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eaj£jTl4rtit, 192*, Int*>rnatkm-J ftmrritm. By the Light of tlie Mo*m Tomorrow: Names WHY TAXES WENT UP ! "Fine jpier£ of land out here!" said the dusty, shrewd looking man, as he descended' from outside the farmer's bouse. « . "You're right, there," replied the farmer eagerly. "It's the best -to be found in the country." "But too high a figure for a poor man, I reckon." pried the stranger. "It's Worth every penny of flft-y dollars an acre," answered the farmer, with an eye te business. • "Were you thinking of settling and buying in these parts?" , "Hardly," murmured the traveler, making some notes in a book. '.'l'm tee new tax assessor." Be Dingbat Family Polly and Her Pais Us Boys THE KING OF DIAMONDS HRILllh Continued From Yesterday This wasa new experience for Philip, and the blood leaped In his veins at the girl's courageous words. But he laughed,, in his pleasant, musical way. "Men who would" attack a defense less woman," he said, " are poor crea tures where a man's heart is needed. Nbw-just watch me, and don't be alarmed. He' strode to meet the advancing trio. They halted. "I give yt>u a last warning," he cried. "Drive off in your carriage, and you," to ■ the cabman, "go back and help that horse. You must go now, this instant, or take the conse quences." There was the silence of indecision. This strong faced man, with the figure of an athlete, meant what he said. Victor caught his friend's arm. "Come away," he whispered. "She does not know you. You have failed this time." . Without another word the pair crossed the road to their waiting brougham. The cabman, who became remarkably sober, began to whine: "It's on'y a lark, guvnor. The lydy would ha' took no 'arm. I didn't mean " Philip was strongly tempted to kick him, but refrained. He grasped the man's shoulder and lifted his badge to the light: "I will spare you for the lady's sake," he said, grimly, "but I want your number, in case you try any more such tricks." "My gawd. It's Mr. Anson!" For the flrst time the driver saw Philip's face clearly. "Ah, you know me then? Who were those blackguards who employed you ?" "S'elp me, sir, I on'y know one of 'em. 'E's a Mr. Victor Granier. I often pick 'im up at the Gardenia "E said 'is pal was sweet on the young lydy an' wanted a putup Job ter 'elp "er. That's all, guvnor, on me life." "You ought to be ashamed of your self," was Philip's only comment. . He rejoined the girl, who was watching the retreating brougham. THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1913 LOUIS TRACY "Now," he said, pleasantly, "you can go home." "Please drive me there. I will not deprive you of your cab." So they drove away together, and the driver of the hansom, striving to free his vehicle from the bioken tres tles, paused to scratch his head. " E fairly bested the crowd," he growled, "an' got the girl as well. My eye, but she's a beauty." A PACK FROM THE PAST Maida Crescent was little more than half a mile beyond the park. Philip thought lt due to the lady he had beguiled that she should know exactly how he came to interfere in her behalf. She listened In silence, and when she spoke, there was a sug gestion of shy nervousness, oddly at variance with her spirited action of a few minutes earlier. "I can not understand it at all," she said. "I am seldom out so late. My professional engagements are few and far between, I am sorry to say." "Were you attending a rehearsal at the Rents Hall?" "Yes." "A rehearsal for Monsieur Jowkae sy"s concert?" "Yess." She volunteered no further informa tion, but Philip was a persistent per son. . "I do not remember another day in my life previously." he said, "when so many fortuitous events grouped them selves together in such a curious re lationship. Even this adventure is a sequel to a prior incident. Just be fore I Joined in the chase after you I had purchased some tii kets for Jowkacsy's musieale. The strangest item of all is that I was practically walking away from the direction in which I live when my attention was drawn to the cabman's behavior." "Good gracious!" she protested, "am I taking you out of your way? I thought you merely happened to be driving after us through the park." She invited no confidences. She ad hered strictly to the affair of the moment, and he had no option but to follow her cue. "I do not think T have ever been In Regents park before." "What an amazing circumstance that you should gallop off in such a fashion to the rescue of an unknown woman, I mean." "That, again, is original, or nearly so." "Are you a Londoner?" "To some extent—a little while each year. I live mostly on the sea." "Oh, that accounts for your gal lantry. You are a sailor." "A yachtsman," corrected Philip. "How delightful. I have not even seen the sea for ages. One has to work so hard nowadays to obtain recogni tion. I do not object to the work, for I love music, but the bread and but ter aspect is disagreeable, and —and— you have learned tonight how even the small amount of publicity I have achieved brings with it the risk of insult." "By the way." he said, quietly, striving not to add to the excitement, under which she was certainly labor-' Ing, "one of those men is named Vlo tor '""•renter. You ought to know." 'Thank you. How did you ascer tain it?" "The cabman told me. He knew me." "The cabman knew you?" "Yes. I fly about town in hansomes. I am too lazy to walk." He regretted the slip. He was known to the tribe of Jehus on ac count of his gererosity to their char ities; moreover, was not one of the or der his horsemaster? The girl laughed, with a delightful merriment that relieved the tension. "You acted like an indolent person," she cried. "Do you know, I felt that you would have banged the heads of those men together in another in stant." Their vehicle slackened pace, and curved toward the pavement in a quiet street. "Here I am at home," she said, and Philip assisted her to alight. "Oh, my music!" she wailed, sud denly. "I left it in that horrid cab." Philip repressed a smile. "Tell me your name," he said, "and I will recover it for you early in the morning." "Are you sure? Oh, what a trouble I have been. How good you are." "It is not tlie least trouble. I took the cabman's number." "Indeed, indeed. I am very grate ful to you. My name is Evelyn Ath erley. I would ask you to call some day and see my mother, but —but—" "You do not wish her to hear of your adventure tonight? It would frighten her." "She would be terrified each time I went out alone, Believe me, I can ill afford a hansom, but I take one late at night to please her, as the walk from the nearest bus route is lonely." "You are singing at the Regent's hall. I will be there. By the way, my name is Philip Anson." The girl's big eyes—he fancied they were blue, but in the dim light he could not be sure—looked into his. There was a sparkle of merriment In them, he thought—a quick perception of a hint delicately conveyed. But she said, quite pleasantly: "My last song is at 10:15. I will leave the hall at 10:30. I hope my mother will be with me. I will be most pleased to see you there, and thank you more coherently than Is possible now, especially if you re cover my music." The quick trot of a fast driven horse came round the corner. Philip was assuring her that they would certainly meet next evening, when a hansom pulled up behind the waiting vehicle, and the driver said: "Beg pawdon, miss, you left this," and he held forth the lost portfolio. The cabman was anxious to atone for his share in the night's proceedings. Philip tipped him In a manner that caused the man to murmur his re newed regret, but he was sternly told to go. Philip's own reward from Miss Atherley was a warm handshake and a grateful smile. He drove homeward, wondering how he could best help her in her career. And she, after kissing her mother "good night," went to her room to wonder also, but her wonderment was mixed with regret. For such a nice young man as Philip Anson must have troops of friends, he must be rich, he must be far removed from the orbit of a girl who, whatever her birth and breeding, was driven in the flower of her youth to earn her living on the concert platform. Jowkacsy won his laurels with su perb ease. Philip, listening to the Polish genius, found himself hoping that the fair English girl might achieve some measure of the raptur ous applause bestowed on the long hair enthusiast. He murmured the thought in guarded commonplace, to his musical friend. "Impossible, my dear fellow," was the instant verdict. "She is mediocre; just an average singer, and no more. Music is divine, but its exploiters suf fer from the petty jealousies of house maids. Jowkacsy can have no rivals tonight. Eckstein is a master, of course, but a necessary evil as an ac companist. The other artists are mere fill ups—good, or they would not be here, but not In the front rank. Lis ten, T am connected with a choral society in my county, and we once engaged a leading tenor and a second rate barytone. The tenor had a name with 14 letters, and the barytone only owned four. The unfortunate local printer selected his type to .fill the lines on the bills by size and not by merit. The moment tlie tenor saw the four letter man looming large across the poster he absolutely re fused to sing a note unless fresh bills were printed with his 14 letters in larger type. And we were compelled to humor him. That is music from the agent's point of view." I There's comfort—good cheer----. • I I refreshment—satisfaction •.' I I ef^r\ # m ever y cu p °f I I Tea \ Sh-h! Sh-h! Look Out Con-Tight, 1913, International Mews Service. Tickle, Tickfe Copyright, 1913, fciternatkmai Nfrw* Serttce, '".* . • . (E*jl»t»nwl tnited State* Patent Otoe*). . - /■ When ' Miss Evelyn Athenley ad vanced to the front of the platform Philip thought he' had never seen a woman so beautiful! She had the grace of a perfect figure and the style of an aristocrat. She was dressed in light blue chiffon, with a spray of forget-me-nots, the'color of her eyes, arranged across .the front of her boi ice. Anson experienced a thrill "of pleasure when he saw that the. bou quet he caused to be forwarded to her contained flowers of a kindred hue. The skill of the florist had correctly interpreted his description, which, In deed, was largely guesswork on his *part. # A high forehead and a mouth and chin of patriarchal mold gave an air of caste to an otherwise sweetly pretty face. "By jove!" whispered the critic, "if she sings as well as siie looks I may be mistaken." Her first song was Goring Thomas* "A Summer Night." IrtstaTHly it was perceptible' thaj .her was true.-> the outpouring of a soul. In volume it was in no way remarkable..but Its melodious cadence,, was fresh, Innjj cpnt, virginal-,• The notes were those ot 4 Joyous- bird. * .*. • ,* ! ••• Anson.' biaae<i"-bx other sentiments, , thougljt'he-had "never heard her equal, but, "his 'friepd, arter joining in his vlgpfqua'applause... gave him a douche of Judgaienj.., "The old 'story," .he growled; "a Una artist retarded, <perhaps spoiled, by the need--Jo makve .Yoa early an ap pearance. She waf\t&.a year in Milan, another J*ear with Randegger or Leonl, and she might if all went well, be a star." a • Hi» hearer chafed inwardly, but only hazarded the option that she was already a 'singer of rare inten sity, while, as for appearance Continued "Tomorrow