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fCopyrtgnt. 1813, International Ntwa Scrrte*) Extremely Realistic, Too Tomorrow: Look Out! •*. «, | TEMPERANCE IN FASHION ; Mrs. O. H. P. Belmont, at a luncheon at her residence in Madison avenue, said of Deauville, where she had spent the summer: ■'Deauville is undobtedly the most elegant summer resort in the world. You will see nowhere else such pretty women and such ravishing gowns. You will eat nowhere else such ex quisitely prepared dishes. "The temperance of Deauville pleases me. They are temperate there. "The whole world. Indeed, is becom. Ing more and more temperate. That is a Kood sign. It is a sign we should hold constantly before the eyes of our youth." She smiled and added: "The swagger party is no longer anywhere the stagger party." The Dingbat Family Polly and Her Pals Us Boys THE KING OF DIAMONDS STORY OF MODERN eRiSTo Continued From Yenterday "With this piteous epistle was in closed another: "Dear Mr. Anson: I Join my earnest supplication to my hus band's that you will console his last hour* with a visit. He blame* himself for « hut has happened In the pant. Yet tbe fault was more mine than his-—far more. For his sake I willingly admit it. And I have been punished for my nln. Ruined In fortune, with my hus band at death's door, 1 am Indeed n sorrowing; woman. " You™ faithfully, "LOIISA MORLANO." The angular Italian handwriting of the second letter recalled a faded script in the safe at that moment. The address in each case was a vil lage on the Yorkshire coast, a re mote and in accessible place, accord ing to Philip's unaided recollection of the map. "Grange house" might be a farm or a broken down manor, and Lady Morland's admission or reduced circumstances indicated that they had chosen the locality for economy's sake. These appeals brought a frown of indecision to Anson's brow. His uncle, and his uncle's wife, had un questionably been the means of short ening and embittering his mother's life. The man might have acted ln Ignorance; the woman did not. Yet what could he do? Refuse a dying relative's last request! They, or one of them, refused his mother's pitiful demands for a little pecuniary help at a time when they were rich. And what dire mischance could have sunk them into poverty. Little more than two months had passed since Bir Philip Morland was inquir ing for his — Philip's—whereabouts through Messrs. Sharpe & Smith with a view toward making him his heir. Was the inquiry Lady Morland's last ruse to save an Incumbered estate? Why was all pretense of doubt as to his relationship swept aside so com pletely? He glanced again at the address on the letter, and asked a servant to bring him a railway guide. Then he ascertained that If he would reach THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL AND POST, TUESDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1913 LOUIS TRACY Scarsdale that day he must leave Lon don not later than noon. There was a Journey of nearly seven hours by rail; no chance of returning the same night. He went to the library and rang up Sharpe & Smith on the telephone. A clerk assured him that Mr. Sharpe, who attended to Sir Philip Morland's affairs, had been summoned to Devon shire the previous day. "To Devonshire!" cried Philip. "I have Just received letters from Sir Philip and Lady Morland from York shire." ANOTHER LETTER "Mr. Sharpe himself is puzzled about the matter, sir. Lady Morland wrote from Yorkshire, but told him to pro ceed to Devonshire without delay." "Has there been some unexpected development affecting the estate?" "I am sorry, sir, but you will see I can hardly answer any further ques tions." Of course the clerk was right. Philip had hardly quitted the tele phone when a note reached him by hand from Evelyn: "Please come at once. Must see you." He was at Mount street in three minutes. Evelyn looked serious and began by holding out a letter to him. He rec ognized Lady Morland's writing. "Philip—those people—who behaved so badly to your mother" "Have they dared to trouble you?" "Oh, it is so sad. Your uncle Is dying. They are wretchedly poor; an unforeseen collapse; see." And she read: "Of your pity, Miss Atheriey, ask ?onr afiinured hiinbanil to come to ua and to help ua. I want nothing for myself, but the mere aljcbt of a few eheeka to pay tradespeople, doctor and the rest will aoothe Sir Philip's last honra. He is a proud man, and I know he in heartbroken to think he la dying a panper among MtrniiK<-r«." So it ended, as might be expected. Philip wired to Grange House, Scars dale, to announce his coming. Accom panied by his valet, he left Kings Crops at 12 o'clock, but his parting words to Evelyn were: "See Mr. Abingdon after luncheon, dear, and tell him what I am doing. I will return tomorrow. Meanwhile I will keep you informed by telegraph of my movements." After leaving the main line at Tork there was a tiresome crawl to the coast, broken by changes at Junctions —wearying intervals spent in pacing monotonous platforms. At last the train reached Scarsdale at 6:40. Afew passengers alighted. The place was evidently a small vil lage not given over to the Incursions of summer visitors. A tall man, with "doctor" writ large on his silk hat and frock coat, approached Philip. "Mr. Anson?" "Yes." "I am Doctor Williams. I have brought you a letter from Lady Morland. Perhaps you will read it now. I expect lt explains my errand. "Sir Philip is still living?" "Yes, but sinking fast." Anson tore open the note. It was brief. "Thank you for your prompt kind ness. Doctor Williams will drive you to the house. If you have brought a servant he might take your baggage to the Fox and Hounds inn, where Doctor Williams has secured room for you. I regret exceedingly we have no accommodation here, but. In any event, you will be more comfortable at the inn." He looked at the doctor. In a vague way his voice recalled accents he seemed to recognize. "Is there a telegraph office here?" "Yes. We pass lt. It closes at eight" "I will not be back from the Orange house before then?" A TELEGRAM "Hardly. It is a half hour's drive." "Thank you. You will stop a mo ment at the telegraph office?" The doctor hesitated. "There is so little time. Is it of great importance? Of course"— "Oh I know what to do. Green— take my traps to the Fox and Hounds inn. Then go to the telegraph office and send a message in my name to Miss Atherley, saying: 'Arrived. Sir Philip worse.' That is all." Anson's valet saluted and left them Dr. Williams said cheerfully: "That disposes of a difficulty. Are you ready, Mr. Anson?" They entered a ramshackle dogcart, for which the doctor apologized. "These, hills knock one's convey ances to pieces. I am having a new cart built, but it will be done for in a couple of years. Out in all weathers you see. To carry you I had to leave my man at home." The doctor himself seemed to be young and smart looking. Evidently Scarsdale agreed with him, If not with his vehicle. The horse, too, was a good one, and they moved through a scattered village at a quick trot. They met a number of people, but Doctor Williams was talking so eagerly to his companion that he did not nod to any of them. As the road began to climb toward a bleak moorland he became less vol uble, more desirous to get Anson to speak. Philip thought that the doctor listened to him with a curious eager ness. Probably Sir Philip and Lady Morland impressed him as an odd couple; he would be anxious to learn what sort of relative this was who had traveled from London to see them. Philip was in small humor for con versation. He looked forward to an exceedingly unpleasant interview, when his Hps would utter consoling words to which he must strive to im part a genuine and heartfelt ring; that would need an effort, to say the least. The road wound its way through pines and heather, but ever upward, until the trees yielded to an unbroken range of open mountain, and the farms that nestled in nooks of the hillside disappeared wholly. Glimpses of the sea were caught where a precipitous valley tore a cleft in the land. On a lofty brow in front Philip saw a solitary and half dis mantled building. "Is that the Grange house?" he in quired. "Yes." "Why on earth did two old people, one of them an invalid, select such a lonely residence?" "That has been puzzling me for days." "How long have they been here?" "I can not say. I was only called In four days ago." They passed a policeman patrolling his country beat. The doctor gave him an affable smile. The man sa luted promptly, but looked after them with a puzzled air. He continued to watch them at Intervals until they reached the Grange house. Anson noticed that the track, lt was a gate guarded bridle path now, niounted steadily to the* very thresh old. "The place stands on the edge of a cliff," he said. "Yes. It was built by some recluse. The rock falls sheer, indeed slopes inward to some extent, for 300 feet." AT THE HOUSE "Some day, I suppose, it will fall into the sea?" "Probably, but not in our time. Here we are. Just allow me to hitch the reins to the gatepost." He jumped lightly out of the dog cart. "Are there no servants?" "Only an old woman and her daugh ter. They are busy at this hour." Philip understood that a meal might be in preparation. He hoped not; per sonally he could not eat there. Dr. Williams pressed the latch of an old fashioned door. He whispered: "Be as quiet as possible. He may be asleep; if he Is, it will not be for long, poor fellow." Indeed, he doctor himself betrayed some slight agitation now. He per spired somewhat, and his hand shook. Anson followed him into a somber apartment, crudely furnished, half dining room, half kitchen. Though the light of a June evening was clear enough outside, the interior of the house was gloomy in the extreme. There was some dark curtains shroud ing a doorway. "Lady Morland is in there," mur mured the doctor, brokenly. "Will you go to her?" I gill II dsIS^ The more critical your taste the I more you'll appreciate I %a J He Awoke Too Late "My Polly Goes in Silk Hose" (Copyright. 1913. International New* Service) The Pen and the Brick Philip obeyed ln silence. He passed through the curtains. It was so dark that he imagined he must be in a passage with a door at the other end. "Can I have a light?" he asked, partly turning toward the room he had just quitted. In the neglected garden at the land ward front of the Grange house the horse stood patiently on three legs, ruminating, no doubt, on the steep ness of hills and the excellence of pastures. Nearly an hour passed thus. In sol lemn quietude. Then a boy on a bicy cle, red faced with exertion, pedaled manfully up the hill and through the gate. "I hope he's here." thought he. It's a long way to co' for nothln'." Around the waist was a strap with a pouch bearing the king's monogram. He ran up to the door and gave a couple of thunderous knocks, the priv ileged rat tat of a telegraph mes senger. There waa a long delay. Then a heavy step approached, and a man opened the door, a big heavy faced (Copyright. 1913. International News Service) <Beglirered United States Patent Office) man, with eyes that stared dreadfully and a nose damaged in life's transit. "Philip Anson, Esquire," said the boy, briskly, producing a buff colored envelope. The man seemed to swallow some thing. "Yes; he's here. Is that for him?" "Yes, sir. Any reply?" The man took the telegram, closed the door, and the boy heard his re treating footsteps. After some min utes he returned. "It's too late to reply tonight, isn't it?" he inquired. "Yes, sir. It coom'd after hours, but they'd paid t' porterage 1* Lunnon, so C postmistreses said ye'd mebbe like to hex lt at yance. I've ridden all C way frae Scarsdale." Continued Tomorrow White paint can be kept in good condition if whiting is mixed to a stiff paste with warm water and used instead of soap. Rinse off with clear water and dry with a duster or leather.