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MARRIED THIRTEEN TIMES IN THREE YEARS __ ♦o^O-»0#0*O ♦(*» ♦ O ♦O-t>o*O#'o-s>o<»o #o*o*o*o^o*o <£ O <$o<'»o<»o<s>o<S>o<£o**'o't>o<*o<»o*o ♦(_ «> o *o*o+o*o*o*oo ? A WOMAN WHO HAS LIVED YEARS IN' I ° DAYS, LIFETIHES IN HONTHS, AND HAS ! f RUN THE ENTIRE GAfIUT OF HUMAN I ° EXPERIENCES KNOWN IN WORLDLY LIFE, ° ♦ o _©<*.o<_'C"*>o<f>o<s> O ♦ O ♦ O ♦ 040<*r0&0<$ 0-£o<s»C <*>0-s>o<s>o*->o<3>o <»0 ♦ O ♦o<-*0«-0<»04'0'$0<»0<»0-«>0<!>0'!>0<$>0<t>0«»0*0<^0*0<$'# j*-** LEMKNTE RUIZ of Santa j-*ar__.-*» [J 1- on© of th© most fascinating ( Im. women. She is also one of the most Hi fl Do e you want proof It lies in this simple statement: She has been married to and separated from thirteen different men during the past three years. In the spring of 1896 Clement© was a child living with a snarl of other children, a fat and indolent mother and a thin and indolent father in a miserable adobe hut in Santa Barbara's Spanlshtown. To-day she la a woman who has lived years in days and lifetimes in months— a woman who, during th© time when girls of less tempestuous blood (emotions) ar© shyly beginning to read th© first sweet se cret of their maiden heart©, has run th© ©ntlr© gamut of human experiences; a woman to whom love and hate ar© not burned out fires and for whom ther© re mains nothing ln this world, either of good or ©vIL That eh© is beautiful goe© without say ing, sine© nothing but personal beauty of th© most voluptuous typ© could so attract and mak© captive of every man upon whom eh© ha© chosen to ©mil©. Oentle and simple, rich and poor, high and low all have surrendered to her mac ical charm. And she ha© chosen whom she would, moved by th© fancy of th© moment, and cast each aside ln turn with a capricious heartiessness as character istic of her a© 1© her wonderful beauty. From th© palaces of millionaires to th© back rooms of a barber shop, from tho racetrack hotel to th© deck of a, brigan tine, from a mansion to th© mean ranch hous© of a humble farmer, sh© ha© wan dered a© impulse swayed her. Sh© ha© planned nothing, calculated nothing. Money ha© slipped through her ©lender hands like quicksilver, and sh© ha© been wealthy or poverty stricken according to th© environment of th© time being. Sh© knows no regrets and she fears no furor© —the present Is her world. Three years ago Count Tolfskow of St. Petersburg, Russia, sojourned for a time in the flower-embowered city of Santa Barbara. He was wealthy and eccentric, and avoiding the society people of the place spent most of his time in solitary walks and drives. Two-score years and fifteen had passed over his titled head, but he forgot this entirely when he met Clemente Ruiz. She was a child then, not quit© 17, but the old Count, when he first saw her lean ing lazily against the trunk of a giant rosebush, with the pink petals of the flowers showering down on the glossy rip ples of her untidy hair, thought her— as many others have thought her sinee — quite the most lovely creature that earth had ever produced. A number of her small brothers and sis ters (she has eleven) were playing near in the quarrelsome fashion of children, and the stranger made friends with them and their parents at once by throwing a handful of silver into the group. He "liked children" he said, in unnecessary excuse, and then, tl •■ day being warm, he asked permission to rest for a moment or two himself under the rosebush. He was Clemente Ruiz's first lover. And that he was an ardent one in spite of his years was proven by the fact that not a day after that passed that did not find him worshiping before her shrine, and in cidentally bringing offerings to the high priest and priestess, her parents. Clemente was coy this time. Young as she was, she had ideas of her own, and the Count, for all his money and presents, was not exactly the kind of a sweetheart that a girl like her would care for. Still, the madre liked him and the gifts he . brought, for It was easier to accept than | to earn, and when he took Clemente to j walk or to drive he told her wonderful tales of his far-off home and of what he | would do for her and hers If she would but consent to go with him there. One day Clemente and her aged lover went riding and did not return. The heads of the Ruiz family placidly won dered, and expressed no surprise or sor row when they learned that the Count had chartered a small fishing craft and with Clemente and a minister put'straight out to sea. That evening the truants re turned, and announcing their marriage departed for Los Angeles on a bridal tour. And now occurred that which was a forerunner of all Clemente's after expe riences. Once embarked upon the ocean of matrimony, the young girl was at tacked by a figurative mal de mer. She had not cared much for the Count as a lover; she cared for him still less as a husband. All his stories of wealth and luxury fell upon deaf ears, and the pros pect of being an "old man's darling" in a prison of which he was the jailer af frighted her wild and untrammeled spirit. She has proved since that she Is a wo man of resources, but she began to prove lt then. In spite of her husband's plead ings, she betook herself straight to the authorities of Los Angeles and stated her case. She was not yet 17, and she was married to a man whom she hated. The result was swift and certain. She came back to the paternal horne — trans formed from a hut to a pretty cottage through the generosity of the deserted one— freed from her galling bonds, and with sufficient money forced upon her from the same source— for the old man truly loved her— to keep her ln luxury for some little time to come. That she did not come back Into the old life was, however, soon apparent. The child under the rosebush had disappeared forever. The girl had begun to know the value of the power of her beauty, and the romance of which she had been the heroine brought her the notice which her awakened vanity craved. Only a few weeks passed before another titled lover bent before her, a "Frenchman this time, and with her usual sudden re solve she turned over another page ln ii-* _.__._ _ iiisLory H..IU ___.—!_ !-"«» __•«_,. oness Beaudry. This second bridal trip took her as fat as New York, and she seemed happy and contented during all the long Journey, bui when the tickets were fairly bought foi the trip across the ocean she asked for s stay of proceedings. She . was quite sure, without thinking over the matter at all, that she should not like to travel upon the water; and she was also sure, after having done consider able thinking at odd times on this sub ject, that she did not truly love th© de voted and gallant Baron. Would he kindly excuse her, now that she had arrived at this unpleasing conclu sion, and continue his life's journey with out her? And the Baron, because he was the politest of his polite nation, did ex cuse her, with charmingly expressed re grets, and went his way alone. He was not gone very long, however, be fore Clemente began to feel lonely. She could not recall him, even had sh© wished, for he was— by the time that she began to experience this, to her, novel emotion— far beyond the recapturing pow er of tugboats or steam launches; but— there were others. There were several others, in fact, who merited consideration under the circum stances, but they were further away than the amiable and self-sacrificing Baron. Still they were more get-at-able, and there was a possibility that among them there might be one whom she would like better. The New Yorkers she did not like at all. though they stared at her in open admira tion whenever she ventured to show her lovely face outside her own apartment. She longed for the roses and sunshine and the gay summer guests of Santa Barbara, with a longing that, after twenty-four hours of restlessness, became Irresistible. She put the few of her belongings that she had unpacked back into her trunk in a hurried muddle of wrinkles and cross folds; coaxed the cover down into place with the weight of her charming self perched upon its curving apex, and tri umphantly turned the key in the strain ing lock. Then she sent for her ticket, put on the thickest of veils to cheat the unappreci ated New York men out of a farewell gaze at her perfect features, and set HEARTY JACK TAR AND THE NEW LAW THE SAILOR BOARDING HOUSE AND DEEP SEA VOYAGES THERE is trouble on th© water front over the shipping of sailors for deep sea voyages, and the boarding house masters are strug gling with the problem of how to respect the law and make a living at the same time. "Is it a berth as steward y're want ing?" said a fat old lady sitting outside her tumble-down establishment on the water front. Why she thought I would like to be a steward Ido not know. Perhaps she real ized I was not a genuine sailor, but only an amateur who had strayed into a dis trict redolent of the sea. When I haa explained matters she poured forth hei grievances readily enough. "It's hard on us, and hard on the sailor, too, this new law," she said. "Why they say a sailor isn't to get more than a month's advance when he ships, and with wages at $20 what dots that amount to? Why many a time a man comes to me, Just as you might do, and asks to be taken ln. He hasn't got a cent In his pocket, nor any clothes except those on his back. Now what am I to do? I can't send the poor fellow away hungry. So I take him in and feed him up well and get him an outfit for sea— oilskins, sea boots, tobacco, matches and all sorts of things— so that he ships away happy and contented and blessing his benefactors." All this was quite a revelation to me. I had never dreamed before that the sail ors' boajding-house trade had Its humani tarian side. But the benevolent old lady explained how It is done. '■Well, you see, perhaps we have to keep the man, if things are slack, five or six weeks before we can get him a ship. And the board, with vegetables and meat at their present prices, Is cheap at $5. Then there's the outfit, which will run away with $10, and there's the cash advanced and a dozen other things. So that you THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JULY 16, 1899. forth, bound for the home she loved as much as she was capable of loving any thing on earth. Her people were glad to welcome her, but more glad still was John Wilbur, who, though he had seen the Circean senorita only once or twice before Baron Beaudry carried her away from the scene of her conquests, had borne her fair Image in his heart ever since. John Wilbur w*as th© son of a Pennsyl vanian oil magnate and heir to millions, so there could be no possible objection to his impassioned suit from a practical point of view even had the ex-Baroness- Countess been coldly mercenary, which she never was. He was, moreover, a per sonable young fellow, educated, accom plished and manly, and Clemente really felt something very near akin to love for him when she for his sake assumed for the third time the responsibilities of mat rimony. For a few brief months th© voting couple were reasonably happy together. True, young Wilbur found out, as most newly made husbands do, that he had married a very human woman and not an angel, and Clemente discovered that Span ish temper and American temper are very much alike, save in name, and that sweet hearts and wives stand on very different planes after the honeymoon is over. Things would have gone very comfortably with them, however, and because they were really fond of each other they would probably have shot the rapids of early married life in safety and found smooth sailing in the calm waters of prosaic mat rimonial content, had not the Wilbur fam ily interested themselves in the matter. John wrote them of his marriage, the beauty of his bride and his own happiness, see we can't afford to do it for less than $40, two months' advance, and that's what we've always been getting." Certainly, judging from the appearance of the establishment, the business is not a very profitable one. At least it does not run into gilding and ornamentation, mirrors and French paintings, as does the liquor trade. The house Is a low, tumble down wooden shanty on some street near the docks. It rooks as If it had never known the meaning of a coating of fresh paint, and the dreary looking saloons which infest the neighborhood keep it fit ting company. .; !.7 7 In the front room, which has that inde scribable odor peculiar to a ship's fore castle, half a dozen men lounge on a rough wooden bench. They are weather beaten and stolid, roughly clad in any sort of old clothes. They do not talk much, but when they speak it is in short, jerky sentences. Their conversation is of the sea, but not of its romance. The mod ern Jack knows nothing of the glory of the waters; he only realizes the hard ships of the life. He talks of his last trip and of the ill-treatment meted out to him. Next voyage lt will be just the same thing, but in the meantime Jack is con tent to smoke his short pipe and wait patiently until the time comes for him to ship. For he is entirely in the hands of the boarding house keeper, and knows that he may at any moment be thrown penniless into the streets with no refuge to turn to. No other boarding house will take him in; there is a mutual un derstanding between th© keepers. So that the ©ailor must perforce accept the first ship offered, no matter whether sh© be good or bad; even if she be one of those "hell" ships which leave behind them at each port a fresh record of bru tality and bloodshed. For the present, at any rate, the sailor is fairly well treated and fed. In th© but even staid Philadelphians listen to gossip occasionally and disquieting ru mors had come through other channel© to the Wilbur home. So it was that the Wilbur family an nounced austerely that they did not ap prove of young Mrs. John. They did not care to mix their petroleum with Spanish blood anyway, but when the lady of John's choice proved not only to be Span ish but to have been the heroine of two other romances previous to her introduc tion into their sacred circle she became simply impossible. Father and Mother Wilbur declined to receive her. They in formed the youthful benedict of that fact and Implored him to desert the girl ho had chosen and return to the bosom of his relations. As an incentive to obedi ence they shut off his allowance. That plan, however, did not work for a time. John Wilbur was still charmed enough by his wife's beauty to contemplate with equanimity the prospect of love in a Spanishtown 'dobe if need be. Clemente, though, was different. She was not troubled much about the money part of the affair, but her spirit rebelled at the attitude of her husband's people toward her; and then, besides, she was tiring of him a little. A certain John Harper, son of W. W. Harper, the weal thiest stockbroker in Cincinnati, had ap peared upon the scene, and Clemente be gan to think ruefully that she had been rather in a hurry, after all, in the Wilbur affair, and might have done better had she waited a little. The result of ail this was that when a letter arrived offering the 17-year-old wife a handsome sum to eliminate herself from the Wilbur equation she viewed the proposition with favor. long, low dining room at the back the steward is spreading the table for sup per. It Is a simple enough process. There is no napery to bother with; the table is simply covered with oil cloth, a cup and saucer and plate Is dumped down opposite each place. Huge piles of bread and great joints of beef are placed at Intervals, and all Is ready. From the kitchen adjoining rises an odor of savory stew, and soon the men come trooping In take their seats on the long wooden benches. Chairs seem to be an unknown luxury ln this part of the world. It is all very rough and primitive, but still not without a certain homely com fort. To a sailor half starved for four or five months on hard tack and salt horse, the fare must seem positively luxurious, and it is no wonder he waxes fat and is loth to leave the shelter of his well supplied boarding house. Yet, If the new Federal law is to be enforced Jack's stay ashore will be cut short by at least a half, while in many cases he will be. sent to sea without an outfit at all and will be compelled to call upon the ship's slop chest and to pay any price which the skipper may choose to demand. The fact that he will have more money com ing to him at the end of the voyage will not help him much. The usual spree on landing may be * slightly prolonged ; that is all. In the end Jack will fall back penniless, just as he does now, upon the boarding-house keeper. . The long' and the short of It is that all these attempts to ameliorate the lot of the sailor by legislation are bound to prove futile. The shipping laws are made by representatives who know nothing whatever about the sea, and hence are more likely to do harm than good. Thus the new Federal law which came Into effect last month, though on paper .; it looks an admirably designed enactment, is likely to defeat its own object There Is a most elaborate seal© . of provisions A few days after there was a romantic elopement. John Wilbur played the role of the prodigal son successfully and Mr. and Mrs. John Harper appeared in Cincinnati dazzling all beholders with the sight of youth, beauty and happiness set in a massive frame of glittering wealth. Clemente soon learned to spend money as energetically and industriously as her fourth husband, and between the two they managed to make quite a litttle dent In the family funds before Harper decided not to spend any more money at all. Clemente looked utterly enchanting In mourning, and so chastened was her spirit by her sudden bereavement that she even let her lovely eyes rest with tol eration upon a resident of the State which she had formerly despised. Albert Rice was a young business man. His father was one of the senior members of the long established and Influential firm of Hunt, Rice & Almy of Albany, and he himself held a responsible and lucra tive position in the house. He had all the assurance, dash and personal magnetism necessary to a successful business career, but he forgot business entirely when he met Clemente Ruiz Harper. Her beautiful face dawned on his mental horizon like the sun of morning. No music had ever sounded so sweet to him as the soft tones of her caressing voice and the dear litttle Spanish accent which made her speech so delightfully different from that of any other woman whom he knew. • If she looked like a houri in garments of woe, how would she look in a garb of the delicately lovely tints which fashion de crees for the gowning of widow brides? He had a mind to solve that problem if the fates would be kind. The grim sisters for the mariner. Including everything from canned tomatoes to molasses and dried fruit. But only the simpleton im agines '.bat the crew, once the ship is well on the high seas, will get any of these luxuries. Many recent cases have shown how utterly futile It is for the sailor to appeal to our courts for redress, and practically, law or no law, he is at the mercy of the captain and officers, who may treat him well or 111, just as they choose. It is here that the striking diifference between American and English sailing vessels is shown. Hardly a Yankee ship comes Into port without complaint being made by the crew against the officers. We hear terrible tales of brutality and starvation, of hazing "bucko" mates and embalmed rations. The public has grown to accustomed to these horrors of the sea that no one pays them much attention, and our law courts never Interfere. The result is that the name "hell" ship has 'become a reproach against our American deep water vessels. On the •other/hand, one rarely hears of trouble on board the English sailing ves sels, which come in such numbers to this port. Yet both classes of ships are manned by exactly the same kind of crew. The American sailor has practically ceased to exist, and the men who now go to sea are a cosmopolitan lot, made up of sweep ings from every race under the sun, from Dagos to Russian Finns. The English Board of Trade scale of provisions is less liberal than that ordered by the United States law, and the English forecastle is certainly less comfortable than on most American ships. Why then should there be such a difference? The reason lies, not in the law, but In the method of Its enforcement. - The Eng- lish captain or mate knows that he must respect the law, or else at' the end of his voyage he will. find a stern, unbending Consul ready to 7 investigate any com were gracious and Clemente, after a few short weeks of deepest gloom, came out into the sunshine again. She made, as usual, a charming bride, and Mr. Rice considered himself for some little time the happiest of men. Clements was not domestic, and he discovered after a little that she had other little idiosyn crasies which he as a loving husband was bound to overlook. She was far from be ing ignorant of the power of her beauty by this time, and her love of admiration had become a trifle too pronounced to be pleasant, even to a husband who adored her. She could not resist giving a glance of her lovely eyes under their long black lashes, and a half-shy, half-alluring smile of her pomegranate lips to any present able man who was bold enough to take second look at her iv spite of the Cerberus constantly at her side. Oddly enough, Al bert Rice, knowing as he did that he was number five on his wife's list of persons whom she had sworn to love, honor and obey, could not reconcile himself to the idea that any one else should look at her with any save artistically abstract admir ation now that she was his wife. Since he could not expect In the nature of things to be her Alpha, he wished to be her Omega. To tell th© truth he was ut- terly, and, at first, unreasonably Jealous, and Clemente soon began to rebel at his unkind suspicions and unremitting espion age. There was enough of the undisci plined child about her still to make her desirous of doing exactly what she was ordered to leave out of her scheme of ex istence, and it was not long before she began to flirt most abominably whenever opportunity offered. Then came quarrels, at first slight and easily made up, and then so severe as to cause not a little mild neighborhood gossip. And then one day young Madame Rice packed her trunk again— this time neatly and deliberately— and went off on a western trip with only her maid for company, because, as she averred, she found the Eastern climate far too changeable and severe for her Cal ifornia-bred constitution, and felt that she needed change of air and scene. • Fancy apparently, but Fate most assur edly, led her to exercise the privilege of her stop-over ticket In Austin, and there at the hotel table she became aware of an admiring gaze, even more earnest than those to which she was by this time ac customed,, and looking up met the bold eyes of Will S. Hauk, the famous Texan stockman, plunging straight into her own. It was a case of love, or, rather, irre sistible attraction on both sides this time, and a few days later Albert Rice was no tified that he need never expect his wife to return to him, since she had found some one whom she liked far better and with whom she hoped to spend the re mainder of her life in peace and hap piness. After her fifth husband gave up all claim to her the peace and happiness last ed only a very few weeks. Hauk was used to dealing with cattle and cowboys, plaints the sailors may choose to make. In fact, it does not pay to ill treat sailors on British ships; the consequences are too serious. Exactly the reverse applies on American vessels. Secure from punish ment, the brutal mate may haze and drive as much as he will, the captain gives tacit approval, and justice, as represented by the law courts or Consuls, is conveniently blind. -."" ".'."- A leading boarding-house master, whom I asked for an opinion, surprised me by saying that nowadays American ships were run more cheaply than British. "Why," he remarked, "for deep sea voy ages they only pay thel same rate of -•wages, they spend far less In port and they do not feed the crew any better, if as well, as the Britishers. On the other hand, they get much more work out of the men. This Is the reason why there are so few American-born sailors to be found on our ships to-day. The occupa tion is too hard and ill paid, and no young man of independence will choose it in preference to a shore life." The new law, as I have explained, Is not likely to help the sailor much. In stead of allowing him to draw two months' pay, or $40, in advance, it will limit him to one month's pay. But the law does not fix the rate of remuneration, and here is the loophole for evasion. In New York they tried the plan of raising the wages to $30 a month; on this coast . they propose to .lower them to $15. That is to say, the sailor will only get $15 and the ship will pay the other $5 to the board ing-house keeper. Thus, If the voyage lasts four months the sum advanced will come to $35, as very nearly the same as under the old system. Jack will neither be better nor worse off than before; the boarding-house and saloon will get his earnings, just as ever, and we will only have another object lesson of the useful ness of this class of legislation. J. R. ROSE-SOLBY. and knew little about women save in a general way— certainly he knew nothing about spoiled and domineering little beau ties '.ike Clemente Tolfskow-Beaudry-Wil bur-Harper-Rlce-Hauk. A stock ranch Is not an over-pleasant place, and a man who has become meta morphosed into a centaur and clanks about during all his working hours in Mexican spurs, with a big whip In his hand, his legs adorned with shaggy chap arrajos, and a silver-trimmed sombrero glued to the top of his self-willed head, is not an altogether pleasing object to gaze at unremittingly. Clemente gazed for a time, interested by the novelty of it all; then she yawned, shook her small fist at the universe in general and— looked elsewhere. Al Truax, a notorious follower of th© races and the heaviest player at Latonia, made his appearance at the golden mo ment when those glorious dark eyes for got their wifely duty, and presto, change! Mr. Hauk was left to run his stock ranch alone without bothering over or caring for a wife who preferred to delegate that pleasant duty to a younger and hand somer man. The race track life suited her for a while. She liked the noise and confusion and uncertainty of it, but her temper did not improve under ex-clty conditions, and when she discovered that her husband was no more true-hearted than herself she made some unamiable remarks about vivisection and hied herself away to pas tures new. To speak truly, she retired to a ranch in Southern California, where Charles Williams, the owner, made her queen of his whole extensive domain. Both she and Truax were equally anxious for a separation, so that episode was eas ily closed. Ranch life was decidedly dull, however, after/the excitement of the race track; lt was even duller than the stock farm had been, and so Mrs. Williams after i endur ing it for a month or so developed a con suming homesickness which nothing short of a visit to her childhood's homo could assuage. Once ln Santa Barbara again her fancy lightly turned to thoughts of a certain ■ea captain who had patted her on th© head ln her bare-legged youth and ad mired her from a distance in th© year© sine© then. After all, constancy is th© on© earthly Jewel that time does not dim, decided she; and Mr. Williams thoughtfully - ef facing himself at this opportune period, she set sail on the barkentine of Cap tain J. Ellis, and made him th© envy of Eureka by allowing him to announce her as his bride on their arrival there. She had discovered on "her trip, how ever, that seasickness was a decidedly unpleasing experience, and she was not by nature calculated to make a name for herself In the annals of martyrdom. For the moment she was pleased with the cli mate and people of Eureka and elected to make her home there while the bold captain plowed the main back to his home port. 7 7-7 The captain should have known better than to leave her to her own devices, but he didn't. He went off trustfully, think ing himself one of the luckiest of men to have won so fair a flower for his own and planning for the pretty little home ha would build her as soon as he had mad© a voyage or two more. When he cam© back to the northern city his ungrateful bird had flown and with her had gona Charles Emery, a jeweler of polished manners and a ready tongue. Being a philosopher in his own way, as seafaring men are apt to be, the captain hid his chagrin under a mask of Indifference and bade the fugitives godspeed. Disaster followed them, however, and for the first time luxury loving Clement© experienced the inconveniences of lack of money. A. S. Krump, a San Francisco drummer, sympathized with her in her misfortunes and won a small bit of what she was pleased to call her heart. Sh© quarreled with Emery, forced him to leave her and rewarded the drummer for his friendliness in her time of trouble by becoming Mrs. Krump. For three or four months the heroine of eleven matrimonial ventures rested quiet ly under this far from euphonious appel lation and then her soul rebelled. Her husband was at home very little anyway, ! and during his absence she had plenty of time to think over matters in general and her absent spouse In particular, and sh© came very quietly and seriously to th© conclusion that she — unfortunate that she was — had made another mistake. Mr. Krump agreed with her cheerfully when she presented this view of the case to him and agreed to release her from all obligations to him whenever she wished him to do so. She wished immediately, he found, and so back again she went to Santa Barbara. Her adventures and unsettled life and her illness had dimmed her beauty not a lit tle and she found to her chagrin that she was not the idol that she had been only so short a time ago. She was still handsome enough to be unusually at tractive, however, but her record was a trifle against her in the estimation of even the most enthusiastic of beauty wor shipers. Charles Klett, a barber, at last sum moned up courage enough to be "ne;_*." himself, and all went well until a man of Mrs. Klett's own nationality began to make love to her in true Spanish style, which was a welcome novelty to her even after her many varied experiences in th© gentle art of courtship. Klett, being an unobtrusive and mild-mannered man, did not argue the matter. Clemente was no help in the barber shop any way, and sh© was inclined to flirt with the customers. If Charles Coto wanted to marry her he was quite welcome, so far as he was concerned, provided there was no unpleas ant notoriety about the matter and the gentle current of his business was not in terrupted by their proceedings. -. So it is that the little Spanish girl who stole aged Count Tolfskow's heart under the great rosebush three short years ago is now living with her thirteenth husband on a little ranch outside Santa Barbara. He is the poorest man in this world's, goods that ever made love to Clementa Ruiz. She has neither jewels nor pretty clothes, and her creamy hands have learned to work as they never did before In all her short life, but with true femin ine' inconsistency she seems better con tented than she has ever done before. But will this content endure? He is her thirteenth husband, and ha has brought her to poverty. Will there be a fourteenth.* 25