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Omelettes and Sympathyfor All Milly, Chop House Waitress, Not Only Extended Encouragement to Blue Cubs Endeavoring to Break late Newspaper Game, but Provided Material for Good Story y (Copyright by the Adams Newspaper Service, New York.) '.** ' •> EARL DERR JIGGERS. Newspaper men must eat, but the beginner Is expected not to overdo it. Xlis salary provides against that. Peter's chop house was, not so long Mo, a prescribed course for freshmen en a certain New York paper. More forcefully, It was a part of the inquisition that tortured the soul of the apprentice. The new man went there instinctively, sat on a perilous stool, and while his coffee cooled invented socialistic epigrams about the mfcn of Hatter pay envelopes who ate in the aelghborhood of the white lights. To find Peter's you shunned anything resembling a white light. The yath you chose led down murky streets lined with packing cases and littered With the excelsior of commerce. Your Sostrils were assailed by the odor of dead things; before your eyes Chinese laundry signs danced their crimson 'dance. Up the darkest alley of the lot you came upon Peter's, its window unwashed, half the white enamel letters Hissing from the legend that proclaimed It, „ , Inside the window a single gas lamp with broken mantle shed reluctant light upon the antique pastry and historic rolls that Peter would have termed his "display." Peter himself Was in a cage near the door, mild of Bianner for one behind bars, yellow of hair, greasy, the deluded victim of an idea that through fancy waistcoats ane may attain the picturesque, regardless of the waistcoat's cleanliness. Passing Peter, you took a stool near a narrow counter, and raised your eyes to the dirty walls where hung the fly- Staked "suggestions" for a meal. Fricassee of lamb with peas was only Sfteen cents, and there was also a Bpanish omelette^ equally inexpensive. Which, if you ordered it, recalled gratefully to your mind the thrashing of 18 When you had made your selection and lowered your eyfes, you gazed Straight into Milly's, just as she set the glass of water down before you. Milly was not beautiful. The sudden sight *f her as you gave your order induced no tremor of the voice. Ftar from it. Her hair was of an unclassified color, straight, scanty, devoid of the deceit of rat or puff. Her eyes were green, or blue, or gray, whatever you wished to call them; but whatever yon called them, they were Watery. Her complexion was sallow; her figure lean. And yet- When novelists exhaust their adjectives in describing a heroine they re- > Saark that she had "that indefinable Something about her" and let it go at that. Milly was an incomplete heroine. 6ho had that indefinable something, and nothing else. Drawn by a popular artist for the' cover of a best seller, Milly would have killed the book, and I yet she had that indefinable something as surely as have the fair ladies of Actional fame. Just what was the real name of that V'something" in Milly's case is hard to Say. Thinking it over at this distance, It must have been simply that Milly, • -far above the more happily dowered of her sex, knew how to understand and to sympathize. Through these twin talents she climbed to distinction in the hearts of the hopeless cubs. Hopeless is the word. To Milly's tounter lor their battered steaks came a,small army of boys who were at the moment the sick-hearted recipients of small pay and vast experience--a combination apt to result in sore reflection. Not a few among them were destined to go far in the profession, but for the time being they were all playing the role of the un»ler dog. They knew It. They referred to it bitterly as they waited for their coffee to cgol. And Milly, listening, understood and Spoke words of cheer. It was a night late in June when Milly glanced up from the bread she was slicing to see Randolph Spade enter Peter's chop house. Now, it was Ho small privilege--and the young tnan's manner intimated that he was aware of the fact--for a girl to be • allowed to look upon Randolph Spade. He was arrayed faultlessly, and the band about his straw hat was proof of membership in an exclusive college Club. Removing the hat--a proceeding Hovel to Peter's--he revealed hair brushed back straight from the forehead in the manner affected by stage juveniles and undergraduates. The forehead was high, the eyes by turn keen and visionary behind the glasses. Milly had him neatly classified before he took his seat; she knew his kind, and she knew that the path that stretched for them from Peter's to the eating places of the white lights was beset by difficulties of which the coarser travelers never dreamed. She smiled to herself as she took his order. When she had confided it to a greasy kitchen face that glared at her through the window at her back, she moved along the counter to where Jimmy Clark sat, clear eyed, above his pie. Know him?" she asked, nodding toward the newcomer. Clark's bloodshot eyes turned in the direction indicated. He was shabby mean, little; for ten years He had eaten his bread and salt with the cubs ,f-|at Peter's chop house. "Injustice" - ;%and "darned favoritism" he called it |but his breath as he told it was a more - likely explanation. | He gulped down the last of his mince ' pie. ' "New ldd," he muttered. "Name's ^Spade. Jnst out of college an' up against the harsh, crool world. One "of those pink-souled boys that shrink In a storm, I'll bet Just heard old .Macklin giving hiss hell as I came ~ out." Milly slipped a napkin into a turn- ^"'bler. "• "Nice-looking boy, ain't hpT" sha ' murmured approvingly. jg "Pink-souled," sneered Clark. "Too pretty for a city room. They 6oght to pin a nastauranium in his buttonhole and send him to do musical criticism." Milly took the omelette Spade had ordered from the slide, and set it down before him. In his eyes she read unhappy disillusionment, as she had read it in so many eyes before. Par more than the ordinary pity, - however, surged into her flat breast. "On a newspaper?" she inquired. He murmured something.- "A lot of boys who come in here are." she told him. "It's time now for the bunch from college. Pretty hard work at first, they say. Kind of--discouraging. After a while they make good, and then they cheer up. They tell me then it's a great game. They tell me. that when they come to lay-- good-by." 1 The boy made no response. "I'v% seen 'em come an' I've seen 'em go." Milly went on. "They've all been through what you got to tackle. There's Mr. Rose--Washington correspondent now--I hear about him from the boys. Makes big money, I guess. Seems it was only last night he was sittin' here telling me he was through with the work forever. Then he did that story on the Collin wreck and I haven't seen--he hasn't been here since." Milly paused, and reflectively mopped the counter with a very soiled rag. Rose had meant to her something more than the others had meant. His apprenticeship had been longer and harder--his success the more brilliant when it finally came. She thought often now of the nights he had sat there before her and she had urged him to stick it out. She wondered if Rose thought of them--at all. "Your day will come," said Milly suddenly. "You'll make good like the rest." "I don't know," Spade replied withoat Interest. Milly say that she had not yet won her place. She r«9hembered that it had been Macklin who had given the new man "hell." "It ain't so long ago." she said confidentially, "that Mr. Macklin, your city editor, was sitting here looking sick of life. He came in an' told me he was going to take up bricklaying and let the newspaper profession get along without him. Say, he was blue." Spade had looked from his omelette, and a smile brightened his face. "I'm glad to hear it." he said. "Tell me about some of the others." And before Milly set his dessert before him, she knew she was fully installed in her old role of comforter and friend. Many times, during the two months that followed, was Milly permitted to play her ancient part for this boy's benefit. Randolph Spade had been the pet of a nicely fastidious English department at Harvard. He had edited the monthly magazine and written poems that compared favorably with those of a certain Swinburne. His critique on Edward Thompson, whoever Mr. Thompson may have been, had been pleasantly noticed by a celebrated New York editor. At one time it had been whispered about that he was writing a blank-verse drama for Maude Adams to star in. In consequence of these dignified activities, Mr. Spade had lofty Ideas of journalism that conformed but poorly to those of hiB city editor. Being wise despite his crocheted necktie and elaborate stickpin, he kept them to himself and thus managed to hold his job. But they galled on his soul rainy nights when he had to travel ten miles into the suburbs to talk with a gentleman whose daughter had eloped with the coachman, and he wondered dimly as to the why and wherefore of it all, in terms dear to the philosophy department at Cambridge. Nightly, when the pap^ had gone to press, he would confide to Milly his doubts and fears, and over the steak and pie she would give him from her great store of comforting examples. "Your turn'U come," she would tell him, as she had told so many others. "You just need the big chance to bring you out. I've seen it happen again and again. Your time'll come, an' then-- It'll be good-by to Peter's." "But, Milly," he said many times, "I can't write any more. I did the best class poem the college had known in years--that's what the papers said, at least--and here my stuff sounds as though the office boy had written it. I thought newspaper work meant reviewing shows and writing editorials on the situation in Turkey--and this afternoon I had to go over to Trenton and ask a bigamist how his second wife got on to the fact that there was a number one. The work's degrading. I'm going to drop out." "No, you're not," it was Milly's cne to say. "You're ^no quitter. You Just need the big c&ance, an' you'll write as good as ever. The chance will come---an' I'll never see you again." As the weeks passed Milly repeated more and more often those last words --"I'll never Bee you again." So It had always happened in .the past, and she knew it must come in Spade's case. Fight as she would against the feeling, she realized that she was beginning to dread this boy's departure from Peter's as she had dreaded that of no other--save possibly that of Rose. Young ladles who are addicted to chocolate creams and James K. Hackett will pronounce Milly in love. That thing is so absurd that the very thought of it would have shocked her. Milly knew well the limitations of watery eyes, unclassified hair, and sallow cheeks. Though she was fond of read* Ing about it in cheap magazines, she never aspired to love. She regarded attainable tor cms of watery eyes) she knew, was the role of sympathetic friend, and she played it hungrily, arer longing for new lines. It was her love of this role that mast serve as the only explanation of her conduct on the night that Rodney Grant drifted into Peter's chop house-- that and the thoughts Inspired by the chance return of Rose. For Rose came back. The cub of other days, whom MlUy'B comments had cheered to his first success, wandered back one evening for another look at Peter's dirty walls and a word with Milly. The latter caught a glimpse of him as he entered, clad in tweeds, a Jaunty stick in his gloved hand, a chrysanthemum in his buttonhole, the smile of the well-fed ^ his face. She nearly dropped the plate of macaroni in her hand. He sat down and smiled laid her eyes. "Well, Milly, I'm back." ° ( **So I see. It's not for long?" "WeJ.1--no. Just for one mors meal. Merely to recall old days." ;• • , "What--what will you havi|*\ ^ He laughed. , * "Aren't you glad to see me, Milly?" She looked him over. "Sure I am," she said. "What's yOur order?" He gave it--his choice of the lesser evil in the old days. There fell an uncomfortable pause. Milly wanted to talk, but the words would not come. Her old formula of sympathy, with which she cheered the hopeless, seemed foolish twaddle in the face of Rose's evident success. In the presence of the tweeds, the chrysanthemum, the smile, Milly was as silent as one of Peter's clams. Rose began to regret that he had yielded to his whim. Soon his order was ready, and he looked at the concoction with an absurdly serious face as he removed his yellow chamois gloves. Had he ever really eaten such stuff as this? The steak was thin and leathery, fried in gloomy grease. His well-bred stomach, pampered in many gilt grill rooms, revolted. • At that moment Jimmy Clark, master of the small touch, his breath eloquent by its strength of his weakness, crept along the counter. His voice sounded in Rose s ear. "Say, Rosie, I'm down an' out. Hungry, an' not a cent in my jeans--" Rose turned to him quickly. "Hello, Jimmy," he cried, "this is luck! I've j'-8t ordered a steak and haven't the time to eat it. Sit down and help yourself." He was already sliding from his stool. Clark's cheeks flushed almost as red as the nose between. ?Not good enough for you, eh?" he said. "Well, it ain't good enough for me either, then. It ain't good enough for me. Understand?" And he shuf-, fled out of Peter's into the dingy alley. Rome's face flushed as he climbed back to the stool. One or two minutes over the steak proved his limit of gameness, and with never a look in Milly's direction, he hurried away. For some time Milly sat looking straight ahead of her. She saw Rose's great mistake. Peter's chop house and her own faded Bmile were not for those who had made good. A gulf ten thousand timeB wider than her counter lay between her and all such. She could only serve her brief apprentice friendship to the. boys who had yet to win--and once they won they could never come back to her. These thoughts were in her mind the night Rodney Grant drifted into Peter's and sat at the greasy counter. This is in no sense ifodpey Grant's story, try as he may to make it his own. He was fond of the limelight-- the proud strut upon the glaring stage --and he had his turn. But before he came to Peter's for a cup of coffee hiB act had been ended and the curtain forever down upon his fleeting fame. Rodhey Grant had been a hero. Military, I think, for the' old photographs pictured him in gold braid. He. had done something fine, or brave, or, more likely, only spectacular, and for a time his name was on men's lips. But being a hero in these fickle days is like being a skyrocket--a flash, and then a long, lonely drop In the dark. Grant's drop had landed him, useless and whining, in the army of tattered ghosts that haunt the New York parks by night and forage for food by day. Unrecognized, he crept along his unlovely way, embittered by his memories of old. Unrecognized, that is, until he chanced into Peter's and Milly took hiB order. On the wall of Milly's narrow hall bedroom, close by her bureau where she could study their faces as she frizzed her colorless hair, hung a gallery of the handsome great clipped from inexpensive magazines. Prominent in the collection was the photograph of Rodney Grant, taken in the pleasanter days. Often had Milly studled it as she sought to train her wilful locks--so often that when the real Rodney Grant came Into Peter's and growled his order to her over the cluttered counter, through the stubble of beard and the hard lines of failure she recognized him at once. At first she merely reflected upon the strangeness of it all--of this man, who had been feted and wined, who had lunched with a president, sitting in Peter's chop house, ragged and homeless, awaiting a ten-cent meal. It was what the cheap magazines Milly read would term romance. If written up-- Then It flashed on her. Here was a story that would set a writing man on fire. Here was human Interest, news, pathos, romance, and even humor. It might prove the big story by means of which some man, hitherto halting and confused in bis work, should find himself. The making, for Instance, of Randolph Spade. He was sitting not ten feet away. Milly moved rapidly toward him. Here was his chance--If he would only see it. He must see it--if he couldn't he was not meant for the newspaper game, after all. He would see It, and it would be the turning point. Milly saw him in Rose's tweeds, carrying Rose's stick, wearing Rose's stranger's smile. The' sight sickened her. Now, analyzing the motives of a woman would be like attempting a chart of a storm at sea. There will it as tar and unattainable. Byt ' try hers to tabulate and explain the many conflicting currents. Suffice it to record what happened. Milly moved close to Spade and, smiling at him, refilled his water glass. Then she passed on to where a fresh cub, whom she disliked, was struggling with an order of ham and eggs. She whiBpered into the cub's ear. He was a writer, if he was fresh, and his face lit up like a sunrise. He deserted bis supper on the instant and followed the disappearing Grant into the street. Milly went back again and passed through the motion of filling Spade's glass, although he had not touched it in the interval. "How's things?" she asked. "Pretty bad," he said. "Sams old grind." "Never mind," she began. "You'll--" But the realization of her treachery rose suddenly and choked back the words. She turned and began furiously to cut bread for sandwiches. When Spade came in the next night Milly avoided his eyes as she set the glass of water down before him. r "What'll it be tonight?" she hazarded. • The boy leaned suddenly across the counter. 1 "Milly," ha said, "J thought you were my friend." . Milly's startled gaze sought his. "Why--sure," she said. "Have you seen X0un# Long's story?" he asked. Her eyes fell. • • "The one on Grant," lie We?rtt on. "It's something of a story, Milly--but no wonder. Think of It--an interview in( City Hall park at midnight with a bum who had once--I'd like a chance at a story like that. Long has struck twelve--they're raising him, I understand. He's been here only a month. Milly, I thought you were my friend," "Why--" began Milly. "Long told me you gave him the tip," went on Spade. "I didn't come here to knock--I just want to understand. You passed me to give him the tip, and all along you have been saying you hoped--" "It was the truth!" cried Milly fiercely. "I did hope you'd make good. I wanted you to. Honest I did--but--" "What?" "Not so soon." She was kicking a bread tin under the corner with her shabby toe. Her unlovely hands fumbled a napkin. "I'm pleased to see Long go," she said softly. "I didn't like him. I'm pleased to see him get into the gladrag class and cut this place forever. But--but--" She was blushing. It was a pitiful blush. It spread Its pink through her sallow cheeks and up into the roots of her uninteresting hair. Spade turned away. 'Til have the Spanish omelette tonight, Milly," he said. While she served him he studied her furtively. For the first time the sordid little tragedy of her role in life dawned upon him. She and her sympathy made but an early way station at which men stopped for a moment on their journey to success and then passed on, forgetting her forever in the dazzle of a new life. And it was Milly's lot to stay behind--and remember. Spade watched her. He was seeing more clearly than he had seen in months--seeing the tragedy that is life. An idea--big, startling, compelling--stirred within him. Still he watched Milly. When he had paid his check and gone out into the alley, he paused to think. His rooms lay to the north, the office to the south. The idea stirred big within him--words danced before his eyes--it was thus he had felt the night he wrote the best class poem his college had ever known. He turned to the south, and a moment latter entered the city room of his paper. At one end of the place a few late shift men sat huddled over their copy. Mounted on a table in the darker end of the room was Jimmy Clark, the worse for wear, orating to the office cat upon the unequalities of our present system of government. Spade turned on a green shaded lamp and opened his typewriter desk. "Answer me thish," demanded Jfmmy of the cat. "While bushlness continues t' corrupt gov-government what chansh has a poor man? Eh?" Spade drew his typewriter closer, thrust his feet into a waste-basket, and began to write. On the three fallowing nights Randolph Spade did not come to Peter's chop house at all, and Milly arrived at the unhappy conclusion that her failure to give him the Grant story had angered him. Then fell the Saturday night that ends this story. It rained that night--a gusty, lashing autumn rain that swept madly through the downtown streets to find them silent and deserted, like thoroughfares in a city built by carelebs people and forgotten. At midnight Jimmy Clark came into Peter's for a cup of coffee. The water glistened on his shoddy coat and ran in rivulets from his cheap derby. He flung wide his coat, scattering glittering drops in every direction, and let fall to the floor the Sunday section of a newspaper. "This isn't on the street yet," he said, picking it up and laying it on the counter. "I thought I'd bring you a* advance copy, Milly. There's a Btory in it you'll .want to read." "Whose?" Milly Inquired. "Spade's," returned Clark, taking a seat. "Made a big hit with it San^e old gag. Here I been on the paper ten years--on an' off--but it's the kids get the plums." "So he's made good?" said Milly smilingly. "I certainly am glad to hear it. Where'd he get his Btory? What's it about?" Clark laughed his unpleasant laugh. "It's about you," he said. "A little sketch of you, Milly." Milly grasped the counter and looked at him Queerly. "Draw me a cup of coffee an' slide over a couple of sinkers," he went on, "while I find it for you.?* She set the things before him and he handed her the paper, his dirty finger pointing to a - two-column story. As Milly took the sheet the heading, "Omelettes and Sympathy for All," caught her eye. She settled down and rea(i, the pink flush in her cheeks. The paper Milly held in her hand was not given much to illustration, but it needed no artist's brush to comj^ icture }iq<| fli*f win of a certain girl he called Tilly. As Milly read she realised this. Mercilessly he had painted her as she was; cruelly he had exhibited to the reading public the tragedy that was her life. Nor had her featured escaped. He reveled in her lusterless hair, her faded eyes, her sallow, cheeks. It was the Inspired work of a man who had newly found himself, and the subject was--Just Milly. While Clfirk guzzled his coffee Milly read it through. Strange emotions struggled in her flat breast. So this was her pay. She had kept from him, in her selfishness, the story that could have made him, and In revenge he had turned upon her. By her colorless hair, her nondescript eyes, her unlovely cheeks, he had climbed to his success. They had been as the rungs of his ladder. Now he would leave her, as had the others, forever, and wntle she had thought she was keeping him, she was aiding him to go--just by^being herself. She clutched the damp paper in her hands. "--rank injustice," Clark was saying. "They're going to make room for him on the Sunday staff in a few weeks. And here I been with--" Milly did not hear. She clutched the paper. "Tell Spade," she said slowly, "that I'm glad he made good." "Why--can't you tell him y<durself?" muttered Clark. "I won't see him," she , explained. "He won't be back bere% Not even to say good-by--after this." 1 She held out the paper with a pa;, thetic gesture. Clark wiped his scraggly mustache with his handkerchief. "Well, all right," he said. "IH tell him. You spilled thfe salt Milly. That's bad luck." He handed his dime to Peter at the desk, and paused to light the Cheapest of cheap cigarettes. Then he drew his head down into his coat, like a turtle retir)ng into his shell, and dodged out Into the dripping alley. For a time Milly sat alone behind the counter with the brilliantly writ ten story of her life before her. Here and there she read odd snatches-- good bits over which the author must have smacked his lips as he wrote. One in particular held her: "There are blue rings under Tilly's eyes, and those who sit at her counter often wonder if she may not cry at night over some romance of the pots and pans--some poor little love affair that was quickly told to the clattering accompaniment of heavy crockery--" Milly crumpled the paper on her la£ and bowed her head on the greasy counter. With an almost angry gesture she raised her arms to shut out the sight of Peter's soiled waistcoat and the faded legends on th(B wall. Suddenly the door slammed, ancf she lifted her head to find Randolph Spade standing before her. Worry-- and the brief remorse of youth--were in his eyes. He drummed uneasily upon the counter. "Milly," he began, "I want to be the first to tell you--and then I want to ask your pardon. In tomorrow's paper--" f She shook her head. "You're too late," she told him. "Pre seen it." "Milly," he cried, *'I may live a hundred years and make a million mis* takes, but I'll never be so sorryas I am tonight!" She did not reply, > ' "I wish I could make you under* stand," he hurried on, "how things has* pen in a newspaper office--with everybody running round like mad, and no time to think. This came to me all at once, Milly-^it was the big story we'd talked about. I didn't think of anything else--just what a good story it was. And then--afterward--it came to me you might be--hurt. I'd given them the story, and they wouldn't let me have it back." He looked at her pleadingly. "I asked for it back. They wouldn't let me have it--laughed at my reasons. Milly--you've got to forgive me for this." Milly smiled--a smile faded to match the suggestions lor meals that hung all about. "There's nothing to forgive," she said. "I ain't sore. Not a bit. I'm glad you'vu made good--and--I'm glad I could help you to do it. I'm glad you could use my hair, mi' my eyes, an' my--" "Milly!" he cried. | f "Oh, I didn't mean that,1" she assured him. "Don't feel bad--on my account. We're just as good friends as ever, only-\only of course we wont meet so often now. I ain't a bit sore." "I'm glad you look at It that way, Milly," said Spade, who was, after all, very young. "I certainly owed you this apology, though." Milly Bhuddered--a shudder of the soul that showed outwardly not at all. Already he was justifying to himself his apology. Tomorrow, and, so far as he was concerned, the Incident would be'closed forever. "It's raining pretty hard outside, ain't It?" she said, in a tired voice to match her smile. "I •should say It Is," returned Spada "Sorry I can't stay and talk, Milly, but I have to meet soma fi^ends up at-- that is--I can't stay. See yoa again soon. Good night." "Good-by," said the wiser Milly. He turned, the door slammed, and he was gone into the dark of the alley Peter, awakened from a nap, hurried from his cage into the center of th« room. "How is it?" he cried. "He pays mt nothing. No check. How is it, Milly?" Milly brushed back a lock of her much discussed hair from, her Journalistically famous eyes. "It's all right," she said. "He didnt eat nothing. He JuSt dropped in for a word with me. He ain't--be alnt eating here no more." ^ - • ' ' . Insurance.-^./.**' . t Of the three kinds of Insurance, marine Is probably the oldest. The object of this Insurance contract is to indemnify against loss of property la the course of navigation. A ship, her cargo, and the ship's earnings are insured against fire und the many perils of the voyage. Marine Insurance was practiced by the Venetians in the fifteenth century. In England it was la active operation In the sixteenth «so- PUTS NOVEL DEFENSE Woman Alleges That She Stole Only When Hypnotized f.}% by Mate. < Dallas, Tex.---Attorney for Mrs. Madeline Tether, pretty 22-year-old brunette, of this city, charged with stealing patent rights valned at more than {100,000, insist the woman Is innocent of any crime because she acted under the hypnotic influence of her husband, t In suppoty of the claims made by her attorneys, Mrs. Tether was taken to the office of District Attorney William J. Plerson, where she was hypnotized and where she performed a number of seemingly Im possible acts. Health physicians who witnessed the demonstrations jabbed her with -needles apd made other tests which proved her trance was not a fraud. It Is the first time In Ihe South that snch.a plea has been enteied In any .criminal case, and as a result attorneys and jurists are watching the outcome with interest. According to Noah Roark, one of Mrs. Tether's attorneys, she was an- Youths Rescued Frotn Mountain?•'S *i" . in Washinuton Sever Spoken.' VJy,:, MARVEL AT CITY LIFf .%!> ^>1 V-1$: "M '• / Hypnotizing His Wife. der a hypnotic spell when she was married,three years ago. At times after the marriage her husband would throw his wife into a trance and allow her to lie for days at a time while he was absent from home. He did not want her to speak to another man or have anything to do with neighbors or any one other than himself. It is alleged that Tether knew the place where the drawings desired were concealed and that, after nypnotfeing his wife, he commanded her to go and get the drawings. She obeyed, but, 11 is alleged, only. did as commanded and therefore cannot be punished for the crime. _ WAITED TEN YEARS IN VAIN San Francisco Woman Kept Lamp In Window to ReclSim Wandering Husband. San Francisco.--Each night for ten long years a light glowed in the window of Mrs. Adeline Fields' home In this city, to guide the footsteps of her wandering husband, WilNam F. Fields. But Fields never returned. Then, one morning, Mrs. Fields blew out the light and went downtown to the office of a lawyer, where she applied for a divorce. "I married William Fields in Beptember, 1909," she told the lawyer, "and he left soon afterward. For ten years I have been waiting for him to return and have written numberless lettqrs. Each night during those ten years I hove kept a light burning in the front window for him. But I have decided at last that I have been deserted and I want a divorce." Judge Graham granted her a divorce. Gypsy Girl, 14 Years Old, Has Been Wed 12 Times Although only fourteen years old, Rosa Marks, gypsy, has been married 12 times, she told the police at Omaha, Neb. Each tfme her father collected "compensation" and then secured her release through the courts because of her tender years. Brothers, Who Lived With Deaf Sister and Who Communicated -In Sign Language, Learning to .Talk. r 8eattle.--Ernest and Herbert Kss«|^ ^ * ten and twelve years old, respective!^, ly, rescued from the cabin they buillf in the Green river wilderness in Washfe ington with their nlneteen-year-olijp deaf mute sister, are in a children'!^ hospital at Seattle, learning , the wool*:' ders of writing and speech. Whil# the lads are able to build a honsd keep a Are, plant and till crops an|jj,: shoot Bqulrrela out of tree tops, wise*' Juvenile court officers found then| they had never played nor spoken word. J:; The boys had grown up togethei£, , , communicating by the sign languagf > taught them by their silent sister^' Their father thought they, too, werf mutes. Loving by nature, healthy, strong, passionately fond of each oth> er's company, clever at shooting am|> • Ashing on the 80-a ere homestead takn> en up by their father. William Kosi^ - in the Cascade mountains, Ernest an#' '-;A' Herbert have seen for the first tlm#. -" an automobile, a street car and V moving-picture show; Nurses In th« hospital are confident that the boys will learn to talk. Father's Strange 8tory. Bora in the province of Westphalia, Germany, William Kos», the father, said he had spent three years in the army. The major of his battalion was the former kaiser, then Prince William. The day following his marriage he sailed for the United States and, in 1888, settled on the eastern shore of Green river, Eleven children were born. Koss said the mother was in, nervous and irritable during the last eight or nine years of her life. This caused^ her to pass the two small boys on t<IS; I the care of the others very often*1 ' Each member of the family, he said, f apparently preferred his or her own solitude, and the two boys, Herbert and Ernest, were ileft to the care of their deaf mute sister. Tried to Help Boys.' s "And-that's how they never learned to talk," wild the father earnestly, - FOUGHT DUEL FOR WOMAN One ,Msn Left Dying on Mountain- 'in New Jersey, the Victor a Fugitlvti Jersey City.--In one of the loneliest spots at Garrett mountain, N. J., two Italians fought a duel for the : ffectlons of a pretty Italian girl. One of the duelists was killed and the other is a fugitive. The young woman, Frances Genarro, 26, Is under arrest as a material witness. She admits, tly» police say. that Salvatore Noblle, a former service man, and SalVatore Guererie were rivals for her hand, and agreed to settle the question with knives. Noblle, his heurt pierced by the knife of his rival, was found dead on the mountain the following day. < She Made Signs to Them and Thsy Returned These Signs.' "They lived almost wholly with Clans, and she made" signs to them and they returned these signs. It was-n't until ithe last several years that I came to | see that they were not deaf and dumb like Clara. Then I tried to do what . I could for them." The aged father purchased a phono- ! graph. The boys learned, he declared, to sing "My Old Kentucky Home," a story of a Chinese "wasliee-washee" man and a German song. Thes>e three' I songs they reproduced with accuraf* j melodic effect, according to the father, : although he admitted that they did : not know the meaning of the word^ they repeated. Later on they made their own phonograph and installed it .in the little house they built in int* ltation of their older brothers, an tan strument, however, as dumb as them* selves. "I could not send them to school." Koss declared. "I khew that the oth« er children would' laugh at them because they could not talk and that the teacher # would lose patience with them." He would not permit theni to "cross the river," which means to civilization. Crew of Lake Steamer Drqwnetf. Whlteflsh Point, Mich.--Eighteen persons, comprising the crew of the steamer Myron, are believed to have been lost In a gale which swept Lake Superior. The Myron foundered off this city and no trace of the ctow has been discovered. % . ./ ' Heir Dies on Trip to Claim Estate. Reno. Nev.--After leaving home here for Australia, to claim a fortune of $100,000, Julius Teitleman was stricken with paralysis while in San Fcaa cIsco, and lied in that city. Jealous Girl Shot Fellow Student. Columbus.--Blanche Davidson, nineteen. an Ohio Wesleyan freshman, iaa confessed according to the authorities, that she ehot Gladys Racey. an* other student, on November 14. Both Miss Racey and Miss Davidson sr* said to have found favor lir the eyes of a male student, and jealousy la given as the cause of Miss Davidson's act v Must Judge His Bro{hei*s Wife. Durham, N. C.--Julian S. Carr faces' the task of deciding whether or not his sister-in-law was living happiljf with her husband at the time of the letter's death. If he decides afftrma* tively. his relative will become a beneficiary under her husband's will. If not she gets nothing. Profiteering Butcher Paid Heavy Fine* New Xork.--Convicted of hqvtng^ given a customer short weight, butcher was ordered by the court tS jpsj a line ot S1Q0. i : I \ -AVrtiWV