Newspaper Page Text
dog of J. C. Craft, coal merchant.
Craft died" and willed the use of his
handsome house to his housekeeper
to he used ''as a home for "Pete" so
that "he may pass his days in a
household wnere there are no chil
dren or boarders." Every day is a
dog day, now, for "Pete." He gives
parties to which only children are in
vited and he lives like a lord on his
income of $1,200 a year.
And now for little Otto Gerlach,
one of "Pete's" neighbors. Otto
spent most of his days in a nursery,
because his mother had to work for a
living. Otto is 12 now and he helps
his mother to arrange the colored
strips of-cotton which "mother" sews
into little colored animals and sells
to a factory.
In the picture Otto is seen carrying
a bundle of colored strips to the fac
tory. Otto and his mother earn $16
a month between them. Charity has
to pay for most of the food and
clothes they use.
Queer, isn't it, that such things .
happen in big cities? Little Otto, half- W
starved, overworked, no time to play,
no chance to study "Pete" Craft, a
mongrel dog, has $1,200 a year to
pay for his dog-biscuits and his dog
Doesn't it seem a pity that John C.
Craft had never heard of Otto and
his mother? He MIGHT have de
prived "Pete" of a few caramels or
an occasional bow of silk nbbon, so
that Otto might have an hour or two -of
play, sometimes, mightn't he?
THE CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
WAS MARY WICKED?
t Copyright, 191 4i by the Newspaper
I cannot understand how anyone
can -find life monotonous. Every day
brings me a new interest, and for the
last week things have certainly been
happening. With Kitty Malram going
to marry her preacher man; Eliene
adopting twins and finding out about
her husband, and, last but not least,
the announcement of -Jack's secret
marriage to Mary Dunlap, I have
hardly had time to think of myself.
Yesterday morning-I started out to
"Miss Dunlap 'will be in this morn
ing for her mail, I am sure," said the
polite clerk, "and if you care to wait
you will surely see her."
"I will wait," I answered, because
I knew if I did not see Mary here I
would never be able to find where she
had hidden herself.
I sat down and had almost given
her up for it was nearly an hour be
fore she came in. Poor child! She
looked so pale and unhappy.
A deep plush dyed her face clear
up to her hair when she saw me. I
hastened forward and said: ,"Did
you think you could lose yourself
from me, little sister?" She started
and her face that had been so pink
became very white.
"Then you know?" she asked.
"Jack wrote and told me day before
yesterday, my dear. He asked me
to look you up, but so many start
ling things happened that I was not
able to come immediately.
"Do Jack's people know?"
"No, dear, not yet," I assured her.
"Please, please, don't tell them un
til after he graduates. I atti sure I
can get along, and it would be ter
rible to have Jack fall now when he
is so near."
"We will talk about that later,
dear. Where are you stopping?"
Again she flushed as she answered:
"I have a little room on a side
"All right, let's go. over there and
talk it out"
I could see she did not want me ,
to go to her room, and when I had got
there I found that I had guessed the
reason. It was a poor little hall bed
room, with no fire-and the, plainest