson ' had been in her world she would have swallowed her pride and sent for him. \ Presently it was after 6, and she was eating bread and milk with the kiddies when she heard a whistle. The children ran like wild things, and came back dragging in a big, deep-voiced, handesome man with young eyes and dark halr gray at the temples. “Here's Uncle Dee, Kittle!" they shrieked. “Here he is!" She stood white and overcome before David Robertson. Her eyes burned like blue flame, and then fell before his de- vouring glance. “O David,” she faltered, “O David! | —I am so—sorry——" In that second she had seen all his hurt and loneliness; and something melted the hardness of her heart. She flung her arm up around her eyes with a childlike movement. Then she began to cry in his arms while he kissed her. The children, overawed, held tightly to one another. It was long before they even remembered the children. Then Uncle Dee stooped and gathered them into his arms. ' “Now I'm going to have a wife,” he explained grandly, waving a hand at Katherine. Little David looked her over doubt- to play ' fully. “Ain't you, too—'spensive?” he queried. “Not—any more!" she declared ' joyously. “It costs me too much to live without the only things—I really want.” Relic of the Wesleys. The Rev. J. H. Wicksteed, vicar of Bexley, Kent, has presented to the Wesleyan Methodists of Gravesend and Dartford circuit a tree from the vicarage garden, a sapling of the old oak under whose branches John and Charles Wesley, with George White- fleld, often met in friendly conference. It is belleved that Charles Wesley composed some of his hymns under its shadow, and John in his diary of September 22, 1740, writes: “I went to Mr. Piers (the vicar), at Bexley, where in the mornings and evenings I expounded the Sermon on the Mount and had leisure during the rest of the day for business of other kinds." He was there again on Saturday, Decem- ber 2, 1749, “and preached about eleven."—Church Family Newspaper. The Old Story. Young Wife (angrily)—And to finish up with, sir, you'r= a brute Young Husban: (sorrowfully)—This is nearly as good as the scrapping mother used to make! Father's Limitations. “Mother,” asked the small boy, “do you believe everything that dad tells you?" “That depeunds,” replied the lady of the house. “Your father is fairly accurate concerning matters of business, politics and religion, but when he touches on fishing, poker hands and why he did not get home to dinner, he leaves a good deal to be desired.” Seldom Idle. The housewife is never among the esemployed.—Baltimore American. ! f 8he Threw Herself on the Bed In Agony. finger as he left her that night. It was much more wonderful than any- thing she had dreamed and frightened her a little. The next morning she went in to the city and browsed in the delights of chiffons and such, trying to decide Just what she would buy for the won- derful wedding. Her means were small, and when late afternoon came she had a handbag comfortably filled with samples and three style books under her arm. She was very tired, having entirely forgotten to eat luncheon, and had to run to catch the six o'clock car out. She tumbled pell mell into her seat just as the car pulled out, dropping samples from the handbag that had come open during the chase. Presently her attention was drawn to the two men in the seat ahead by hearing the name “Artie Palmer” mentioned. FElectra leaned forward and deliberately listened. Whatever concerned Artie Palmer concerned her. “Yes, I'm glad he's tled up at last. The lady is quite all right, too, and Artie needs the money.” “But it does seem a tunny thing to think of Artie and the lady of the house hitting it off together, he's been a free-lance so long." “Wonder how he came out on that trip to Rockville? Bet he hung around some skirt there all the time digging out ideas of a ‘village wom- an’ for that blessed paper. Well, so long, old man. See you tomorrow,” and the speaker swung off at the ho- tel. Electra sat huddled back in her seat. They were never talking about her when they mentioned the lady of the house, for she had no money to bring him. Was it possible that he had merely been getting ideas for his paper from her? He hagd told her he was a writer and was looking for material. Electra did some hard thinking and many things seemed possible. When she left the car her mouth was settled in a hard, straight line. She slipped softly into the house What Gives Milk Its Color? Recent experiments show that the color of milk is chiefly due to the pres- ence of carotin, a coloring matter found abundantly in green plants, es- pecially in grass. The yellow pig- ments of our bodies also consist of carotin, which is probably derived chiefly from our food. Sometimes a Difficulty. “Love makes the world go round” Qquoted the Wise Guy. “Yes, but it doesn’t always seem able to make :on ends meet,” added the Stmple ug. about her shoulders and :hook her soundly. “Stop it!" he commanded and set- tled her back aguinst a tree. “Now,” he sald, folding his arms and looking in her eyes, “do vou mean to tell me that you didn't get my lotters?” “I got some. b-but T dldn’t open any after the one where you said you were going away.” i “Then | suppose you did not ope! ‘The Luady of the Ilouse” either?” “What 2" “A sample copy of the magazine 1 am to edit in order to afford to marry you. Go up to the house and read those letters and open that magazine and look it over, and then if you want to see me, come back here.” March, now!" Electra stared at him with wide- open eyes as he settled himself com- fortably on the soft brown needles, and then—she “marched.” DISCOVERED BUT NOT KNOWN Extensive Areas in Brazil and Aus tralia Still Without the Pale of Our Knowledge. Lying within the basin of the head- waters of the Amazon in western Bra- zil are three regions much larger in area than all the New England states which are still outside the pale of our knowledge. This large territory lies between the parallel of 10 degrees south latitude and 5 degrees north lat- itude, and the meridians of 60 de- grees west longitude. Not a country of South America has been accurately defined and fully explored. The great difficulties with which the scientist must contend in mapping this conti- nent in the equatorial regions ac- count for the large areas still un- charted. It is the nardest section of the world to penetrate. Dense for- ests, a deadly climate inducing the worst scourges of disease, as yellow fever, cholera, beriberi, etc., the flerce wild beasts, poisonous serpents and savage tribes are some of the obsta- cles to be encountered in penetrating the Amazon country. The entire central portion of Aus- tralla is an unknown tract save for a direct line in which the transconti- nental telegraph system has been laid. The greatest difficulty was en- countered in stretching the wires across the desert waste and the small strip thus opened up is all that is known of the heart of the island con- tinent. It is supposed to be a vast sandy plain, interspersed here and there with salt lakes to vary the horrible monotony. Hundreds of dar- ing . men have trled to penetrate its mysteries, and most of them have pald for their temerity with their lives. Then there is the “Never-Never” land in western Queensland, into which many have gone and few have return- ed. In the south of the country, ex- tending for hundreds of miles inland from the great Australian Bight, is a terra incognita, the extent and na- ture of which can only be surmised.— Christian Herald, —_— Wrongly Used. Two Irishmen were looking through a newly built institution. Mike—Sure, Pat, and it's a foine buflding. Pat—It is thot. Mike—An' everything in order, an’ all kept nate an’ toidy. Pat—I don't know about that, Moike, Just now I saw a whole row of buck- ets; whim I looked in them there was wather in them!—Ideas. —_——— What It Cost Him. “My darling," she murmured, “you were so grand, so noble, when you proposed to me that day in the taxi! Shall I ever forget how touchingly you spoke of your future, of the sacrifices you would make for me? It must have Cost you something to speak those words.” “It did, Mabel,” replied the young man, a shadow creeping over his face. “It cost me about two weeks’ salary for the hire of that taxi” ——————— True Living. ”Olty those live who do good.—Tek The fashion 3 magazines she hid under the bureau g | and the samples were consumed ruth- | Two red | spots burned in her cheeks and she Presently she heard the sound of | wheels on the hard road outside the the grave, : tender voice floated up to her, and | she threw herself on her bed in the spread into her mouth lest she call Next morning’s mail brought her & | “My darling,” it ran, “I was so dis- last How could you go away with- 1 had a wire today calling me to New York at Her protests were smothered in kisses | (‘h, did you dare . SWEET POTATOES ALWAYS FIND GOOD davs ago commission few a representa- hot tive o m oo stern AEV.H': = that ¢ always jound a good market He : said | that the great trouble was in the| auality and sizes. Most pota- toes are tasteless and they loften too large. The best kmd; seems to be, in his market, lhc‘, flall, while other mark| Nancy ets want the yvam we raise SO well. As to size, the best is what | we call a small potato about| what one person will eat, with | other vegetables and meats at :li meal. Those eastern and nu}'th-‘ ern men diversify their eating.| Thev want a variety at each| | meal and are going to have it,| and they do not eat as much of! any one thing at a sitting as we do, therefore, the small potato isi the fellow to send them. The| potato is usually served in ho-| tels and restaurants baked andj it raises the dander of a patron| to have two ver ysmall or a large tuber placed beside his plate. This gentleman emphasized| !the fact that they are not casily | perishable; that they ship well, | !when well packed, and they| Imust be correctly graded to] bring top prices le expresse astonishment that we did not | have fields of them all over the country, and not what he ca lec | little patches. We told him to give us time and he replied that we had had all the time there ever was and scemed inclined to take the rest of it. He further called attention to the fact that the demand for 2 potatoes could not be wanted to know why in Hill we didn't can Yankee almost made us mad. He irritated us. We are sensi- tive and would have thrown him out of the office, but he talked us fout of it, and besides he was big- ger than Willard,, and looked willing. His strong ad- Ivice was to plant sweet potatoes and plant them for car load lots, |:|n<l he again assured us that his citv would take care of all that| |this country would or could | raise. The United States Agricultur- al Department has gotten out a bulletin on Sweet Potato Grow- ing in the Cotton Belt, which can be had on application to Mr. Atkeson. It contains this lan- “Within the past few years there has been a great de- mand for canned sweet potatoes l;nul up to the present time this {demand has not been satisfied.” L'his bulletin - also advocates growing them for stock feed. Which leads us to remark that we have many crops which we can grow for feed much cheaper than we can grow corn. Corn it must be admitted is one of our poorest yielding crops, and we are not justitied in raising more than we absolutely ¢ to have. -\ man can better attord to raise Sweet potatoes at 25 cents d bushel than corn at a Honestly now, can't he- Oak Democrat. canmed sy filled and m ‘em. Jess THE NEED FOR FATHERS. L'he crying want of the age is good fathe Not fathers who will toil night and day in order to amass a competence for their children, but fathers who will give themselves to their growing sous. The only boy that is safe is the boy whose saved father makes of him a confidant, a play- mate and a friend. Let some one else teach the boy his multi- plication tables; the Christian father must teach him to spin his top, and fly his kite, ;md. trundle his hoop. Let somebody else, if need be, teach the lad his algebra; but let no one except the father teach him how to bait a hook, and build a fire and dress his first “shiner.” Let some outsider teach him the Greek al- phabc_t; but no one except his own father should teach him how to pitch a ball, or vault al pulv:.' or load a gun. The most precious opportunities of life are those offered to the parent to en- ter sympathetically into the life of a child by means of the pleas- ures which are native to vouth, The busiest man in the “world can far better afford to neglect his business than to neglect his boy. His most sacred duty is to l\:ecp In touch with the laq. Somebody, if not his father, will be his intimate, and so his tern. Years ago a young man said to us, when we expostulated with him regarding his exercis- es: “I never knew my father. He was too busy writing ser- | mons to give any time to me.” |\\ as it to be wondered at that |the h()): broke that father heart? —Interior. —— : One Thing He Was Sure Of. As a matter of fact,” said the law- yor for the defendant, trying to be sarcastic, “you were scared half to death, and don’t know whether it wag & motor-car or something resembling & motorcar that hit you “It re- sembled one all right,” the plaintige made answer. “T wag foreibly struck by the resemblance.” pat- I'hat | ¢ WHO GETS THE MONEY YOU EARN? DO YOU GET my DOES SOMEBODY ELSE WHO DOES NOT EARN IT? YOUR “EARNING POWER’ CANNOT LAST/ALWAYS, WHILE YOUARE MAKING MONEY BANK IT AND:BE fy FOR OLD AGE. JUST DO A LITTLE THINKING. BANK 'WITH_US. WE PRY 5 PER CENT INTEREST ON TIME DEPOSITS: American State Bank ‘BE AN AMERICAN ONE!OF us.” Flour! Flour zg CHEAP B 34 P Now is the Time to Lay In a Supply &R 98 Ib. Sacks Best Plain Flour - $3.8) 1.00 50¢ 400 E. 6. TWEEDELL § 24 |b. Sacks Best Plain Flour - 12 Ib. Sacks Best Plain Flour - 98 Ib. Srlf-Rising Flour - - The Expression “Cut and Dried” Is used to that is ’ describe some action or event prearranged—all planned in ad- vance and carried ot accordingly. t also applies to our stock of lumber which is certainly A Cut and Dried Proposition \Lia\re.lully and accurately cut to the dimen- s1ons required, dry and sound, there’s no better lumber to be found. Lakeland Manufacturing Company LAKELAND, FLA. PHONE 76 4000000000000 0000000 - ST CONTRACTOR TmEa QUIIERR Having had twent b, c. @ n If comtemplatiof “;msh estimates and all infor A d L IR 2R RN TR TR I LS g - o = a. o a | J. B. STREATER |