Carr Loria was at Heluan when he received Pauline’s telegram. For a few moments he studied it, and then going to a hotel office, he possessed himself of a telegram blank which he proceeded to write on, by the use of a type-writer near-by. With a preoccupied look on his face, as if thinking deeply, he called Ahri and gave him a long and careful list of directions. And it was in pursuance of these directions that the Arab presented himself at Shepheard’s at ten o’clock in the morning and asked for Miss Stuart. “What is it, Ahri?” asked Pauline, as she received the dragoman in her sitting room. “Miss Stoort,” and the Arab was deeply respectful, “Mr. Loria begs that you go with me to Sakkara to visit the Pyramids and Necropolis.” “Now?” said Pauline, in surprise. “Yes, my lady. Mr. Loria will himself meet you at the station. Will you start at once, please?” “But I am expecting a caller—Mr. Stone,——” “Pardon, but Mr. Loria said if you hesitated for any reason, to implore you to go with me quickly, and he will explain all.” Pauline paled a little, but she said, simply, “Very well, Ahri, I will go at once.” Escorted by the silent, majestic-mannered Arab, Pauline was taken through the crowded streets to the station, and they boarded a train just as it was leaving. “We did get the train, Miss Stoort,” said Ahri, with his sad smile, “Mr. Loria would be greatly mad if we had missed it. Yes.” Pauline nodded at him, her thoughts full of the spoiled day, which she had hoped to spend with Stone. Yet she longed to see Carr, she wanted to tell him what Mr. Stone had said about the beauty charm and—— “You said Mr. Loria would meet us at the station, Ahri; you put me on the train so quickly I had no chance to speak. Where is he?” “Not the Cairo station, my lady. The station at Bedrashein.” “Where is that?” “Where we are going. We alight there to see the ruins of Memphis and the Pyramids of Sakkara.” Pauline looked puzzled, but said no more and sat silently wrapped in her own thoughts, now of Stone, now of Carr, and again of herself. At Bedrashein, they left the train. Pauline looked anxiously around but saw nothing of her cousin. “I do not see him,” said Ahri, gravely, meeting her inquiring glance; “but I obey his orders. He said, if he be not here, we go to the desert to meet him.” “To the desert? How? Where?” “This way. Here are our carts.” Ahri led the way to where two sand-carts stood waiting, evidently for them. They were a little like English dog-carts and drawn by desert horses. “You take that one, Miss Stoort, and I this,” directed Ahri, standing with outstretched hand, like a commanding officer. Bewildered but knowing the responsibility of Carr’s servant, Pauline got into the cart he indicated. She did not at all like the looks of the gaunt black Moor who drove her, but thought best to say nothing. She had learned never to show fear of the native servants, and she held her head high, and gave the driver only a haughty stare. Ahri, after she was arranged for, sprang into the other cart, and they set off. The road was through the village, through palm groves, past large expanses of water, and at last through desert wastes, among foot-hills that quickly cut off the view of the road just traversed. Pauline’s cart was ahead of the other, and looking back she could not see the other one, in which Ahri rode. A strange feeling began to creep into her heart. Covertly she glanced at her driver. The hard bony face was not turned her way, but she had an uncanny sense that the man was grinning at her. Sternly she bade him stop and wait for the other cart. “No Ingleese,” he rejoined, with a dogged expression on his ugly countenance. “I command you,” and Pauline laid hold of his arm, “I insist that you stop!” “No Ingleese,” he repeated, and now he gave her a distinctly impudent look and spurred the horse to faster pace. Pauline considered. She was frightened beyond words to express, but she knew she must not show fear. Haughtily she held her proud little head aloft, and tried to think what was best to do. Something was wrong, that she knew, but whether it was Ahri who was at fault, or this dreadful man beside her, or—or,—she stifled back the thought of Loria. He would save her, she knew he would, cried her worried brain, but in her heart was black doubt. All the unadmitted fears she had known of late, all the repressed suspicions, all the insistent doubts, these came flocking, clamoring for recognition. On they went,—where they might be she had no idea. Nothing could be seen but the never-ending hills, not high, but of sufficient height to cut off all view of anything but their sandy slopes. Miles and miles they traversed. The sun was under a cloud, and Pauline had no knowledge of the direction they were taking. But from the man’s grim, stony face, and cruel eyes, she knew she was in dreadful, even desperate danger. Courageously, she insisted over and over that they stop. The reply was only a shaken head and a reassertion that English was an unknown tongue. This Pauline knew to be a lie, from his intelligent expression at her words. At last, desperately trying to control her trembling hands, she offered her purse, if he would stop. To her surprise, he consented, and jerked his horse to a stand-still. Pauline handed over the purse, and the driver got out of the cart, indicating by gestures that she should also alight, and rest herself. The cart was small, and the ride had been uncomfortable, so after a moment’s thought Pauline jumped out. She reasoned that the man having her money, had no desire to prolong the trip, and in a moment they would go back to Bedrashein. Often had she heard of these robberies, and she felt that, cupidity satisfied, she had little to fear. But no sooner was she on the ground, than the Moor sprang again into his cart, and whipping up his horse, sped away across the desert sand and in a minute rounded a hill and was out of sight. Pauline looked after him an instant, and then, realizing to the uttermost what it meant,—that she was abandoned to her fate in a trackless desert,—fell in a little heap on the sands and fainted away. It was about eleven o’clock on the morning of that same day, that Carr Loria went to Shepheard’s Hotel and asked for Fleming Stone. The two men met, and eyed each other appraisingly. There was no light chat, each was of serious face and in grave mood. Loria spoke first, after the short greeting. “I have a telegram from my cousin, Miss Stuart,” he said, drawing a paper from his pocket. “I know why you are here, Mr. Stone, and I think best to show you this. Frankly, I am glad of it.” Stone took the message, and read: I have run away again. I am afraid of F. S. Don’t try to find me, I am all right, and I will communicate with you after he goes back to U. S. I positively will not make my whereabouts known as long as he is in Cairo. Don’t worry. Polly.
“We may as well be honest with one another,” Loria went on. “I gather, from your presence here, that you know my cousin is guilty of the death of her aunt; but you don’t know, you can’t know, what that poor girl had to put up with. I can’t blame her, that in a moment of,—really of temporary insanity,—she let herself be tempted——” “I’m sorry to cut short this interview, Mr. Loria,” said Stone, in his quiet way, “but, truly, I’ve a most important engagement just now. If I could see you, say this evening, and talk these things over by ourselves——” “Surely, Mr. Stone. I must return to my work to-morrow, but I’ll see you to-night. Will you come to my place?” “Yes, I will. About nine?” “Nine it is,” and Loria swung away, as Fleming Stone turned and hastened into the hotel. Straight to Mrs. MacDonald he went and asked where Pauline was. “She went to visit Memphis and Sakkara with her cousin,” said the smiling chaperon. “That is, she went with her cousin’s dragoman, and Mr. Loria met them at Bedrashein.” “Oh, did he! Now listen, Mrs. MacDonald. Miss Stuart is in danger. I am sure of this. I am going to her aid, but I may not——” Stone choked, “I may not succeed soon. Tell me of this dragoman. What does he look like?” Graphically, Mrs. MacDonald described the statuesque Ahri, and almost before she stopped speaking, Stone was flying along the corridor, down the stairs, and out at the door. He caught a train to Bedrashein, and the first person he bumped into at the little station was Ahri himself waiting for the train to Cairo. Fleming Stone went straight to the point. “Look here, Ahri,” he said to the astonished Arab, who had never seen him before, “what have you done with Miss Stuart?” For once the phlegmatic Arab was caught off his guard. “What do you mean?” he stammered. “I have not seen her to-day.” “Don’t lie to me,” and Stone gave him a look that cowed him. “Now listen. You’re in Mr. Loria’s pay. All right. He paid you well for the job you’ve just done. Now, I’ll pay you twice,—three times as well to undo it. Moreover, I’ll inform you straight that you’ll never work for Mr. Loria again. He’s a villain, a wicked man. Take my advice, Ahri, give him up and come over to me. By so doing, you’ll not only escape punishment for your work to-day, but get a fresh start toward a good position. I don’t believe you’re a bad man at heart, Ahri. At least, I don’t believe you’ll continue to be if you’re better paid to be good.” Stone was right about this, and the talk ended in another expedition of two sand-carts into the desert. Ahri in one, with a native driver, Stone alone in the other, driving himself. Ahri’s cart was driven by the same Moor that had driven Pauline only two or three hours before. Stone followed them, the wicked driver easily bought over to betray the place where he had left Pauline. And there they found her. Crouched at the base of a small hill, worn out by weeping and despair, racked by fright and terror, she had fallen into a fitful slumber from sheer exhaustion. Jumping from his cart, Stone waved the others back and went to her. On her face were traces of tears. Her gloves and handkerchief were torn in strips by her agonized frenzies. Her shoulders were huddled as if in frantic fear, and her face was drawn and pinched with anguish. But in spite of all this, Stone thought he had never seen her look so beautiful. Stepping nearer he lifted her to her feet, and unheeding the observers, he clasped her closely in his arms, and whispered endearing words. Pauline, her eyes still closed, murmured, “it’s only a dream. I must not wake, I must not!” “No dream, darling,” said the strong, glad voice in her ear. “Does this seem like a dream?” and his lips met hers in a long, close kiss. Then her eyes opened, wondering, and lest she should faint from very joy, Stone carried her to the cart and placed her in it. Jumping in beside her, he ordered the other cart to lead and they started back. Neither Pauline nor Stone ever forgot that ride. At first, she was content to ask no questions, happy in his nearness and her own rescue from an awful fate. But, later, she inquired about Loria. “You must know the truth soon, dearest,” said Stone, gently, “so I’ll tell you, in part now. Your cousin is a wicked man, Pauline, and you must grasp this fact before I go on.” “Carr wicked?” and Pauline paled and trembled as if struck with a sudden blow. “Yes, it was his hand, his will, that sent you to be lost in the desert. He showed me a false telegram, saying you had run away from me!” “What? oh, I can’t believe it!” “Well, don’t try now,” and Stone smiled at her. “It’s all I can do to manage this fiery steed without trying to tell you unbelievable things at the same time. Let me tell you something more easy of credulity.” Pauline’s smile was permission, and Stone had no difficulty in convincing her of certain self-evident truths. By the time the trio reached Cairo, Ahri was as staunch a follower and as true a slave of Fleming Stone as he had been of Carrington Loria. At Stone’s direction he returned to his former master, for the present, and gave no hint of the later development of the kidnapping scheme. “All went off as planned?” said Loria, secure in his servant’s fidelity. “Yes, master,” answered the devoted trusty, and Loria said no more on the subject. That evening when Fleming Stone went to Carr Loria’s rooms, he was accompanied by Pauline and the Englishman, Pitts. Loria started at sight of his cousin, but quickly recovered his poise and jauntily asked her where she had come from. “No place like Cairo, for me,” she replied in the same light tone, and they all sat down in Loria’s den. “More company than I expected,” he said, as he bustled about, seating them. “Ahri, another chair.” Ahri obeyed the request, and then softly left the room. “Mr. Loria,” said Stone, directly, “there is no use wasting words, we are here to accuse you of the murder of your aunt and the attempted murder of your cousin.” Carr Loria’s face blanched, but he tried to put on a bold front. “What do you mean by this nonsense? Is it a joke?” “By no means; I have all the proofs of your crimes and I ask you if you will confess here, or to the Police?” “Friend Pitts, I believe, is connected with the Police,” and Loria laughed grimly. “Yes, he is. Have you anything to say?” “Only to deny your accusations. Except that it’s too absurd even to deny such foolish talk. What do you mean anyway?” “That you poisoned Miss Lucy Carrington, wilfully and purposely, by sending her a dose of powdered aconite, under the pretense of its being a beauty charm that would bring fairness and youth to her plain face.” Carr Loria’s jaw dropped. He looked at Stone as if at something supernatural. “W—what?” he stammered. “You did it to get her money, now, to go on with your work in the bed of the Nile. Then, in order to get your cousin’s share of the fortune, you sent her away to die in the desert, having first induced her to will you her money.” “Ha, ha,” laughed Loria, feebly. “Poor joke, Stone, pretty poor joke, I say! Murdered my own aunt! Not much I didn’t!” “Carr Loria, listen!” Impressively Stone held up his finger, to adjure silence, and at the same time he bent on Loria a glance of accusation that made him cringe. But, fascinated, he stared into Stone’s eyes, and in the death-like silence came a voice,—the voice of Lucy Carrington,—in a burst of ringing laughter! Loria’s eyes seemed to start from his head, and the sweat gathered in great drops on his forehead, as the voice of his aunt spoke: “This song is one of Carr’s favorites,” they heard, distinctly. “I’ll sing it for him.” Then, in Miss Lucy’s high, clear notes, came the song, “Oh, Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms.” Before the last strains came, Loria was raving like a maniac. He had never heard of the phonograph records of his aunt’s songs, for they had meant to surprise him with them on his next trip home. “Have mercy!” he cried: “stop her! Oh, my God! what does it all mean?” “Confess,” ordered Fleming Stone. “I will confess! I do confess! I did send her the powder, just as you say. I wrote her to dress up like Cleopatra, and put on her pearls, and scarabs, and fasten an asp, a paper one, at her throat, and take the stuff, and it would cause Cleopatra’s beauty to come to her. I told her to hold in her hand something belonging to the man she loved. It was a great scheme,—a fine scheme,——” Loria was babbling insanely now. “I don’t see how any one ever found it out. I was so careful! I made her promise to burn all my notes and letters about it, before I would send the powder. Who suspected it? I planned everything so carefully—so carefully—Made her promise to burn everything,—everything—letters of instruction, powder-papers, everything must be burned, I said—everything,—and she said, yes, Carr, everything. Over and over I wrote it. Told her that if she left anything unburnt the charm wouldn’t work, and it didn’t. Ha, ha,” with a demoniac chuckle, “it didn’t!” “Take me away, I can’t stand it,” moaned Pauline. Again there was a silence. The phonograph had ceased; Loria sat, with his head fallen forward on his hands, at his table. He was still, and Stone wondered if he were alive. Then, suddenly, he lifted his head, and cried out. “Yes, I did it because I was crazy, wild over my Nile scheme. Ah, that wonderful work! It will never be done now. When I heard Stone was here I knew it was all up. I planned to lose Polly for a time,—not forever, no, not forever—I would have found her some day,—some day,—all dead, in the desert, all dead——” Pauline fainted and Stone flew to her side. But in a moment she revived, and he begged her to go home. She consented, and Ahri, dependable now, took her to the hotel. Fleming Stone and Mr. Pitts attempted to get Loria to calm down and talk more coherently. Shortly he did so. He gave a full account of all the details of his crime, and though he denied the intention of leaving Pauline to die in the desert, his word was not believed by the two listeners. Finally, he rose and walked across the room. “You see,” he said, a little wearily, but quite sane, now, “I’ve a bad streak in me. My father was a Spaniard and he killed his own uncle. The Loria line is a series of criminals. Aunt Lucy never knew this, for my parents lived always abroad. But blood will tell. And my father, after he killed my uncle, followed it up by taking his own life,—like this,——” Though Stone caught the gesture and sprang to prevent it, Loria was too quick for him. He had snatched a dagger from the table, and plunged it into his heart. Both men leaped at him, but it was all over in an instant. Carr Loria had himself dealt the punishment for his crimes. “Perhaps it’s as well,” said Stone, musingly. “A trial, and all that, would have been awful for his cousin, and the family connections. Now the matter can be disposed of with far less notoriety and publicity.” “Yes,” agreed Pitts. Fleming Stone waited till morning to tell Pauline of her cousin’s death. She was wide-eyed and pathetically sad, but composed. “It is all so dreadful,” she said, “but, Fleming, I knew it before I left New York. I didn’t know it, exactly, but I felt sure it must be so, and I had to come here to see. Then I found Carr so gay and light-hearted I thought I must be mistaken, and I was glad, too. Then when you came, I couldn’t make up my mind whether you suspected Carr, or whether——” “Whether I came only to see you,” supplied Stone. “It was both, dear.” “What made you think of Carr, in the first place?” “Because there was no real evidence against any one else, though the police were making things dangerous for you, my little girl.” Stone held her close, as if even yet there might be a hint of danger. “And I made Miss Frayne confess that she didn’t really see you leave your aunt’s room that night, though she did honestly think that you were in there, and your aunt was talking to you. Nor you didn’t see her actually leaving the room, did you?” “I only saw her with her hand on the door-knob. That was my first glimpse of her, and I thought she was coming out.” “No; she thought of going in to apologize for her hasty temper. But, hearing a voice, she paused, and so thrilling was the talk she overheard, she waited there some minutes.” “And then, you thought of Carr?” “I sized up all the people who had motive, and Loria was surely in that category. And then I found the powder-papers. Dear, those would have gone sorely against you if any one else had discovered them. I resolved to wrest the secret from those papers, and I did!” “You did? How?” “By studying them for hours; with magnifying glasses, and without. I found at last a clue,—a possible clue,—in the fact that the edges of the papers had been cut with the curved blades of a pair of manicure scissors. I had Jane bring me all the manicure scissors in the house,—thank Heaven, your scissors didn’t come within a mile of fitting the edges! You see, the papers were faintly scalloped on every edge. They must have been cut by the little curved blades, and rarely do two pairs of manicure scissors make the same scallop. The great discovery was that Miss Lucy’s own scissors did fit them! This, dearest, would have pointed to you in the eyes of these determined police, for you had access to your aunt’s toilet appointments.” “So did Anita or anybody in the house!” “Yes, but the police were hot on your track, and ready to bend any hint your way. Oh, thank God, that I could and did save you! Well, I further noticed that these scissors of Miss Carrington’s were of a different pattern from the brushes and mirrors of her set. I went to Estelle, and she told me that the last time Carr Loria was at home he took a great fancy to his aunt’s scissors and asked her to give them to him. She did, and when she tried to get another pair with that especial shaped blade, she could do so only by taking a different patterned handle! Do you wonder that I came straight over here?” “No,” and the lovely eyes beamed with admiration of Stone’s cleverness, as well as with affection. “Then, last night, I went to Loria’s rooms, and found not only the scissors, that fitted exactly the scalloped papers, but found that the outside powder wrapper is undoubtedly a piece of his own writing-paper. It is the same color and texture. Moreover, as he confessed it all, there is no further room for doubt. Another hint I had was when I found some of Loria’s letters in your aunt’s desk. Not their contents, they were just such as any affectionate nephew might write his aunt, but the chirography. You know the letter from him that you showed me, was typewritten, and I judged nothing from it. But his handwriting,—I have studied the science,—gave evidence of criminal traits, and I felt sure then I was on the right track. I brought the phonograph record to frighten him into confession, and it did. Ahri started it, in the next room, at my signal.” “I might have known you would do it. When I came here, you know, I wrote and asked you to drop the case. I feared your investigations would lead to Carr.” “It had to be a question of his guilt or yours,” returned Stone gravely. “You don’t know, darling, how near you were to arrest! Let’s not think of it ever again. I’ll engage to keep your dear mind occupied with pleasant thoughts all the rest of our life. You don’t want to stay in Cairo, do you? Shall we try Algiers for a honeymoon spot? Or, if you don’t want Africa at all, how about Greece, or over to Algeciras? Whither away, my Heart’s Dearest?” “Whither? Together, then what matter whither?” said Pauline, her eyes full of a love deep enough to drown the sorrows that had filled the past weeks. “Together always,” he responded, holding her to him; “always, my Pauline.” CAROLYN WELLS’ Baffling detective stories in which Fleming Stone, the great American Detective, displays his remarkable ingenuity for unravelling mysteries
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Miss Wharton so enlivens the past that she makes the distinguished characters of whom she treats live and talk with us. She has recently visited the homelands of a number of our great American leaders and we seem to see upon their native heath the English ancestors of George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, William Penn, the Pilgrim Fathers and Mothers, the Maryland and Virginia Cavaliers and others who have done their part in the making of the United States. Although this book is written in an entertaining manner, and with many anecdotes and by-paths to charm the reader, it is a distinct addition to the literature of American history and will make a superb gift for the man or woman who takes pride in his or her library. Heroes and Heroines of Fiction Classical, Mediaeval and Legendary By WILLIAM S. WALSH. Half morocco, Reference Library style, $3.00 net. Uniform with “Heroes and Heroines of Fiction, Modern Prose and Poetry.” The two volumes in a box, $6.00 net.
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Have you heard Sir Douglas lecture? If you have, you will want to read this book that you may become better acquainted with his charming personality, and to preserve in the three hundred and fifteen superb illustrations with the glittering text, a permanent record of the greatest battle that has ever been waged against the wind, the snow, the crevice ice and the prolonged darkness of over two years in Antarctic lands. It has been estimated by critics as the most interesting and the greatest account of Polar Exploration. For instance, the London AthenÆum, an authority, said: “No polar book ever written has surpassed these volumes in sustained interest or in the variety of the subject matter.” It is indeed a tale of pluck, heroism and infinite endurance that comes as a relief in the face of accounts of the same qualities sacrificed in Europe for a cause so less worthy. To understand “courage” you must read the author’s account of his terrific struggle alone in the blizzard,—an eighty-mile fight in a hurricane snow with his two companions left dead behind him. The wild life in the southern seas is multitudinous; whole armies of dignified penguins were caught with the camera; bluff old sea-lions and many a strange bird of this new continent were so tame that they could be easily approached. For the first time actual colored photographs bring to us the flaming lights of the untrodden land. They are unsurpassed in any other work. These volumes will be a great addition to your library; whether large or small, literary or scientific, they are an inspiration, a delight to read. Heart’s Content By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR. Illustrations in color by H. Weston Taylor. Page Decorations by Edward Stratton Holloway. Handsome cloth binding. In sealed packet. $1.50 net.
This is the tale of a summer love affair carried on by an unusual but altogether bewitching lover in a small summer resort in New England. Allan Shortland, a gentleman, a tramp, a poet, and withal the happiest of happy men, is the hero; Beryl Vernon, as pretty as the ripple of her name, is the heroine. Two more appealing personalities are seldom found within the covers of a book. Fun and plenty of it, romance and plenty of it,—and an end full of happiness for the characters, and to the reader regret that the story is over. The illustrations by H. Weston Taylor, the decorations by Edward Stratton Holloway and the tasteful sealed package are exquisite. A New Volume in THE STORIES ALL CHILDREN LOVE SERIES Heidi By JOHANNA SPYRI. Translated by ELISABETH P. STORK. Introduction by Charles Wharton Stork. With eight illustrations in color by Maria L. Kirk. 8vo. $1.25 net.
This is the latest addition to the Stories All Children Love Series. The translation of the classic story has been accomplished in a marvellously simple and direct fashion,—it is a high example of the translator’s art. American children should be as familiar with it as they are with “Swiss Family Robinson,” and we feel certain that on Christmas Day joy will be brought to the nurseries in which this book is a present. The illustrations by Maria L. Kirk are of the highest calibre,—the color, freshness and fantastic airiness present just the spark to kindle the imagination of the little tots. HEWLETT’S GREATEST WORK: Romance, Satire and a German The Little Iliad By MAURICE HEWLETT. Colored frontispiece by Edward Burne-Jones. 12mo. $1.35 net.
A “Hewlett” that you and every one else will enjoy! It combines the rich romance of his earliest work with the humor, freshness and gentle satire of his more recent. The whimsical, delightful novelist has dipped his pen in the inkhorn of modern matrimonial difficulties and brings it out dripping with amiable humor, delicious but fantastic conjecture. Helen of Troy lives again in the Twentieth Century, but now of Austria; beautiful, bewitching, love-compelling, and with it all married to a ferocious German who has drained the cup and is now squeezing the dregs of all that life has to offer. He has locomotor ataxia but that does not prevent his Neitschean will from dominating all about him, nor does it prevent Maurice Hewlett from making him one of the most interesting and portentous characters portrayed by the hand of an Englishman in many a day. Four brothers fall in love with the fair lady,—there are amazing but happy consequences. The author has treated an involved story in a delightful, naive and refreshing manner. The Sea-Hawk By RAPHAEL SABATINI. 12mo. Cloth. $1.25 net.
Sabatini has startled the reading public with this magnificent romance! It is a thrilling treat to find a vivid, clean-cut adventure yarn. Sincere in this, we beg you, brothers, fathers, husbands and comfortable old bachelors, to read this tale and even to hand it on to your friends of the fairer sex, provided you are certain that they do not mind the glint of steel and the shrieks of dying captives. The Man From the Bitter Roots By CAROLINE LOCKHART. 3 illustrations in color by Gayle Hoskins. 12mo. $1.25 net.
“Better than ‘Me-Smith’”—that is the word of those who have read this story of the powerful, quiet, competent Bruce Burt. You recall the humor of “Me-Smith,”—wait until you read the wise sayings of Uncle Billy and the weird characters of the Hinds Hotel. You recall some of those flashing scenes of “Me-Smith”—wait until you read of the blizzard in the Bitter Roots, of Bruce Burt throwing the Mexican wrestling champion, of the reckless feat of shooting the Roaring River with the dynamos upon the rafts, of the day when Bruce Burt almost killed a man who tried to burn out his power plant,—then you will know what hair-raising adventures really are. The tale is dramatic from the first great scene in that log cabin in the mountains when Bruce Burt meets the murderous onslaught of his insane partner. A Man’s Hearth By ELEANOR M. INGRAM. Illustrated in color by Edmund Frederick. 12mo. $1.25 net.
The key words to all Miss Ingram’s stories are “freshness,” “speed” and “vigor.” “From the Car Behind” was aptly termed “one continuous joy ride.” “A Man’s Hearth” has all the vigor and go of the former story and also a heart interest that gives a wider appeal. A young New York millionaire, at odds with his family, finds his solution in working for and loving the optimistic nurse-maid who brought him from the depths of trouble and made for him a hearthstone. There are fascinating side issues but this is the essential story and it is an inspiring one. It will be one of the big books of the winter. By the author of “MARCIA SCHUYLER” “LO! MICHAEL” “THE BEST MAN” etc. The Obsession of Victoria Gracen By GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ. Illustrated in color. 12mo. $1.25 net.
Every mother, every church-worker, every individual who desires to bring added happiness into the lives of others should read this book. A new novel by the author of “Marcia Schuyler” is always a treat for those of us who want clean, cheerful, uplifting fiction of the sort that you can read with pleasure, recommend with sincerity and remember with thankfulness. This book has the exact touch desired. The story is of the effect that an orphan boy has upon his lonely aunt, his Aunt Vic. Her obsession is her love for the lad and his happiness. There is the never-failing fund of fun and optimism with the high religious purpose that appears in all of Mrs. Lutz’s excellent stories. Miranda By GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ. Illustrated in color by E. L. Henry. 12mo. $1.25 net.
Nearly all of us fell in love with Miranda when she first appeared in “Marcia Schuyler,” but those who missed that happiness will now find her even more lovable in this new book of which she is the central figure. From cover to cover it is a tale of optimism, of courage, of purpose. You lay it down with a revivified spirit, a stronger heart for the struggle of this world, a clearer hope for the next, and a determination to make yourself and the people with whom you come in contact cleaner, more spiritual, more reverent than ever before. It is deeply religious in character: a novel that will bring the great spiritual truths of God, character and attainment straight to the heart of every reader. “GRIPPING” DETECTIVE TALES The White Alley By CAROLYN WELLS. Frontispiece. 12mo. $1.25 net.
FLEMING STONE, the ingenious American detective, has become one of the best known characters in modern fiction. He is the supreme wizard of crime detection in the WHITE BIRCHES MYSTERY told in,—“THE WHITE ALLEY.” The Boston Transcript says: “As an incomparable solver of criminal enigmas, Stone is in a class by himself. A tale which will grip the attention.” This is what another says:—“Miss Wells’s suave and polished detective, Fleming Stone, goes through the task set for him with celerity and dispatch. Miss Wells’s characteristic humor and cleverness mark the conversations.”—New York Times. The Woman in the Car By RICHARD MARSH. 12mo. $1.35 net.
Do you like a thrilling tale? If so, read this one and we almost guarantee that you will not stir from your chair until you turn the last page. As the clock struck midnight on one of the most fashionable streets of London in the Duchess of Ditchling’s handsome limousine, Arthur Towzer, millionaire mining magnate, is found dead at the wheel, horribly mangled. Yes, this is a tale during the reading of which you will leave your chair only to turn up the gas. When you are not shuddering, you are thinking; your wits are balanced against the mind and system of the famous Scotland Yard, the London detective headquarters. The men or women who can solve the mystery without reading the last few pages will deserve a reward,—they should apply for a position upon the Pinkerton force. THE NOVEL THEY’RE ALL TALKING ABOUT The Rose-Garden Husband By MARGARET WIDDEMER. Illustrated by Walter Biggs. Small 12mo. $1.00 net.
“A Benevolent Friend just saved me from missing ‘The Rose-Garden Husband.’ It is something for thanksgiving, so I send thanks to you and the author. The story is now cut out and stitched and in my collection of ‘worth-while’ stories, in a portfolio that holds only the choicest stories from many magazines. There is a healthy tone in this that puts it above most of these choice ones. And a smoothness of action, a reality of motive and speech that comforts the soul of a veteran reviewer.” From a Letter to the Publishers.
Edition after edition of this novel has been sold, surely you are not going to miss it. It is going the circle of family after family,—every one likes it. The New York Times, a paper that knows, calls it “a sparkling, rippling little tale.” Order it now,—the cost is but one dollar. The Diary of a Beauty By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL. Illustrated by William Dorr Steele. 12mo. $1.25 net.
From the assistant postmistress in a small New England village to the owner of a great mansion on Fifth Avenue is the story told not as outsiders saw it, but as the beautiful heroine experiences it,—an account so naive, so deliciously cunning, so true, that the reader turns page after page with an inner feeling of absolute satisfaction. The Dusty Road By THERESE TYLER. Frontispiece by H. Weston Tayler. 12mo. $1.25 net.
This is a remarkable story of depth and power,—the struggle of Elizabeth Anderson to dear herself of her sordid surroundings. Such books are not written every day, nor every year, nor every ten years. It is stimulating to a higher, truer life. RECENT VALUABLE PUBLICATIONS The Practical Book of Period Furniture Treating of English Period Furniture, and American Furniture of Colonial and Post-Colonial date, together with that of the typical French Periods. By HAROLD DONALDSON EBERLEIN and ABBOTT McCLURE. With 225 illustrations in color, doubletone and line. Octavo. Handsomely decorated cloth. In a box. $5.00 net.
This book places at the disposal of the general reader all the information he may need in order to identify and classify any piece of period furniture, whether it be an original, or a reproduction. The authors have greatly increased the value of the work by adding an illustrated chronological key by means of which the reader can distinguish the difference of detail between the various related periods. One cannot fail to find the book absorbingly interesting as well as most useful. The Practical Book of Oriental Rugs By DR. G. GRIFFIN LEWIS, Author of “The Mystery of the Oriental Rug.” New Edition, revised and enlarged. 20 full-page illustrations in full color. 93 illustrations in doubletone. 70 designs in line. Folding chart of rug characteristics and a map of the Orient. Octavo. Handsomely bound. In a box. $5.00 net.
Have you ever wished to be able to judge, understand, and appreciate the characteristics of those gems of Eastern looms? This is the book that you have been waiting for, as all that one needs to know about oriental rugs is presented to the reader in a most engaging manner with illustrations that almost belie description. “From cover to cover it is packed with detailed information compactly and conveniently arranged for ready reference. Many people who are interested in the beautiful fabrics of which the author treats have long wished for such a book as this and will be grateful to G. Griffin Lewis for writing it.”—The Dial. The Practical Book of Outdoor Rose Growing NEW EDITION REVISED AND ENLARGED By GEORGE C. THOMAS, JR. Elaborately illustrated with 96 perfect photographic reproductions in full color of all varieties of roses and a few half tone plates. Octavo. Handsome cloth binding, in a slip case. $4.00 net.
This work has caused a sensation among rose growers, amateurs and professionals. In the most practical and easily understood way the reader is told just how to propagate roses by the three principal methods of cutting, budding and grafting. There are a number of pages in which the complete list of the best roses for our climate with their characteristics are presented. One prominent rose grower said that these pages were worth their weight in gold to him. The official bulletin of the Garden Club of America said:—“It is a book one must have.” It is in fact in every sense practical, stimulating, and suggestive. The Practical Book of Garden Architecture By PHEBE WESTCOTT HUMPHREYS. Frontispiece in color and 125 illustrations from actual examples of garden architecture and house surroundings. Octavo. In a box. $5.00 net.
This beautiful volume has been prepared from the standpoints of eminent practicability, the best taste, and general usefulness for the owner developing his own property,—large or small, for the owner employing a professional garden architect, for the artist, amateur, student, and garden lover. The author has the gift of inspiring enthusiasm. Her plans are so practical, so artistic, so beautiful, or so quaint and pleasing that one cannot resist the appeal of the book, and one is inspired to make plans, simple or elaborate, for stone and concrete work to embellish the garden. Handsome Art Works of Joseph Pennell The reputation of the eminent artist is ever upon the increase. His books are sought by all who wish their libraries to contain the best in modern art. Here is your opportunity to determine upon the purchase of three of his most sought-after volumes. Joseph Pennell’s Pictures of the Panama Canal (Fifth printing) 28 reproductions of lithographs made on the Isthmus of Panama between January and March, 1912, with Mr. Pennell’s Introduction giving his experiences and impressions, and a full description of each picture. Volume 7½ × 10 inches. Beautifully printed on dull finished paper. Lithograph by Mr. Pennell on cover. $1.25 net.
“Mr. Pennell continues in this publication the fine work which has won for him so much deserved popularity. He does not merely portray the technical side of the work, but rather prefers the human element.”—American Art News. Our Philadelphia By ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL. Illustrated by Joseph Pennell. Regular Edition. Containing 105 reproductions of lithographs by Joseph Pennell. Quarto. 7½ × 10 inches. 552 pages. Handsomely bound in red buckram. Boxed. $7.50 net. Autograph Edition. Limited to 289 copies (Now very scarce). Contains 10 drawings, reproduced by a new lithograph process, in addition to the illustrations that appear in the regular edition. Quarto. 552 pages. Specially bound in genuine English linen buckram in City colors, in cloth covered box. $18.00 net.
An intimate personal record in text and in picture of the lives of the famous author and artist in a city with a brilliant history, great beauty, immense wealth. Life of James McNeill Whistler By ELIZABETH ROBINS and JOSEPH PENNELL. Thoroughly revised Fifth Edition of the authorized Life, with much new matter added which was not available at the time of issue of the elaborate 2 volume edition, now out of print. Fully illustrated with 97 plates reproduced from Whistler’s works. Crown octavo. 450 pages. Whistler binding, deckle edges. $3.50 net. Three-quarter grain levant, $7.50 net.
“In its present form and with the new illustrations, some of which present to us works which are unfamiliar to us, its popularity will be greatly increased.”—International Studio. The Stories All Children Love Series This set of books for children comprises some of the most famous stories ever written. Each book has been a tried and true friend in thousands of homes where there are boys and girls. Fathers and mothers remembering their own delight in the stories are finding that this handsome edition of old favorites brings even more delight to their children. The books have been carefully chosen, are beautifully illustrated, have attractive lining papers, dainty head and tail pieces, and the decorative bindings make them worthy of a permanent place on the library shelves. - Heidi By JOHANNA SPYRI. Translated by Elisabeth P. Stork
- The Cuckoo Clock By MRS. MOLESWORTH.
- The Swiss Family Robinson Edited by G. E. MITTON.
- The Princess and the Goblin By GEORGE MACDONALD.
- The Princess and Curdie By GEORGE MACDONALD.
- At the Back of the North Wind By GEORGE MACDONALD.
- A Dog of Flanders By “OUIDA.”
- Bimbi By “OUIDA.”
- Mopsa, the Fairy By JEAN INGELOW.
- The Chronicles of Fairyland By FERGUS HUME.
- Hans Andersen’s Fairy Tales
Each large octavo, with from 8 to 12 colored illustrations. Handsome cloth binding, decorated in gold and color. $1.25 net, per volume.
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