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W]I£CK PUTAA/A SYNOPSIS. Pedro and #>ie dancing bear. "Mr. Jones. firevent a tramp from stealing a young ady's purse. Pedro's ambition to become a painter spurs him to quit <?>ld Nlta and the strolling bear dancers Pedro. Old Nlta and the bear trainers start for New York. Mbs- Iris Vanderport; quarrels with her artist lover. Ham HIM. and they part. She discovers In her father's desk a por trait. which she recognises as that of Pedro, who rescued le<r from the purse snatcher Hill meets Pedro and Mr. Jones hi Washington square. Hill discov ers talent In Pedro's drawings and In a mad desire to lose himself, gives hls ■tudki end all in it to Pedro In exchange for Mr. Jones. Pedro 'occupies Hill's stu dio and calls on I-eigh, the sculptor, with a tetter from Hlil. Is*lgh, calling In re tovn, In the alley bumps into two men. owe'Of whom Is Reginald Vanderpool, Iris’ | father. In disguise. Vanderpool's compan- i ism goes Into the basement of Hill's studio : and talks with Hlcardo, or Rowe, the basement tenant, of a conspiracy against u foreign government. Vanderpool. over 'Whom Rowe hits a secret hold. Is Impli cated. Senora Ilaussa and her child, sup igooedly dead In an uprising, Rowe knows to be alive. Senora Ilaussa is driven by Ricardo to a resort where the eonsplra ■tOTB meet her and profess loyalty. Sam Hill sees Rowe unexpectedly attacked by 'Old Nlta, and rescues her. Pedro takes luncheon with Iris In her home, meeting Vanderpool, who Is disturbed by Pedro's Sresence. Iris tells Pedro her suspicion sat her father Is being blackmailed and enlists hls help. Iris poses for Pedro. Pedro sees Rowe with Vanderpool and peeping through Rowe's basement win dow Is astonished at sight of a woman whose face, feuture for feature, is Ilks hls own. Hill hears from the bear dan cers that Pedro Is a Venezuelan. Hill and Mr. Jones wander about, and stumble 'tipon Rowe, loading a steamer with con traband of war. Hill Is seized as a spy. 'Vanderpool, asphalt king, appears as ••Renor Chief.” CHAPTER XII. A Compromise. The day on which Iris came to Pedro's studio for her second pose was not that which had been appointed, but one nearly a week later. During the intervening period the young painter had remained locked in the ’ studio as long as daylight lasted, emerging only at night, in company with Leigh. Pedro had given her no explanation 'for putting her off, simply -sending 1 word that he could not have her at present, but would get some work done on the background of the por trait. Iris had telephoned several futile in vitations, and at last, catching Pedro • on the wire, had arranged for a sit ting. At the hour appointed, she mounted the stairs slowly, with fast i-beating heart, starting and taeiribllng at overy sound within the ancient building. She reached the door unchallenged, and rapped upon it. "Lady! Most gracious Madonna!” 'bo cried in greeting. "See, here is the blue robe—quick, quick! I asn all im patience to begin. Do you know the good tidings? Of the ridiculously au dacious thing 1 ain going to do? Ex hibit my pictures! Yes, me. Pedro! Ha! ha! 1 am not unknown, it seems! Read the newspapers. 1 am Pedro, the great Spautsh artist! I do not know how to paint, but it matters not; they will say ‘an Impressionist—Matisse outdone!’ Ah! ha! your portrait will 'be the chief |em of the display. In two weeks comes the exhibition, ao I must finish It soon, soon!” During the first part of the pose, he, • contrary to his usual habit, talked rap idly “It will be a lovely exhibition!" said 'he, "there will be Leigh's stuff—beau tiful marbles, rich in form, and with such textures and high llghte. You know! And the virginal white bas-re liefs—the joyouB one of the ladiee dancing. And around the walls, be itween these things will hang many gorgeous paintings by that great Span ish painter—myself." Iris could not but laugh with him. "And of all these tine pictures," be ‘Continued, "the most lovely will be a I Madoqna with hair that le red-gold, like Joy!” Then there was silence and he worked fiercely, cruelly, for, as usual, be forgot tbo rests, and It grew late before either spoke. At last, exhausted by the long pose, by Me indlfftnmnce, by her own emo tions, ahe could bear it no longer, but holding out her arms toward him, she swayed alight ly, and said his name in a broken vetae. •Pedro!" Then be aa<w how white and drawn her face bad become, and with a little cry he dropped hie palette and sprang to her side. "Madonna!" he said, "forgive me! Come dowu! So! Let me help you. Lie here upon this couch. Oh, I am cruel and thoughtleas!" Whimpering a little, ahe clung to his pnn, burying her face In the crotch of hie elbow, fondling bis band. "Pedro, Pedro, I am as tired!” she paid over and over again. "I know! A little sherry!~ he ex etaiptad. “A bite of luncheon! You will nee now what n splendid house wife 1 can really be, at need. We will have n charming meal directly.” He ponred wine Into an antique Venetian glass, and brought It to her, clasping both her hands about the fragile thing as one would clasp n child's untrained fingers around a precious toy. "Drlnh!" he commanded, “and He gaite still with your lovely head among the caressing pillows. You are pa eaptprn quean now, and I year humble serving slave. See! Like magic the feast shall appear!” Then he drew up a little round table before the hearth, stirred the dying embers with fresh wood, threw an Arabian doth over the table and pro ceeded to lay the feast. She sat up and allowed him to feed her. The solitary fork gave them much cause for mirth, for she Insisted that they share It, and before the meal was finished they were playing like children. Hadro’s moods were generally Irre sistible. and he was "determined that she forget and forgive his thoughtless ness. As he sat apposite, seeing her cameo-like beauty, be thought for the hundredth time that Hill had chosen well. Small wonder that the latter had been -driven to despair by her! And bhe—-did she still care for the absent painter? She seldom spoke of him. and that argued well for Hill’s cause. And what had parted these two? Some -silly, silly quarrel, he again assured himself. How well matched they were, how admirably suited to each other! But how about the girl’s atti tude toward himself . . .? A subtle smile crept to the corners of his mouth at the thought, and he hastily took tils eyes from her face, looking intently at the glowing cigarette between his fin gers instead. "What Is the matter?” she asked. "A second ago you were merry. Now you look quiet, wise—dangerous? How you change!” "Dangerous! Far from it!” he ex claimed. miRhinv back hla chair, “that is, unless you call overwhelming curi osity dangerous. Personally 1 think it less dangerous than a Tack of curi osity; to the Individual, at least.” “And what makes you curious?” she asked. Then Pedro, who did not know how to lead gently up to any subject, plunged In. "Were you engaged to Hill?" he aeked abruptly. Without answering, she arose and walked away to the window, where she stood for several moments before re plying, her back turned. “Yes,” she said at last. “And do you still care for him?” To her own Intense surprise she found that she could not reply at once. “I beg your pardon. Madonna.” said Pedro softly. “Oh, you don’t understand!” she cried wildly, throwing out her hands “I don’t care, 1 hate—oh! why did you ask me?” ”1 think I do understand,” he said very distinctly, looking straight at her. A wave of crimson flooded her cheeks. What did he mean? Unable to face him longer, she burled her face In her hands. He came toward her and stood where he could have touched her. "Sam Hill is a great soul,” said he softly. “He is generous and good. He Is talented, he is . . .” “He is nothing to me!” she gasDed. looking up. "He 1b my friend,” finished Pedro firmly. She flung her arms wide, and turned to him with an appealing gesture, her face revealing an emotion she made no attempt to conceal, nor he to ignore. “Pedro!” she began passionately, "you will think me mad for saying it, but ah! I cannot help it—you make me! Pedro, I love . . .” There was a crash as his liquor glass fell to the floor. “Hush!” said be. “What is it?” she asked, for the mo ment startled into normality. "Nothing!” said he, "only you are not to finish your sentence. Never mind the glass, it was done intention ally'- Let us talk of other things." "But, Pedro,” she said hysterically, “1 cannot! 1 am possessed! How can you be so cruel?” “Please, please!” he begged her. "Madonna. 1 am abject; I am in tor ture! Have pity!” “It ta akin to plXy." she replied. Pedro walked to the hearth and stooped to mend the fire. Then be straightened up and spoke. “Impossible!” he said quietly. “Ut terly lmpoasible.” And she, watching him Intently, knew he had believed her. although he presented this denial. She felt, too, that her cause was nearly hopeless. “You do not care, then.” she said In a low voice. “Madonna Lady.” be said sadly, **I care for you a great deal, but not aa Hill does; not as a man should, to be your lover. You charm me beyond words; you are lovely as a dream, and If I could love any woman. It would be you—but you are not for me.” “Why not?” she asked sharply, be tween her tortured breaths. "The reason Is beyond my power to alter." said Pedro. “Then,” said she, “I suppose I had better go. Shall you wlah to finish the picture?” “Iris!” he cried In a suddenly changed tone, "come here, listen! Of coarse I want to finish the picture; It la going to be good! And what la more, If you will be so gracious, with your permission we will finish It, and renew our friendship at th* same time.” “Friendship!” said she, with, a mirth less little laugh. ‘Tome!" he cried, with an attempt at putting the incident behind them, “I must talk to you about something very important. You asked me to help you find out who wae troubling your father.” "Yes.” she assented, without much interest, however. “Well,” he said slowly, "I am most distressingly placed, Madonna. I am almost certain that he is being either blackmailed or misled in some man ner, and yet my hands are absolutely tied. I can do nothing.” "What do you mean?” she demand ed, aroused. "I seem fated to be a man of mys tery,” he lamented, “but I cannot help it! 1 have ascertained that a man of doubtful character is in communica tion with your father; that much I learned last week. But at the instant of my discovery of this fact a cir cumstance arose that makes it impos sible for me to continue as your de tective. More than thle I cannot say. But you will have to find some one else to help you.” Iris was turning the matter over in her mind very rapidly. Did Pedro really not care for her? Hardly! Why he said such things . . . He had followed her from the country! Had he not begged to paint her, and paid her such compliments as no one yet had done? That night at the Milli gans’ came back with a rush of mem ory. Ah! he had surely cared then! What had since occurred to change him? Samuel Hill! That was tt! He had learned of her former attachment, and meant at all costs to be loyal to the man who had befriended him. Something must be done to make him see, quite clearly and unmistakably, that his sacrifice to HflT’s trust of him was a vain and useless thing. But how U’tiB thlc tn ho nftpftnt nlichutl ^ Monh. while, i’edro was still talking. "I say with regret that I have every reason to believe that your father is being defrauded in some way. The character of the man with whom I saw him. is sufficient to Justify this. Also, alas! this same man now appears to be standing in such a connection with me as makes it impossible for me to inform any ordinary person of the facts. I might Injure an innocent— undoubtedly Innocent—person by so doing, to say nothing of perhaps let ting out a secret which your father's actions prove he wishes kept dark. For a whole week I have been trying to see my way clear, and at last 1 know that it lies only in refusing to help you.” ''And yet,” said Iris slowly, rising and putting on her wraps, "I would re ward the right person to the best of my ability, if only the work of help ing, perhaps saving, my father could be continued.” He gave her the muff far which she stretched out heT hand. "I wish indeed that 1 could help you,” said se. “I know the danger of confiding so delicate a matter to any one. But, perhaps, for a reward — what would it be, this reward?” For an instant the audacity of what she was about to say rose like an im pediment in her throat, holding her silent, while her heart beat violently. Then, at last, she found her voice. “I would- marry him. no matter though he thought there were insur mountable objections," she said with meaning. He stood astounded, scarcely able to credit his hearing, and could only look and look at her,.open-mouthed. Then, a gleam of light swept across his face as though he were suddenly possessed ui u glorious iuea. "Iris!” he gasped, "will you—will you put that down on paper? Make an—what you call It—affidavit?" “Affidavit?—yes!" she replied. "Then do so!” he cried, pushing pen and paper toward her. "Do you really want it?" she asked, looking straight Into hie eyes. "You bet!” he shouted Joyously. She laid down her muff, and draw ing off her glove, she wrote: I hereby promise to marry you on the day you ran tell me my father la not be ing subjected to danger, or has been res cued from that. If any. which now Im perils him. And I furthermore agree to overcome any debatable objections you may have to the marriage. IRIS VANDERPOOU "There!” she said, laughing a trifle hysterically, when she had finished, “will that do?” "Splendidly!" said Pedro, and thrust ing the folded paper into his breast pocket, seized her hand and kissed it with the grace of a courtier. Iris blushed, watching him with ten der eyes. Then she submitted to be ing led downstairs and shut into her coupe. No sooner was this accom plished than Pedro fled across the little court and up to the studio as if all the devils in the demonology were after him, and slamming the door be hind him, he proceeded to dance the coquette at a mad pace, upsetting sev eral articles of furniture In the proc "And now to find Mr. Samuel Hill!" he shouted gleefully, waving the paper above hla head. "Ah! Maestro Samhlll," waa echoed In a wall from outside the door. "Where, oh! where la he?" CHAPTKft XIII. tome Adventures With Variations. Pedro stared at the door aa If trans fixed, and than, tha wall being repeat ed. he opened hla portal. On the land ing stood Qunevlere. "Madre de Dios!" he exclaimed, "what alia thee? Coma In." "Oh! ‘tla terrible!" moaned Qune rlaro, "that Anna! that Irresponsible one I We left her In charge, and whan ■ ■■ ' ■ ' ' '■ —. she awoke Nlta had vanished. And every one was away. And now Sam 1 hill, he< too, is gone! Oh! Merciful Mother!” “Sit down and be calm!” cried Pe- ' dro. ‘‘Tell me all. What has hap pened?” "Lucky it is that Samhill left the address!” exclaimed Ouniviere. “And lucky, too, that I could find thee. Now, all will be well!” “Thanks, oh! smooth tongue, for thy faith in me,” replied Pedro. “Hut what has happened? Tell me, quickly!” “Yesterday we left her with Anna,” began Guneviere, and told of Nita’s illness and etrange disappearance. “How very queer!” he commented, when she had finished. "How unlike Nita! And Hill? What has he done?” “He has not come home!” “But there is nothing strange in that!” objected Pedro. "Does he not often stay away all night, eh?" “But tj»e bear came home!” walled Guneviere. "Mr. Jones! Alone! Impossible!” "A policeman-of-the-law brought him.” explained Guneviere. "saying that he found the bear near the river. The name was on the collar, and the number, tu saviB!” "Saint Joseph! but that does look serious!" Pedro exclaimed. “Quick! is there nothing more?” "Only that the policeman-of-the-law made much noise when he found that four bears dwelt within the tenement. He says we must move out. Pour bears are not permitted. One bear— perhaps, if much qioney be paid. But four! No. that is not allowed!” “And what have you done?” “We have arranged to go into the back tenement,” said Guneviere, evi dently convinced that the change would solve the difficulty. “But, Hill! Something must have happened to him? And the bear left him!” Kftifi PpHro wulkim* nn nnri down excitedly. ‘‘He may have been hurt! Near the river, eh? Good heavens! I scarcely dare guess what has occurred!” "The hospitals?” suggested Gune viere with some faint return of her usual practicality. "Ah! yes,” he exclaimed, ”1 shall telephone them at once, and then I shall go to Jones street with you. As for Nita, we shall have to flud her without help; she has made me swear never to Invoke public aid in her behalf, you know.” “Yes, yes!" said Guneviere, "you will come, then?” "Directly!" he cried. "No time must be lost.” But as it proved, time mattered little, for the hospitals told nothing, and neither did that grim lost and ] found office, the morgue. For two whole days Pedro alternated between his studio and the rear tenement on JoneB street, his mind in an agony of uncertainty. He could not work for nervousness, and the combined sus pense and inaction played havoc with his spirit. Leigh had been called out of town to see his mother, who was itl, and there was no one else to whom Pedro dared go for advice and help. Hill himself had forbidden that his af fairs be made known to anyone but the sculptor, or Pedro might have U8ked Milligan’s assistance. As it was, he could only fume impatiently, and eat his heart out with worry. At last, no longer able to endure doing noth in*. he called a council of war In the 1 tenement kitchen. To the assembled bear-dancers, with exception only of the stiU mysteriously absent Nita, he arose and spoke. "I am going to find Sam Hill, if he ta on the face of the earth!” he an uuuiu ru. i am nummru umi Koim* misfortune has befallen him. In half i an hour I am going to take Mr. Jones j with me, and 1 am not coming back till we have succeeded in discovering the whereabouts of my friend." “Bien! A id I," said Beau-Jean, from his seat on the foot of the bed. “I will go with you to find that Sam hill, who Is my friend, aussi." "Very good!” said Pedro, "all is ar ranged Come, Strong Arm, we will *o." On the Instant they began collecting the few traps necessary for a short absence, and while they were In the midst of these preparations, the door was thrown open to admit an old woman. "Nita!” yelled Pedro, springing toward her. Instantly the room was in an up roar, all talking at once, laughlug and weeping, shouting questions, making offers of help, proffering food and drink, crowding around the crone with such clamor and persistence that Pe dro could scarcely manage to get her to a chair. Then ehe sat beamiug upon them all, apparently Id the best of health and delighted at the wel come afforded her. Her clothes were, if possible, a trifle more worn and soiled than usual, but, otherwise, she seemed to have suffered no harm. “Where hast thou been? What hast thou done? Where Is Samhill? Art well? Tell us!” they shouted all at once. "Aye. 1 am well, lucky for me!" said Nita, with twinkling eyes, “for I have been a bird In my day, and I am In no haete to meet what awalta me In the hereafter.” "Beloved Nita!” exclaimed Pedro, kneeling beside her, “how I rejoice that thou art safe! But where la Mr. H1U?” “Samhill?” ahe queried. “I have not seen him, nor thought of him! I have been abroad on other business. What of Samhill?” “Don’t you know?” cried Anna. And then the clamor began anew. Not know where Samhill was? Where could he be, then? Did she not even know of his disappearance ? What had ahe been doing? — For answer, she took Pedro’s face >etween her old hands that were like withered leave*. "Dost thou know w'ho is in the ;ity?” she aeked. “Thine enemy and nine. Ricardo! He struck me, and I vas senseless. But when mine eyes ipened, I arose and went in search of lim. I took the long, slender machete with the handle of pearl, but I found him not. There was a woman with him . . "Yes,” said Pedro, "my mother.” "Then thou, too, hast seen him! Where?” she aeked eagerly. "And with thy mother? Surely you are mad?” "Not mad, only bewildered and frightened,” he answered. "I know where they are, but not for what pur pose! I shall tell thee all that I have seen, but not now. Can’t you hear the others saying that my benefactor has vanished? Before anything else we must find and help him, if need be.” “Where are Ricardo and thy mother?” asked Nita, her eyes fixed upon Pe dro's, and her hand closed tightly upon some object that was hidden among the bundled shawls and scarfs about her waist. Pedro’s eye followed the movement. "It is very far from here, oh, ancient lady,” he lied glibly, "and I shall not tell you where until I return. Then we shall attend to your little matter, and I shall see why and how my mother comes in such company. My mother!” he turned away and sighed. "I had forgotten how I loved her!” he said as though to himself. Then he picked up the pole and chain, and sig naled to Beau-Jean that he was ready. Nita arose to her feet. "Where is the murderer, the se ducer of my daughter?” she screamed. "Where is Rloardo?” "At the other end of the city,” said Pedro. “Come quickly. Beau-Jean.” And with that they were off. leaving Nita screeching imprecations at them irom me stair-neaa, in tne most healthy manner. As they reached the street Beau-Jean asked: "What iB all this murder business of which Nita talks? Couldn’t we man age to avenge her, when we have found Samhill?” "Perhaps,” said Pedro soberly, "for this man, Ricardo Valdez, is a very wicked man. He used to live near my home. Nita was my nuree, once, and her daughter was my foster-sister. When she was only fifteen Ricardo stole her away. Then he deserted her, and when she came back to us she killed herself and her baby. Ever since Nita has been looking for him, to avenge her child. But she is so old now, that 1 think we had best not let her do it. I am sure she would really prefer dying with us, to dying in Jail!" "I agree,” said Beau-Jean. “And now which way shall we turn?" said Pedro. “As the bear came from the river, let us to the river go,” suggested Beau-Jean. "A good notion,” said Pedro, “and as likely to prove fruitful as any.” "More likely up-town than down, from here.” said Beau-Jean, and again Pedro assented. And so. in accordance with the plan, if plan it could be properly called, they made their way westward, straight toward the docks, and, once reaching them, began a pilgrimage up town. Mr. Jones now began acting in a most peculiar manner. Something on the sidewalk had attracted his atten tion. and nothing could divert him until he had made a thorough insDec tlon. To Beau-Jean and to Pedro there appeared to be nothing on the pavement but a good deal of dirt and refuse; but one particular spot seemed to have fascinated Mr. Jones, and there was nothing for it but to stand waiting while he noeed about. “Shall I chasten him?" asked Beau Jean. who was accustomed to using this method with Koko. "No. certainly not," said Pedro, “I believe he's been here before. Per haps he recognizes something. Let us watch!" Pedro's surmise was an eminently correct one. for Mr. Jonee had recog nized—honey! Very shortly he raised his head, found the scent, and came upon a second spot of interest. How delightful!—this was the neighbor hood In which he had found that nice hive where there were no bees to sting, and where the honey was so plentiful! He really had not taken half of it last time! And here were his own footstepe, his sticky, honey made footprints, which would help him to find the treasure again. Thus It happened that in time they reached the doorway of the little dairy, which Mr. Jones recognized with a Joyful bound, and a sort of purr, which brought the dairyman (who bad spied him through the window) to the en trance, with a shower of abuse ready at hand. "Get out of this, youse!” shouted the milk vender. "Don’t you dast ter come In, any of youse! I aln’t-a-goin’-ter sell yer nothin’. Get off, you smashin', murderin’ bunch of dagoes 1 I’ll set the cop on yer If yer don’t skidoo!" “Why?" asked Pedro, wildly excited. ‘But why won’t you sell to us?” "Go on now! none o’ yer back talk!” trowled the man. “I sold to one dago teller with a bear last week, an’ the brute eat up all ma comb-honey! So let out; quit talkin’." ‘‘A man with a bear?” cried Pedro, laarcely able to believe hie ears. "Ill bet it’a the one I want to find. That bear he had belongs to me.” “Well, what do 1 care for that?” said the milk .vender sourly. "Get out, ir will I call the cop?" “Which way did he go r persisted Pedro—"same way as we came?” A malicious smile came upon the seasoned features of the dairyman. Here was a chance to mislead and annoy a bear-dancer, and to do so was a wondrous source of satisfaction. "He went this way, bad luck to him!” he lied, pointing east, "if yer catch up with him, I hope the bear eats both of yer!” When they had been walking for • about half an hour Pedro laid his hand upon the arm of his companion. "Look, Beau-Jean!” said he. “Look, there, in the window of the little shop of women’s finery! See the girl with the red-gold hair? I am painting a picture of the Holy Mother, and the hair is of just such a color!” "Indeed!” said Beau-Jean soberly. "It is a terrible color. Do you think that the Holy Mother will be pleased?” “I had not thought of that!” replied: Pedro. Then he add^d suddenly— "Oh! see. the shop-lady knows Mr. Jones!” It was true. The red-haired girl had given very animated signs of rec ognizing the bear, and lifted her gaze to the persons in whose company he . appeared, with a smile on her lips, which swiftly gave way to a look of disappointment as she met their eyes. “Wait!” said Pedro, halting before the door, “that lady has seen this bear before, or 1 am much mistaken! And what is more, she expected to see some one she knew, when she looked at us! Come in, I want to buy some thread.” Whereupon he opened the door, and, with the bear, entered the crowded little shop, leaving Beau-Jean gasping out on the pavement. Behind the counter stood the smil ing Lola La Farge, alias Lizzy Hinkle. “What can I do for you?” she asked, laying aside the bit of knitting upott which she had been engaged. "Thread, please!” said Pedro, flash ing his smile at her. "What color?” she inquired, admir ing his eyes and teeth. "Er-—ah—green, please!” said Pe dro, because her eyes were rather of tuat, tuiui, an u VjUuocvjuvuiij it vauiw first to mind: "Green," and a needle, please.” “A needle!" she exclaimed, “you mean a package of needles!” "I only need one at a time," he told her. Would she speak of the heart Ah! she was going to! “Seems as if training bears and sew ing didn't go together very good,” sh* giggled. "There was a gent in here* not long ago, who didn’t know muck? more'n you! He had a bear, too!” “Yes?” said Pedro. “Yes. indeed,” she responded, busily? getting out the articles he had named!. “I do declare to goodness. I thought? this was the very identical bear, when I seen you 'coming!” “It is the identical bear,” remarked Pedro. "What!” said she, with a little shriek of surprise—"well, I never! How is the other fellow? Ain’t he got the bear with him then?” "No, I've got him!” said Pedro dryly. “You don’t say!” exclaimed the girl, peering over the counter, as though seeing the animal for the first time. "And so you know my pal, eh?” said Pedro. "Now that is nice!” He smiled again, and, as was usu ally the case, hypnotized her into in stant response. Encouraged by hla interest, and by the fact of their mu tual friend, she drew a postal card— not from the bosom of her pink shirt waist—from her pocketbook. "Well, 1 certainly do know him!” said she. "I had this postal from him. only three days ago!” (TO BE CONTINUED.) SYSTEM SAVES WOMAN’S TIME Many Farm Wives Lose by Not Ma|> ping Their Work Out In Me thodical Mannar. A program is a great labor saver, we are told, but some women use a program as a robin does a pole— something to fly from. They never know what is to be done next, says a writer in Country Gentleman. A regu lar order, wherein the work is dove tailed, makes for real eflSciency. While the woman who does her work bit or miss is in the throes of inde cision as to what shall be done next, the really methodical woman has her work all mapped out a week ahead. She moves swiftly and surely from one task to the next with no lost time. The amount of work she turns off is a mar vel to the other woman. A good homemaker plans her work and works her plan. She is envied by less executive women, but she mast pay the price in careful thought and in an inflexible will that holds her to the prescribed procedure. A weaker wom an makes a good plan, but circum stances are forever altering it. 8he never drives her work, but her work drives her continually. It worries her; it becomes a nightmare. Because she is always putting things off she to always behind time, and therefore what she does do Is done under pres sure and In a hurried way that Is al ways wasteful. Take Rest In Tims. Rest Is mental. When the mind wearies the body relaxes. Drudgery Is mental monotony. The climate of the mind loses Its distinct season* when drudgery steals away vivacity and variety. Idleness la not root, bat. raat. A change of air refreshes the whole man. What moat people need* for a vacation la n new duty, not n newv climate. If yon would rid yourself of* an old trouble and escape from a gall ing condition, take np a new task. In action lends to atrophy. Rust does as. much ham a* friction. There to no reward for the idler whether be b*. rich or poor. The lug an optimist.