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ICepjrtg&t. WIS, International Newa S«rTl<*t
A UssfuS Book
Mis. Smith was very fond of read
■__ an< j w -hlle on a Vl»t 10 .win.
%1-own one afternoon, she started a
jook talk with a view of discovering
what particular work her hostess
J»U have quite a number of books.
i. see." remarked the visitor, glancing
* round the room. "Which do you
thing is the most helpful to you?"
"Nuttall's Dictionary, without a
doubt," was the prompt response of
•You don't really mean it. ex
claimed the visitor. "May I ask in
what particular way?"
Oertianly," wag the obliging reply.
•The baby sits on It at the table, and
Aft eaves tiie price of a high chair."
The Dingbat Family
Polly and Her Pals
THE FAMILY CUPBOARD
Adapted from Owen Davis' Broadway Success.
(NOVELIZED BY I
(From l)w*ii Devli' play now being presented
at the Playbouae by William A. Brady —
Copyrighted. lUI3. by International New*
Continued from Veaterday
There was a deep subtlety in that.
The boy tame back to his mother's
ies. But it doesn't matter. She
says she is going to leave me. Since I
gave up the house there is really noth
ing for her to do, and she knows I
can't afford to keep her. But it will be i
hard for Mary to hunt—"
"She will be all right. She would be
all right anywhere. Mary is strong
and fine and clean. The Nelsons never
did anything for her. She is no waster
—she knows how to stick. I wish I
could see her again before I go. But
I can't—l've no right. Say goodby to
Mary for me, mother."
Ha turned toward the door.
•I kissed her that day. Perhaps I
meant it, after ail. Tell her—tell her
I'm glad I knew her—and good by."
Ki'.V!" Her cry stopped him. In
it was all of a mother's agonized
love. "One minute, Ken."
He turned reluctantly. "What Is
"My business affairs. They are ln a
"Darnton Is a good lawyer."
•■yes—oh, yes—but after all"—
"Surely, you don't want my advice!
After the way I have muddled my
Emily Nelson stepped to her son's
Bide. She must dare all now—physi
cal force, demonstration—even, if
need be. she must confess openly that
she knew where he was going.
"You are my hoy. my. son—a man
now! A grown man. jlfVh o should
help me if not you, Kenr Come!"
She threw her arms around him.
"All of vs 1 have made mistakes. Ken,
dear, all of us! Mine has been the
, greatest—let's forget them—All! Let's
THE SAy FRANCISCO CALL ANTJ POST, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1913
! try again! We, all of us. have skele. i
I tons in our cupboards, dear. But as
j Sarah Harding says, we can. at least,
I shut the door on them. Let's do it—
"I can't, you see." said Ken pa
j tiently. He must explain. He must
j make his mother understand the
grim impossibility of doing what she
j MfcMHI. "I can't forget! I have only!
I just began to remember—to think M I
he >aid I should. I HAVE SO Ml (II ,
:TO REMEMBKR. Yon can't forget—
i Inn's the nonl of it! .Not until yon
have paid!" •
i "But don't you see"
"I don't want you to think I am
! rude, mother," said Kenneth, stepping
j away from her with a pitiful show of
j grave courtesy. But I must go!"
' Wait!" implored Emily Nelson,
"Kenneth!" she caught at him,
clutching wildly for the physical as
surance of the mere feel of the tex
ture of his rough tweed sleeve.
"I can't let you go. Ken! One min
ute. June one"
Wild sohs were struggling In her
I throat. Here eyea burned. The cob
| teat vrna no pitifully uneven! She bad
; only words—word*—and agonized love
', that could make no impression on this
' tortured young mind to whom love
was only a snare;—a vlalon—a mirage
—a Fata .Morgana.
"Why—one minute?" asked Ken
with cold impatience.
She felt how helpless she was to
bridge the gulf between —and reach
her son. She could not penetrate the
mist of suffering and touch his heart.
"I—l want to ask you something."
"Forgive me! I am sorry—and if —
if you ever see—him—father —tell
The boy's voice broke. Here was
an emotion at last!
"Yes " cried the mother's heart
"That I know I am not worth an
other chance! Just tell him that I
love him —that's all —Just as I used
to when I was little. He will under
Would the father be in time? Could
he save the boy, whose only living
emotion seemed to be love for his
father? Emily Nelson's tortured
brain could only ponder—and pTay.
The mother—frantic with fear and
hope—suspense and longing, seized
A Dramatic Story of High
Society Life in New York.
the boy in her clasp at last. With
trembling arms she enfolded him and
held him close, close to her pulsing
"Let me go, mother' Please!"
"Not yet, dear boy. Walt!"
" T must! Mother! I can't stand it.
He struggled frantically against the
pitiless, pitiful soft clasp of those en
folding arms. Tighter, tighter, Emily
Nelson drew her boy. Could she hold
him? Or would he use his man's
strength and break from the soft
"Dear! Dear boy! I am your mother
—holding you—my arms about you.
just as they were when you were a
Her voice broke. "When he was a
baby." And the pitiful yeaTS be
tween! The burning tears would no
longer be forbidden—they flooded her
"My hoy! My Ken! I nm holding
you safe. You can't go! I waa n good
mother then. I ncter let you get hurt
If all of my strength could hold you.
I guarded you, Just as I am doing
He stirred in her arms. Her voice—
love's magnetism—had held him for a
moment, but he must go now!
"No, Ken! No! No! You can't go!"
"Please! Don't let me hurt you! Let
me be gentle, but I can't stay. I can't
bear any more,"
He loosened her clinging arms, sor
rowfluly almost, as one Impelled by a
force too great for himself. He held
her hands in his cold ones for a mo
ment and looked at her in pity.
JUST I!V TIME
"There, dear—there. Forgive me."
He half led half carried her to a
chair and placed her in it as if she
had been a helpless child. And, indeed,
Emily Nelson was almost helpless
now. Half fainting, sobbing, collapse
imminent, she fell away from his
arms. She had fought for the life of
: her first born —and lost.
"God bless you, mother." The boy's
voice was tender now. He was speak
ing his farewell—his final farewell.
After all he bad once loved his beau
tiful young mother—and he would
never see her again. And never again
would he see his father, who had
given him life —the father he had es
tranged past all forsgiveness. His
father would never know how the
blow on his cheek had seared Us red
path of torture Into the heart of the
son who had struck him.
"Good bless you, mother —and good
With one last scourging of her will
Emily Nelson cried out —she strug
gled for her boy's life and her own
"NO, KEN! NO! CHARLIE!
< II \ HI. I Ki
ln the hour of death she called the
name of the man she had loved —her
boy's father —the man to whom she
was bound by fetter's past pride's
breaking—the man she must always
Relentlessly Kenneth went of his
self-appointed way —to the blood
atonement. He could not face life
and the long days and hours. Death
was but one moment — and then—
He slumliled to the door—wrenched
It open—and there In the portnl stood
"Charlie!" cried the mother. Then
Nature exacted her duties of outworn
nerves and aching heart. Quickly so
that the two men brought face to face
did not know she had succumbed to
emotion, Emily Nelson slipped back in
"Father!" cried the son in a broken
voice of mingled joy and pain. In his
eyes was the dawning light of sanity
—of new day.
"I have been waiting for a long
time. Ken!" said the man wtth tender
strength in voice and earnest eyes.
He opened his arms. Kenneth
stumbled forward into his father's
welcome embrace. He had found his
* » #
And the family skeleton slunk from
the room abashed, defeated by the
deathless power of forgiving love.
In a sordid Bohemian hotel there
was the glow of twilight calm —of
peace. In Emily Nelson's apartment
near by stood Mary Burk, waiting—
waiting for the homecoming of which
her loyal heart felt strangely well as
Sunset—and sunrise! For in Ken
neth Nelson's room a boy was kneel
ing at his father's feet, while a man
and woman came again into their
kingdom—the Kingdom of Love. And
perhaps one day Kenneth would find
his kingdom, too, la the rose garden
of Mary's love.
To travel the entire length of the
Atlantic cable a message takes ap
proximately three seconds.
Anyway, the Police Dog Raised a Racket
(Copyright. 1812. International .New* Service)
Easy for the Old Man-—Five Pay Days
(Copyright. 1913, International News Service)
TIT FOR TAT
"A case of tit for tat." said Repre
sentative Cordell Hull, apropos of an
Income tax dispute. "It reminds me
of the postoffice employe.
"A man bought of this employe two
two cent stamps, then turned to go,
but the employe, laying a persuasive
hand on his arm, cooed:
"'A few stamped envelopes this
morning, sir? We have all shapes and
" 'No, thank you, none this morn
ing,' said the other coldly, and he
gave a start of surprise.
" If, then, sir. you'll step around to
the left, I'll show you our choice col
lection of lock boxes. They come very
cheap by the year, and' —
"'No, no; thank you."
I There's comfort—good cheer — I
I refreshment —satisfaction I
I in every cup of J
The Joke About Santa Claus
(liecistered United StM'.ca fat.'nt OftWt
" 'Maybe you'd like a money order
this morning. Foreign or domestic,
we have a very elegant assortment.'
" 'No, certainly not.'
" 'Post cards, sir? We've Just got
ln a fresh lot. Very latest fall styles,
" 'Aw, no! What's eatin" you? And,
with this resort to the vernacular, the
patron jerked his arm loose and
The manager who happened along
just then, took the employe to task.
"'Who was that man? And what
did you Insult him for?" the manager
" 'I didn't Insult him,' said the em
ploye. 'You see, he's a barber, and
every time he shaves me he tries to
stick me for a singe, shampoo, mas
sage, haircut, tonic and dear knows
what. I thought I'd turn the tables
ion him and see how he liked it.' "
A SURE REMEDY
A traveler called at a roadside inn
in Cheshire for refreshment and rest.
"Bring me a quart of beer," he said,
"and a bit of bead and cheese."
They were brought to him.
"What is the damage, landlord?"
"Eighteen pence." was the reply of
the innkeeper, who was a greedy,
While the traveler was enjoying his
repast the landlord happened to com
plain about being pestered with rats
and the havoc they caused.
Said the traveler:
" I can tell you how to get rid of
"I should be very grateful to you if
you would," replied the landlord.
"Oh, It's easy enough," said the
traveler. "First catch one alive; give
him a quart of beer and a bit of bread
and cheese, charge him IS pence and
then let him loose among the others.
He'll tell his pals and you'll never
be plagued with rats again.