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Show HI 3 MVJESTY, m fir - r- s-S) y Mil "r ' jS I pastures new where the calves flourish flour-ish as the green bay tree. If it be fifty miles, walk, an' run when you get tired ; If a thousand, walk an' run an' beg, an' steal rides on freight trains only go, as my fallln' tears implore. An' now " here a paper boy, attracted attract-ed by his gesticulations, darted up and tipped the box so that the orator slid ingloriously into the mud. Charlie laughed in spite of himself, then his face became grave. Beneath the lightness light-ness of the speaker's words had been an undercurrent of seriousness which appealed directly to his discouragement discourage-ment and homesickness. Yes, he would go home. As the street boy rose and wiped the mud from his face, Charlie stepped up to him. "Thank you for your advice," he said. "I'm going to take it." "Honest?" with a ring of satisfaction satisfac-tion In his voice. "Then, fare ye well, an' If forever but say," as Charlie was starting down the sidewalk, "give me a tip to your barrel, an' mebbe-I'll come out an' spend my vacation with you next summer." Charlie laughed, and then, on a sud- Thanksgiving f Acquaintance p By FRANK HERBERT SWEET t (, 1923. Western Newspaper Union.) NB year ago Charlie had come to the city to make fj f his fortune. He was TT1 fond of farming and H farm stock; but they x were a slow means to wealth. He would go to the city for the fortune, and then would come back and purchase the best farm In the vicinity and have fine horses and big meadows and envious neighbors. Now he was standing on a street corner, with hands thrust deep down Into his pockets and wearing the same clothes he had brought from home. But the clothes were soiled and worn threadbare and shiny, and the shoes were unblacked, and the hat lacking part of its brim ; and long ago he had discarded such extras as collars col-lars and cuffs. The fingers of one hand played idly with his last two half dollars, both of which were owed for the poor little room he rented on one of the back streets ; and the other fingers fin-gers touched several pawn tickets, which he had no expectation of redeeming. re-deeming. Indeed, he was wondering dully if there were anything else In his trunk that could be pawned. He s ! TABLE LINEN IMPORTANT pHE real, original and genu-Ine genu-Ine Thanksgiving dinner must boast a turkey and cranberry cran-berry sauce If it is to be strictly strict-ly orthodox in regard to the menu. Tradition demands this. Good linen plays a very important impor-tant part In the way the table will look when set. It is al-ways al-ways advisable to buy as good linen as you can possibly afford, ! for it proves a wise Investment In the long run. An embroidered monogram is a handsome finish to a good cloth, but It is less noticeable there than on the napkins which for dinner should be large and !! square. For embroidery the long slender letters are preferred. It Is a pretty sentiment at a Thanksgiving dinner to use dishes which are heirlooms for one course. G- back into space and beat a lively accompaniment ac-companiment to the conclusion of the tune. Then he looked at Charlie. "Now, what's broke with you?" he demanded. "You ain't stalled, an' you got shoes on your feet." "But I can't eat my shoes," Charlie retorted. "And the two coins I have left are to pay for my room. And what's more, I'm out of a job. 'Twasn't much sweeping out offices but it meant a roof, and something to eat." The street boy stopped drumming and looked at htm with more Interest. " Tis sort o' bad," he acknowledged. "An' you're bein' from the country an' knowin' nothin' makes It worse. What'd you come for?" "Why, to get rich, of course," Charlie Char-lie answered. "What does anyone come to the city for?" "Huh !" derisively, "an' here I've been lookin' ahead to goin Into the country to get rich. Say, do you have fellers like me, an' like that crowd on the sidewalk, up In your country?" Charlie looked at him, and then at the half-dozen disreputable men who were smoking In front of a billiard-room billiard-room opposite, and the two or three women sorting over an ash-barrel, and the squalid, dirty-faced children playing play-ing and fighting along the gutter, and answered with an expression of disgust dis-gust : "No, indeed!" "Thought so. Then the country's the richest and best place." He looked at Charlie a little enviously. "Say, you got horses an' cows an' dogs an' chickens, an' a pa an' ma, an' green grass an' fishln' up there?" he demanded. "Of course," with eager recollection In his voice; "and miles and miles of woods where we go after chestnuts and grapes In the fall, and big ponds to skate on in the winter." "An' you run away from them for this?" snatching his fragment of a cap ami hurling it into the gutter as expressive ex-pressive of his unutterable disgust. Then he stood upon the box and stretched himself to his full height, raising his hand as though to invoke a benediction. "My son," he said, solemnly, "go home an' eat the fatted calf an" your ma's doughnuts. Tarry not. Haste to Gave It to the Boy. den impulse, he wrote his address and gave it to the boy. "We'd like first-rate to have you come," he said heartily, "and we'll try to give you a good time." This seems the proper end for the story; but I want to add that the street boy did visit them the next summer, sum-mer, and that they gave him such a good time he concluded to remain and work for them permanently. There Was No Propect for a Dinner. had had no breakfast, and there was no prospect for a dinner and this was Thanksgiving. A few yards away, a street boy was sitting on a drygoods box, swinging his bare feet rhythmically to the tune he was whistling. But his eyes were fixed on the listless figure of his neighbor. "Say, Country," he called, suddenly, "what you thlnkln' of?" Charlie flushed but did not answer. ' "Come, don't make an owl o' yourself," your-self," the boy went on. "There ain't nothin' in this world to fret over. Look here," swinging his legs upon the box "no clothes to spare, an' what there is ain't much for cold weather. An' my jacket's lost an arm, an' my shirt most of one shoulder. An', furthermore," pausing to indulge in another bar of the street ditty he was whistling, "I ain't had no breakfast, break-fast, an' only a cold pertater for supper sup-per last night; an' still I ain't no spilt milk to cry over." His legs swung |