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Show tub LEiirsUNrrEiirrnrair k t and ftt: tlC-: QUI Ion. ! mm By L1BA XAEEHMOEE WKTT Sarrtc f II EM H I.-ITJI fvJ J W .WfiLJVi, -.LA J J X J Wf I R I V ffT'e ?1W A- 1 I b tremble, be beard KSe b. Tderness con-K con-K Z tbonghts. She was Fa Wk1 hurt e went to f i he said brokenly. "I'm S'ieUnow. I shouldn't Jei joB mat question -u - .him gobbing. C; b arTwhen you don't PTJWdafacedamp -I lo you so very ' Brace wiped away the ? didst really doubt yon. ...4 .nn Ra And this It's JUST IU" m " o, losing you. WU1 you for- iweetJ" thrown eyes forgave him L standinj, on rtptoe i to Her cteeK agamsi mm. " - (ob to malse up. sad Stephen sat before the , -1 nvstortt lire. They were biuc e little professor, pottering He books at the other end room. Emily bad looked for-j for-j day to this IntervaJ witji .j, she had tried not to be minted because his gift to ber m books. She would have something more personaL She ,ariiy Barbara s voice . . Stephen! Don't you know i,M shouldn't have given me keen Christmas presents 1 . . ." literal alone with Stephen it proving to be all that she ijed tor. She found it Increas-diScolt Increas-diScolt to find subjects for hation that were of mutual 3. She had never expert any difficulty before Well before the children came. Con-lira Con-lira with Stephen had been atd delightful. Now nothing y. to Interest him except the en. Emily was heartily sick 5- tales. But because that :iie only way to bold bis at s. the spoke of them kindly a show of humorous affection this young Mr. MacLain a il Wend of Barbara's?' she I hoping that such was the 1 question coincided with the ' In Stephen's mind. ej ire all fond of him," he resenting the curiosity In Em- low voice. "Be has spent his en In Provlncetown, He was fathers friend." wouldn't be surrlslng if be J'sterested in Barbara," Emily I 'anting to please Stephen and Mi attention. "She Is a very tlrl" oars Is i child," he said with 1 1 of Impatience in his voice lost past eighteen." f Stephen." Emily said, net-3J net-3J the impatient tone, "a girl jpeatomaoateighteea She's gh to be in love with the pen moved restlessly in the p beside the hearth. Emily rm, m right about It, per f should he mind? Whj 3herefustoadmit that Bab- I -w IMS 0OI7 J did refuse to admit It I J S ? &0nsh 8he were l l.'?65 He didn't know. il?."ADnt Ada Fair- ."Mt. asked he, Sh?, 0 ffiak our borne S Sff tbat hi8 !lBn2nDhat had N WX Med him I aael n. ... : wrore the chii. never hoon . tears to i uwD. ...... flSl8t08nnden H aJLH for StPnh nenadanceB- !fed save nry an i e b!w 7. 3 wated i We ob.,0nble him. u ted with l knu . ae'lshted n "it 1 1 filled s greatly aldgo gentlj over her The tears distressed him. tie felt guilty and embarrassed. He knew, all at once, what she bad expected him to say. Pity for her lay llie a weight on bis heart "Don't decide at once," be said, watching her fingers twist a long string of crystal beads. "Take a little time. I'm not sure that we can spare you." The gratitude In her eyes increased in-creased his feeling of guilt Why didn't he ask ber to marry him? tie bad wanted to once The children, soon, would be gone, tie didn't suppose sup-pose that be bad changed fundamentally. funda-mentally. Emily loved him. That was obvious. People expected it Why didn't be do the decent thing? There was a moment when he might have asked her the question she ached to hear. But the moment passed. Barbara, ber cheeks nipped pink by the frosty air, ber eyes shining like stars, came Into the room. "Bruce told me to t thank you again," she said, "for being so nice to him." 'That's all right," Stephen said, happy at the thought of ber pleasure. pleas-ure. Be did not look at Emily. He looked at Barbara's vivid face framed In tendrils of soft brown hair. , "1 thank you, too," she said. "You're nice, Uncle Stephen." There was a rattling sound. Emily's chain had snapped. . The crystal beads, like small bright tears, scampered across the floor Christmas was over and Hit was welL Stephen no longer had an ex cuse for keeping Barbara and the children. But he was reluctant to send them away. He did not like to think of missing that hour before dinner in the schoolroom. All of life seemed savorless when- he thought of sending the children away. Did he want to become respon slble for them? That was a question ques-tion be asked himself many times without finding a satisfactory an swer. There were times when it seemed absurd, when he went home in the evening, determined to pack them off the next day. He never succeeded. Seeing them, bearing their voices, feeling the warmth of their affection, he knew that he could not do it then. "Tomorrow,' he would think. "Tomorrow" never came. The children wondered and waited. wait-ed. Would Uncle Stephen let them stay? They swung between hope and despair, never entirely sure which way the wind was going to blow. If Uncle Stephen would keep them, was the beginning or the end of every waking thought "Sometimes 1 think he will," Barbara Bar-bara wrote to Bruce. "Wouldn't that be lovely? But sometimes I don't know. It's a very distracting feel ing, like being In a lion's cage and not knowing whether the lion will chew your head off or not But 1 think he will more than I think be won't Only I wish he would decide. Td feel the same way about the Hon. . . ." And then It was decided. Stephen came home one evening looking tired and pleased and a little uneasy un-easy as well. He bad presents for the children and some very Impor tant news. "I saw Aunt Josephine," he said, when the boisterous welcome had subsided and the presents had been admired. "Our Aunt Josephine?" The color paled from Barbara's face Her eyes were wide and startled. "What did she say?" the chil dren chorused and they were very still. "She said you'd been badly brought up." Stephen looked at Barbara, at Kit and Gay and Jamie She said you had no Idea of grati tude. She said I was either very brave or otterly a fooL "But why, Uncle Stephen T Bar bara's hands clasned each other tightly. "Because," Stephen told them, "1 asked her If 1 might keep you." Ion mean we're to live with your Gay asked, ready to bounce on the sofa springs. Yes," he answered, rumnllna her bright brown curls. All of nsr That was Kit a flush in his thin dark cheeks, his hazel eyes very bright "All of you." "Thips, too?" Jamie asked, preparing pre-paring to let out a whoop. "What would we do without Chips'?" The whoop was worthy of a feathered brave on the warpath. It broke the breathless suspense. The children fell opon Stephen with Joy ous shouts. The springs of the old fed sofa creaked In a threatening way. The windows rattled. The coals seemed to dance In the grate "Aunt Josephine was right" Stephen Ste-phen said when he had emerged, somewhat rumpled from the lusty strangling embraces. "You're a tribe or little savages. Yon have no Proper respect for your elders." "Do you want us to be respectful?" respect-ful?" Barbara asked, watching the performance with a happy shine In her eyes.1 "1 like little savages." Stephen had surrendered himself to the charms of the four Thornes. CHAPTER XI A UNT EDITH did not button ber llps when Stephen told her be bad decided to keep the children. He was accepting a grave responsibility, responsi-bility, she said. Rearing children was not an obligation so lightly as 8umed. It was neither wise nor necessary. nec-essary. The children's relatives were able and willing to care for them. Had , be considered the possible pos-sible complications? "Complications?" Stephen asked. "I want the children. They want to stay. It all seems fairly simple." "Of course they want to stay Has It occurred to you that Barbara Bar-bara might have known In advance that you could give them every luxury lux-ury and advantage?" ' Stephen halted midway between the canopied bed and a chaise-longue chaise-longue upholstered In mauve brocade. bro-cade. "You mean," he asked, "has it occurred oc-curred to me that she might have looked up my financial rating?" "Exactly." Stephen laughed. "She doesn't knaw there are such things," he said. "I'm not so sure." The laugh did not Improve the state of Aunt Edith's mind. "1 am," Stephen said curtly. "It's possible that she might have." He needn't be so touchy, she thought She was thinking only of him. It would be disturbing for her, of course, to have the children here. But it would be worse for Stephen. Why hadn't be married Emily? She would have been willing will-ing to endure the little professor. That would have been a dignified arrangement ar-rangement at least Poor Stephen I Why couldn't the children have stayed where they belonged? "Not Babble." Stephen said. "She's an impulsive child. She came to me because there was no one else. She thought only of keeping the children together." "She isn't a child." The expression expres-sion in Stephen's eyes alarmed Aunt Edith. "I was married," she said with great dignity, "when I was Just past eighteen." "She's a very dear little girL" "Really, Stephen "She sees people so clearly," Stephen Ste-phen said, thinking of Barbara, wanting to defend her. "She knows it Is best for the children to let them grow op together. She's right about It too. Babble trusts me. I can't let ber down. She's so small 1 and plucky and helpless." His voice was gentle. Aunt Edith looked up. "You're In love with ber, Stephen," Ste-phen," she said. She had not meant to put the thought Into words. But Stephen exasperated her beyond endurance, en-durance, being so foolish about the girL "That's absurd I" Stephen frowned, his brows drawn down over his angry eyes. "It has happened before" It was true, she thought Stephen had not escaped. Forty, she had heard, was a very dangerous age. "Do you think that?" he asked, looking at her from under darkly scowling brows. "I do. Indeed." No use contradicting contra-dicting herself. Aunt Edith thought "There must be some reason why you should want to keep these chil dren. a reason other than kindness and a desire to make them happy." "You haveni a hign opinion or me. have you. Aunt Edith?" Stephen asked quietly. "You make me feel as though I had taken advantage of the confidence of a child." "A child? WelL really. Stephen' "Do you think that Aunt Edith?" "1 have known you for some time, my dear," Aunt Edith said. "1 can't think that you would completely com-pletely disorganize your life unless there was a reason." There was a reason, of course He might have told Aunt Edith that be had loved Barbara's mother. But he did not want to tell her. He was tired of explanations. He said "Good night" and walked out of the room. Aunt Edith sat In the puffy armchair, thinking, rippling the cards with a sound like a lingering sigh. Then she pushed back the card table and walked across the room to her desk. When she re turned to the table, she spread but on the table a variety of tourist catalogues cat-alogues and time-tables and folders. fold-ers. With a little gold pencU she traced a leisurely journey across the continent She made notations and added rows of figures. At Intervals, she unbuttoned her lips to sigh. Stephen told Natalie the story the next afternoon. She sat beside the library fire wheD he returned from the office. He suspected that Aunt Edith bad sent for Natalie and had told ber the distressing news. What did Natalie think about it all? Was be in for another unpleasant Interview? Inter-view? He found, to his great relief, that he wasn't Natalie smiled at him lazily, the smoke from ber cigarette curling In rings about ber sleek dark head. "Where are the children?" Stephen Ste-phen asked. "Bob took them to the zoo," she answered. "They ought to be back pretty soon." "May I have some tea?" "You look tired, Stephen. Was Aunt Edith very unpleasant?" "Rather," he said, returning her lazy smile. "There was an old woman who lived in a shoe," Natalie teased af fectionately. "Poor, poor Stephen I" Stephen relaxed In a soft deep chair. He needed to talk to someone. some-one. Natalie was Intelligent She saw things clearly, he thought He felt soothed and rested. The fire, the gathering twilight invited confidences. "Aunt Edith thinks I'm In love with Barbara," Stephen said, breaking break-ing a comfortable silence. Natalie looked at him, an amused little smile curving the corners of her lips but she said nothing. "She thinks," Stephen continued, "that I could have no other possible reason for wanting to keep the chil-dred. chil-dred. It makes me feel as though 1 have taken advantage of a child." "A child, Stephen? Barbara is eighteen." Natalie remembered that "The Clephant Had a Baby, Uncle Stephen 1 Its Name Is Annabelle." at eighteen, she hadn't considered herself a chili "Of course In some ways she Isn't" Stephen admitted, his eyes troubled and grave. "She's never had time to be really young. Aunt Edith shouldn't leap to conclusions, though. Babble thinks Pm a nice old man. I think she's a dear little girL Anything else is absurd." "Are you in love with her, Stephen?" Ste-phen?" Natalie asked quietly He told her the story, then. He told ber about the Barbara be bad loved a very long time ago. "So you see," he said when he had finished, "if you and Aunt Edith must have one, there Is a reason why I can't let the children go." "A very good reason," Natalie said gently. It was strange to think that Stephen, always so quiet and reserved, should have been capable of romance. "It isn't only that," Stephen add ed, a little embarrassed at having told the story. "It's the children themselves. They're nice youngsters. young-sters. They'll keep me from getting too stodgy. 1 like having a family, although it is distracting at times." "Poor Stephen!" Natalie crossed swiftly to his chair, rumpled his hair In a lazy caress, lightly kissed his cheek. "I'm for you and the children," chil-dren," she said. "1 have Just discovered dis-covered that you are rather a dear." "A mutual discovery." He smiled and pressed her hand. They had no opportunity for further fur-ther talk. The front door opened. There were sounds of footsteps In the hall and shouts of "Uncle Ste phen." The children and Barbara burst Into the room, laughing eyes bright their cheeks nipped pink by the cold. The quiet was broken by gay excited voices. "The elephant had a baby. Uncle Stephen 1 Its name Is Annabelle." "Aren't the monkeys lovely? Tbey look like weazened old men." Stephen was lovely with the children, chil-dren, Natalie thought watching them surround him like a swarm of chirping locusts. Did she Imagine that his eyes turned most frequently to Barbara, sitting demurely amused in the big chair? Stephen was right She was a child. A lovely child, Ste phen was more than twice ber,pe. She felt all at once, close to Stephen, Ste-phen, afraid of him. There was goraething In his eyes. She didn't want bim to be hurt ITO BB CONTIXCED.I i IEMORIAL day is one of mem-iV1 mem-iV1 ories and dedicated to those we lost a day on which to remember, remem-ber, lest we forget The urge to mark the grave one has left undesignated un-designated should and does become strong at this time. In most Instances In-stances this Is the last gesture of love and respect for those who have gone. The "Bloody Angle" May 12, 1864 ,f EN fought from the top of heaps of dead men, till their own bodies were added to the pile and others came to take their places. Not a tree or a sapling was left alive and standing. One tree, nearly two feet In diameter, was literally lit-erally cut in two by musket balls." So the historic Elson speaks of the fighting in the "Bloody Angle" at the battle of Spotsylvania, May 12, 18G4. "The battle," he goes on, "was one of the most tremendous of modern timea . Had It continued another day, It would have surpassed Get A "The Battle Was One of the Most Tremendous of Modern Times." tysburg. Neither side won. The losses, about the same on each side, footed up the frigntiui total or su, OOO men." The "Bloody Angle," which Elson describes, is known to British military mil-itary historians as the Salient It was an almost octagonal bulge in Lee's battle line, protecting Spotsylvania Spotsyl-vania Court House. Manned by the remnants of Stonewall Jackson's veteran "foot cavalry," It was overwhelmed over-whelmed when Hancock's federals swept over the breastworks In the mists of dawn. Disordered by the excitement of their own success, the Union forces were at once attacked by Lee. The result was the deadliest dead-liest fighting of the Civil war.' Orderly furrows have replaced the ominous breastworks In some parts of the battlefront and farm produce pro-duce Is growing where once death swept by. Yet a great part of the "Bloody Angle" field is marked almost al-most as clearly as on the day when thousands - of valiant men were killed within and on either side of the sector. The trenches, which were partly filled and which later served as the burying ground for thousands, still are plainly visible Trees have grown up In the years that have passed, but they have served only to lend a softening touch to the view of the row of rifle pits In advance of the front line, the ammunition holes, the supporting sup-porting trenches and the gun em placements which General Lee built when Spottsylvania Court nouse was the wedge In the Federal line held by the Confederates. At the tip of this wedge now stand three small granite monuments monu-ments as tributes to the bravery of the New York, New Jersey and Ohio regiments that were mowed down by buckshot and rolnle balls from the guns of Lee's men. The "Bloody Angle" Is now a iMfiil breastwork covering four acres, and has been given to the United States by nr. ana sars. w -or T. Stuart of Philadelphia. Through their generosity It becomes. therefore, what It snouia ne, a pan of America's holy ground. New York Eveting Pest Has World Heard Last of Kreuger? Writer Sure International Swindler's "Suicide" Was a Fake. So you think Kreuger Is dead? Well, so do most people. But not In Sweden. There only a few people think so, Maria Lagar asserts, In Prager Tagblat Prague. Virtually nobody. It Is the talk of the country. coun-try. And what are they saying? That, of course, he Is alive. Where does he live? In hiding, of course. No one suspects it, and we shall say nothing more about It, but the fact Is that he Is living In the Ukraine. A great man, a man of such stature, especially one who did everything in such style, doesn't commit suicide. It doesn't appeal to him. Do you know the story about the nuns? Well, here it Is. Two nuns were praying at his deathbed which was most suspicious in Itself. For why should a Protestant have French nuns praying over him when he Is dead? But do you know how many nuns left the death chamber? Three. . v Whoever saw his body? Count them Just two persons. LIturIn, his most Intimate companion, and Miss Bokmann, his secretary. And the doctor. But the doctor saw only a dead body; he had never seen Kreuger alive. Remember that The doctor shrugged his shoulders whenever people talked to him about It He saw a body, but what does a body amount to? You can buy one for 25 francs In the morgue. Moreover, what they said about the body sounds suspicious. You know what the pallbearer In Stockholm Stock-holm said who carried Ivar Kreu-ger's Kreu-ger's casket? That he had never carried such a light one, and that he- had never known there to be such a strong smell of wax at a cremation. The pallbearer has a wide acquaintance ac-quaintance that Includes most of the people I know. He Is a fine fellow, very affable. But what concerns Salt Lake City's "Newest Hotel i,-. : - I "'it HOTEL TEMPLE SQUARE 200 Rooms 200 Tile Baths Radio connection in every room. RATES FROM 1.50 Jul oppoiitt Mormon TobtnttU ERNEST C ROSSITER, Mgr. V7NU W 2133 me Is that I know the woman who spoke to the doctor heivelf In person. per-son. You may not believe the pallbearer, pall-bearer, but you must believe the doctor. No, not the doctor In Paris, the other doctor who le much more Important, the doctor whom Ivar Kreuger has to thank for his new face. The things you can do with operations oper-ations nowadays! A new nose, new checks, a new forehead, a new chin, Ivar Kreuger can walk unconcerned along every street in the Ukraine, Nobody recognizes him, for the doctor doc-tor Is an artist and I know the woman wom-an who talked to him. 30,000 MILES AND MORE WITHOUT GRINDING VALVES The big new Dodge Six does more than talk economy it GIVES you economy 1 An amazing amaz-ing new invention, called the "inserted valve seat", made of fine chromium alloy, saves gas and cuts operating expense. Valves don't need grinding for 30 thousand miles or more. And that's only one of the sensational features of the big new Dodge Six just a few dollars more than the lowest priced cars t O Sensational o o o o o "SHOW DOWN" PLAN Sweeps Nation! Imagine a car that bIIs itself and doubles its sales almost overnight in city after city. That's what the new Dodge Is doing . . . laying its cards on the table . . . then asking any other car near its price to match It on the open road, in traffic and up hills. Qo to your nearest near-est Dodge dealer today end sk for the sensational "Show-Down" "Show-Down" score card. .Then make your own "Show-Down" test against any other car. DODGE with Floating Powe ngfjist mounting 115-INCH WHEELS AS E AND . DP e w $595 DoJg Eight $1115 to $1395. All price f. o. b. factory, Detroit. w3 rr t i i rt a mi a i tt ffiwHbs., Fine, toft and smooth eta tiUu it keeps the skin comfortable twenty-four hours of the day. It also does much to prevent chafing and irritation. Price 25c. ' Proprietor i i Potter Drag A Chemical Corp.. Maiden, Mi mM trf Wl Sir K1I Seed Dormant When fruits and seeds fall from the tree or smaller plants, the seede do not usually germinate at once; the shedding of fruits, with their seeds. Is followed by an Interval during which the seeds remain In a dormant state until tbey germinate. The interval may be a few months, a few years or possibly 100 years. Thii the Machine Age ' A ray that destroys all negatives In a camera or concealed about the person Is used by a European manufacturing concern on ail vis itors going through the entrance of the factory. It prevents the stealing steal-ing of Industrial secrets of machine designs or laboratory discoveries. Vicioat Circle A vicious circle Is a term of logic that Is applied to a form of argumentation argu-mentation In which the conclusion is virtually used to establish the premise, and then the premise Is used to prove the conclusion. It Is sometimes referred to as "reasoning "reason-ing In a circle. Danced to Piper' Tun A famous vase In the British ma seum depicts men dressed as birds and dancing to the music of a flut ist, probably referring to a the atrical chorus. The vase Is dated In the neighborhood of 500 R C and Is of Grecian origin. Cause of Anemia Anemia may be caused by any condition which interferes with normal nor-mal health or depletes the body reserves. re-serves. Not only the blood but all of the body cells are affected In anemia. Local and general Infections, Infec-tions, cancer, Bright's disease, and nutritional disturbances are common com-mon causes of anemia. Powdering the Hair The fad our Seventeenth and Eighteenth century ancestors had for powdering their hair arose from the custom of ballad singers at the fair of St Germain, who whitened their hair. Vulgar people adopted the Idea first, but it spread until It became a fashion among the higher classes. Honey Defined The United States Department of Agriculture has defined honey for purposes of preventing adulteration as follows: "Iloney Is the nectar and saccharine exudations of plants, gathered, modified and stored In the combs of honey bees." No Traffic Light Here Traveling without drivers the mail busses on the Arabian desert make a trip TOO miles long out of Bagdad and Beirut with steering wheels and throttles set The sun and stars are used J |