Atlanta Georgian. [volume], June 10, 1914, Extra, Image 8

About Atlanta Georgian. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939

Image provided by: Digital Library of Georgia, a project of GALILEO located at the University of Georgia Libraries

                
+THEE GEFORGIANS MAGAZINEL PAUGE"
The Misleading Lady
The Story of a Modern Cave Man, Novelized from the Play
Based on the production presented by
William Harris, Jr—Copyright, 1914, by
International News Service
[Novelized by]
A. A. Waterbury.
“‘” ZELL, what have 1 done?”
pouted the girl
“'l tell you what
you've done. You've rocked the boat,
skated on thin ice, fooled with the
buzzsaw, walked on the third rall
lighted the fuse to dynamite.”
“Oh, Jack, don't be absurd! Don't
talk in fizures of speech,” she began
in the best society manner of the
Steeles of Baltimore. And then her
banter felt the cold breath of the cut
ting scorn in his purposeful eyes. All
through his life, Jack Craigen had
suggested easy-going, magnetic
charm and no more to the folk who
jooked at his lovable mouth with the
mobile lift to the upper lip and the
little shadow smiles rippling out to
the edge of his lean and forceful jaw,
Then the lines of jaw and cheek had
drawn eyes up with irresistible magic
to the great steady eyes and wide
brow-—and pengge who had meant to
try to take advantage of the “lovable
Irish scamp’ that lurked in his smile
paid tribute of respect to the strong
Englicsh jaw and the steady gleaming
Yankee eyves. H o :
Something impelled Helen to re
turn to her attempt to propitiate and
offer apology to this man who had
just outraged decency, convention
and her own maiden delicacy.
“But 1 didn’t think—l didn't real
ize—l didn't know,” she pleaded.
“Ignorance of the law ¢f nature is
no defense.” /
“But, Jack, T have stopped.”
“But the fuse is still burning to
ward the dynamite, and when it
reaches—sps-sps-gps-boom!” He ges
tured largely. ‘
“Don't talk like that. What do you
mean”? I'm frightened.”
“So am 1,” eaid the man quietly.
“What's going to happen? Jack!
Wkhat's going to happen?”’
“1 don't know. Walit and see. An
explosion always follows the line of
lee st resisiunce.”
“Why did vou bring me here? Why
have vou done this? Why do vou
hold me here hy force? Aren't you
ashamed to use brute force against a
woman?"
The man took a package of tobacco
and some papers from his pocket.
“Why should I be?” he asked with
what he thought was logic. “Is %@ro
apvthing more primitive and bfutal
than the force you used against me?"
“Jack, 1 ask you to put yourself in
my vlace”
“All right, 'l do it. I'll put my
self in your place and you put your
self in mine. I'm you and you're me,
and now—Heaven help me, I'm a
girl! A very pretty girl-——"
Helen swung from her chair and
rushed over to the cupboard in silk
stockinged feet that were beginning
to be as dingy as the floor they tra
versed. She flung her body against
the cupboard door and leaned her
head on her arm in utter dejection.
The man was so imperturbably good
natured, he was so impervious to
reason—to dangers and to conse
guences, There seemed nothing she
could sav—nothing she could do-—but
pay the penalty—and the penalty
might be anything this madman she
had unleashed in Jack Craigen should
choose to demand.
“Oh, this is perfectly unendurable”
she moaned.
“What, being me?7’ asked the man,
indulging in a little bear-baiting of
his own. *“Why, vou know I rather
enjoy being vou. It's a nice, warm,
cozy. intimate sort of feeling, 1 kind
of like these soft, silky, clinging, fus
gy things. Of course, I'll admit the
stayvs are a trifle confining, but-—-"
Helen lifted her head in warning,
Perhaps she was helpless hefore what
he might choose to do--but she could
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stil] insist on not being forced to lis
ten to speech that outraged her fine
feminine sensibilities,
“Oh, I'l wear them all right, I'll
wear 'em without a murmur Let's
see, I'm a very prety girl”
“The very pretty girl” rolled a
cigarette with the utmost noncha
lance and then continued “And I'm
lucky. 1 don't have to powder my
nose—that is, I don’t think I do. Do
1?2 And my hair always stays in
curl even in the rain—and my eyves
Suddenly his own eves swept over
her face caressingly and !lingered on
her brown hazel eyes. His gaze deep
ened and clung ke a very kiss. She
did not stir. The air pwised with some
subtle emanation—some current of
feeling that threaded its way from
him to her. It wage facling stronger
than his hatred for the thing she
had done or her fear for the thing
he might do—it was primitive love
and longing—the cry of mate to mate
éut In the open places of the real
world, It seemed that he had but
to take the woman who was hig—
and that she would come homing to
his arms.
“His lips moved in words that
warned her even as his arms and lips
and love would soon do. She stood
still—fascinated-—helpless before Na
ture that is stronger than us all
~ “You've got the most wonderfu!
eyes. They startle you——"
And as he spoke a quick flash came
inte her eves and burnt out the suf
fused and softened light that had
heen dawning there. With ready
humor the man shook off his own
emotion and went on in more guard
ed tone,
“They startle you. It's like looking
into the garrel of a gun!”
; "I suppose yvou realize you will be
shot for this,” said Helen the more
coldly for that she despised herself
and her own moment of feeling.
“And could a man die better than
facing fearful odds? I know I've done
a very risky thing and being only 27
years old 1 ought to know better than
to-—-"
“This is perfectly ridiculous—be
sides, I'm not twenty-seven'
“I'm a terribly frightened girl be
cause | happen to know what kind
of a bad, desperate man you are-—
capable of most anything,” went on
Jack still playing hig little game of
make-believe,
“Stop this! If you don't stop this
I shall scream.”
She fled across the room and he
followed her, taunting her as she
came nearer: “No, don't scream—
swear. Remember, you are me! Be
sides, there’'s a hoot cwl half a mile
up the mountain; you might wake
him. What's going to become of me?
You have placed me in a position
where a girl should be only with the
man she is going to marry. [ am a
good woman. You know that” He
mimicked, “And being a mere slip of
a girl of only twenty-filve sum
mers-—-"
“I'm not twenty-five."
“1 know how old I am.” said Jack,
masquerading as Helen, severely. “Oh,
bad, desperate man! What are you
going to do with me?” :
“If I were in yvour place—if I were
a man, a strong man, a reasonably
good man with the average man's
cold, hard sense of justice, and if §
girl made a mistake and I had care
ried her off into.the wood and fright
ened her most to her wit's end and
she were sorry, terribly sorry—l
think—l think--well, if [ were a man
I'd take her safely home and no harm
shoult come to her,”
The man smiled cynically as one
who knew more about men than that.
“Take back your soft, fuzzy things,”
sald he. * * * * don't helieve you.
Richard is himself again”
He knelt before the hearth and lit
a fire of great logs.
“Get me back to the station before
Mr. Tracey and the others find us
here. There'll still be time if we go
quick, right away. You would not
really compromise me, would you?"
she coaxed
“That's exactly what I intend to
do: that's just what 1 brought you up
here for"
And he calmly and dispassionately
put the coffee pot on the fire.
The girl thundered at him like an
angry shrew, “Give me that key-—
do you hear? Give me that key or
you will be sorry vou ever brought
me into this house.”
He looked up interested. “Do you
mean this? Or are you acting again?"
Helen pounded on the table. “Are
You going to give me the keys?"
“Go on, let's see If vou are a real
actress."
“You're a brute. You're a monster!"
The girl was mad with baffled rage
now
"That's it-——whoop her- up-—-stamp
around.”
Pacing back and forth, Helen
pounded the floor with a chair and
raged on, ignoring the fact that she
might be affording some - excellent
amusement to her captor
“You're a coward! You're a fool'"”
“Raise hell! You may have a scene
just like this to play in the ‘Siren,'"
advised Jack., coolly, crouching with
lhvm knees, and :ilx't‘rxlaxin;l)' fanning
the fire and the fiames of her wrath.
l “Do you think you can keep me
{ here? I'll get, gpvay!?
| "‘'Give me liberty or give me
idt"'ilh:' " chanted Jack mockingly.
{ "T'll struggle! ll'lll fight—l'll get
{away if 1 die—lf it kills me!"
| To Be Continued To-morrow.
l—'——_—’!'——* e e e
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The Peacock b oo wmmsemsi a 8 By NELL BRINKLEY;,
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%4
THE MYSTERY OF LOVE ByDOROTHY DIX
T every marriage, louder than
A the strains of the wedding
march, {s the whispered mur
mur of the audience:
“What on earth, do yvou suppose,
made him pick HER out for a wife?”
“Just look at the bridegroom. lln
heaven's name, what did she see in
HIM that made her want to tie up
with him 7?"
And nobody even attempts to an
swer these insoluble riddles of the
human heart. Few of us can tell why
we married ‘the individuals we es
poused. None of us have the faint
est idea of why anybody else mar
ried the one that he or she did.
It's all part of the great mystery of
love that is ruled by some law of at
tractions that finite intelligénce has
}no’aver been able to comprehend. We
see strange manifestations of it when
!m"n and women pick out for their
‘hushbands and wives the very people
'that we should have thought least
;suned to them, and apparently live
‘happlly ever after, and when we ob
serve marriages that seem made in
heaven and in the opposite place.
Whether love is clairvoyvant or
blind, nobody knows. Sometimes it
sees beauties and graces in the ob-
Ject of its choice that other eves do
not behold. This is illustrated by the
fact that the average man, bhefore he
is married, is in theory a worshiper
of female pulchritude, ‘
What He Asks. ‘
The first question he asks about
every woman who is brought to his
notice is “Is she pretty?' On the
street he has ever a roving eye to|
single out the living pictures that
pass by. At the theater he patron
izes those plays that have the hand
somest show girls in them. To hear
him talk, you would believe him the
slave of Venus, and you would be
convinced that no woman who did not
possess all of the twenty points of
female loveliness would have a chance
to catch him as a husband.
| When you meet his wife you find
With Plumage Rare Beyond Compare.
out to your amazement that he has
picked out quite an ordinary looking
little person that nobody would ever
turn to look at in a crowd, and it
leaves you wondering if the professed
judge of good looks was hypnotized
when he married, or if he married
for an ethereal beauty of soul! and
spirit invisible to the casual ob
server.
In the same wayv you often see a
peculiarly brilliant man who is the
devoted husband of a woman with an
intellect like a hen’'s. To every one
else she is a transcendent bore with
her silly chatter whose whole gamut
only reaches from kitchen to nursery
and back again. She has no sense
of humor. and never sees the point
of even her husband’'s jokes. She has
no Information and never knows
what he's talking about when he
:-: The Difference in Sex :-:
' By FRANCIS L. GARSIDE.
| ¥y HEN a man keeps a scrapbook,
“/ the clippings are all about
himself.
But mother's are all about her chil
dren, her husband, her friends and her
kin.
When a little girl and her brother
go for a walk, he is mnever so young
nor so small that his nose doesn’t turn
up at everything that excites her ad
miration
And he Keeps his nose turned up at
what & woman admires all through life,
till the undertaker finally pulls it down.
A man always looks the same, bu: if
You see a woman at church one 4ay
and dommg her washing the next day
l,\‘ou will declare g't is not the same
woman. *' . :
speaks of anything but domestic af
fairs. You would say that she is no
more of a companion to him than a
nice fat cat would be.
But the man apparently is satisfied
with her. He gives no sign that he
even sees how dull and stupid she is,
or is aware of the blunders she
makes. Is it because he sees irto
her nature deeper than the outside
world does and recognizes that ‘the
has some fine and subtle philosophy
of life that she has not the power to
utter, or is it that his love makes
him blind to her shortcomings? Who
can sav? Perhaps the man himself
does not know, =
Undoubtedly most women are
cheerful liars when it comes tg tell
ing what they think of their hus
bands. Every woman until sae be
gins to think of a divorce pretends to
When a man is invited out to dinner
he has his best time at the table, but
a woman has her best time in telling
about it next day.
The curiosity a woman feels about
the way a man spends his time, he
feels about the way she spends his
money.
| The women look for a large portion
|of their reward in heaven, and are
satisfied, but the men want all thelrs
' now.
l If you give a y and send word
| to a man lhmum half dozen per
| sons. he will come. But a woman de
lmands an engraved or written invita
tion on a silver platter.
| T 1
. When a woman shrugs her shoulders '
it is expressive of many things. But|
when a man shrugs his it means only
that his back itches. |
herself and to the world that she has
married a Prince Charming, and that
he is the handsomest, wisest and
most chivalrous man in the world.
‘ Making due allowance for this com
mendable wifely duplicity, most of us
‘have been astounded at finding that
‘some woman did think her most ordi
‘nary looking, commonplace husband a
‘pertect Apollo and a fascinator that
has only to whistle to make every
woman he meets get up and follow
him.
The Reason Why,
This i why wives are almost uni
versally Jealous. They do not see
‘their husbands as the human shrimps
or animated beer kegs they look like
to other women. They always see
their husbands as figures of romance
that any other woman would be
justified in grabbing if she could.
God gave women, as a consolation
prize in life, a transcendent power of
imagination so that they gould al
ways wrap their hushands and chil
dren in so many swathings of the
pink chiffon of fancy that they'd
never really get a good look at them
as they were. No woman ever loves
4 real man. She worships her ideal
of him. She never really knows the
man she marries. She only knows
the mannikin she has constructed.
The reason that so many men tire
of their wives when the women get
middle-aged and fat, and homely, and
why a woman can go on loving a
man, no matter how middle-aged, and
bay-windowed, and bald he gets. is
because the circumstances of a man's
life make him practical, and face
facts so that he sees his wife as she
{s, while the woman goes on dream
ing to the end. and never sees her
husband as anything but the godling
she fancied him in her youth.
But nobody can explain the va
gcries of love. Sometimes it is like
a great light held so close to the eyes
that it blinds us, and again it is like
a searchlight that penetrates into the
secret recesses of a soul, and shows
us its hidden treasure chamigers.
The Tempting of Justice
Every Episode of This Story Can Be Seen in Vivid Moving
Pictures by the Eclectic Film Co.
READ Tt Here—THEN See It in Motion Pictures.
Copvright, 1914, by Internationa News
Bervice &'\l moving picture rights held
and owned by Eclectic Film Co
By GERALD GAUTIER.
CHAPTER V.
s 4
Andre Comes Back. 1
MOMENT later Irene's father‘
A came into the room anxious to
learn whether or not Irene had
been disturbed. The girl was stand
ing by her dressing table with a neg-,
ligee held around her. She looked =zt
her father with wide, frightened eyes,
but strenuously denied any know!-
edge of the burglar.
The next morning ons of the papers
came out with the following article:
" “The Affair of the Villa Danbury.”
“Judge Uelveaux, who is in charge
of the mysterious occurrence of last
evening, has secured new evidence
that throws some light on the situa
tion. The arrest of the guilty party
is only a question of hours.”
. Irene was nearly distracted. What
{f Judge Delveaux unwittingly should
arrest his own son. How horrible!
She must do something, warn him in
some way. Later that day the judge
was somewhat surprised to receive an
unsigned missive bearing directly
upon the robbery case on which he
was working. !
“If you wish to save yourself from
great grief and a sorrow-stricken girl
from further humiliation, do not make
any further inquiry in the matter of
the Villa Daubrey.”
Decidedly this put a different aspect
on the case. Well, the only thing to
do would be to go and see Monsieur
Delatour himself; together they might
be able to probe the mystery. .
But Monsieur Delatour knew noth
ing of the mysterious writer. He took
the letter with much interest, and
then gave a little start of surprise,
and opened a drawer in his desk,
drawing out a letter which he held
up beside the other.
“The writing is unmistakable,” he
gsaid, handing the two letters to the
judge. And the judge started back
as he saw the significance of the
whole thing. The new letter was one
‘from Irene to her father, and the
handwriting was identically the same
as that on the mysterious note which
had been sent to him. The two men
looked at each other a moment, and
then Monsieur Delatoyr turned and
rang a bell.
“Send Miss Irene to me at once,” he
said to the servant who appeared.
“We must get to the bottom of this
mystery. What possible reason could
Irene have for taking the part of this
burglar?”
Irene came into the room a moment
later and looked at Judge Delveaux
appealingly. Her father addressed her
sternly. 3
“Irene, this is your letter,” he sald,
coming to the point at once. “You
might as well tell us at once who
the man is that you are shielding; we
are determined to get at the tpttom
of this disgraceful business.”
The girl, weak and overwrought,
burst into tears, but her father was
adamant.
“I tried to spare you,” she sobbed
finally, turning to the judge, “but as
vou force me to tell you, it was your
own son!”
For a moment there was silence in
the room, save for the sobbing of the
girl; the two men stood facing each
other. Then Delatour stretched out
his hand and the next minute the
judge had silently left the room.
There was only one thing to do—An
dre must be arrested, but he could
not be the man to do it.
When he reached home, he dls
patched a hasty letter to the prose
cuting attorney, ordering the arrest of
Andre Delveaux, and asking that the
affair be put in other hands. His ad
vice was acted upon at once, and
Andre’s apartment was visited imme
diately. Maurice Santelle slept behind
prison bars that night.
In the meantime a letter had been
delivered to Monsieur Delatour which
mystified him more than ever. It was
from Andre Delveaux himself, giving
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e
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his aviation name and stating that he
at last felt himself worthy of Irene's
love and would call the next day.
What could this mean. thought De
latour; perhaps there was a mistake
somewhere, and, hastily catching up
his hat, he surprised Judge Delveaux
a few minutes later in his private of
fice.
“What do you make of this?” he
said gayly, handing the letter to the
judge. “We’d better go down and see
the Chief of Police limmediately;
don't you think so?”
The Chief of Police was somewhat
surprised a little later when the two
men arrived and asked to see Andre
Delveaux. He was surprised that the
judge would bring Delatour with him,
but a moment later, when the judza
had explained matters and had pro
duced the mysterious letter, he hur
riedly led the way to the cell where
Santelle was confined.
The judge looked inquiringly at the
dark features of the man who had
once been the son he loved. But the
Chief of Police, relying on'a bold move
to give him the informatlon required,
went up to the man and said in a low
volice:
“The game's up; vou'd better make
a clean breast of it.”
Santelie started back with a curse,
asg though expecting the real Andre to
rise up and confront him. .
“You're not Andre Delveaux at all,
are you?” went on the Chief in an
even voice.
The man looked around him with a
‘sneer. “You're all too d——4a easy,”
he egnarled, and then refused to say
‘anything more.
~ Judge Delveaux was sitting In his
~office the next day, when the door
opened softly and the next instant thas
two men were looking into each oth
er's eyes over the clasped hands of
trust and good fellowship.
“I thought you’d be here just about
now,” sald the judge flnally, “and I
arranged a little family party to sur
prise yvou.” And then there was a
breathless moment as Andre strode
across the room. Journevs end in
llovers meeting, and Irene had come 10
‘the end of hers held close in her
lover's arms,
! THE END,
Joyful Anticipation
, “of Motherhood
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There is apt to be a latent apprehen
sion of distress to mar the complete
Joy of expectation. But this is quite
overcome by the advice of so many
women to use ‘“Mother’s Friend.” This
is an external application designed to so
lubricate the muscles: and to thus so
relieve the pressure reacting on the
nerves, that the natural strain upon the
cords and ligaments is not accompanied
by those severe pains sald to cause
nausc., morning sickness and many lo
cal distresses. This splendid embroca~
tion is known to a multitude of mothers.
Many Feople believe that those reme.
edies which have stood the test of time,
that have been put to every trial under
the variinfi conditions of age, wei?hs&
general health, etc., may be safely reli
ugon. And lJudging by the fact that
"Mother’s Friend’’ has been in continual
use since our grandmother's earlier
{ears and is known throughout the Uni
ed States it may be easily inferred that
it 1s something that women talk about
and gladly recommend to prospective
mothers.
‘““Mother's Friend'’ is prepared only in
our own laboratory and is gold by drug
gists everywhere. Ask for a bottle to
day and write for a special hook for ex
ectant mothers. Address Bradfield
gegula!or Co., 407 Lamar Bldg., At
lanta, Ga.