taken to a Rest Cure in the Austrian
Tyrol, and she had never been the Same Woman since.

To all who had come pleading for Reconciliation, Ethel had simply hung
out the Card, "Nothing Doing."

After a Brute has jumped up and down on the Aching Heart of a Girl of
proud Lineage he can't square himself in 1,000,000 years.

So said Ethel, between the flowing Tears.

Furthermore, there had been hopeless Incompatibility. In all the time
they were together, they never had been able to agree on a Turkish
Cigarette.

The professional Home-Blaster said she had enough on Herbert to get her
four Divorces. The Decree would be a Pipe.

Ethel said she hoped so and to please push it along, as she had quite a
Waiting-List.

MORAL: Rufus had no business buying the Clock.

THE NEW FABLE OF THE SCOFFER WHO FELL HARD AND THE WOMAN SITTING BY

One day in the pink dawn of the present Century, a man with his Hair
neatly set back around the Ears and the usual Blood Pressure was
whizzing through a suburban Lonesomeness on a teetering Trolley. The
name of the man was Mr. Pallzey. He had a desk with a Concern that did
merchandizing in a large way.

Mr. Pallzey feared Socialism and carried his Wife's Picture in his
Watch and wore Plasters. In other words, he was Normal, believing
nearly everything that appeared in the Papers.

While the Dog-Fennel was softly brushing the Foot-Board and the Motor
was purring consistently beneath, Mr. Pallzey looked over into a close-
cropped Pasture and became the alert Eye-Witness of some very weird
Doings.

He saw a pop-eyed Person in soiled Neglige, who made threatening
movements toward something concealed in the White Clover, with a Weapon
resembling the iron Dingus used in gouging the Clinkers from a Furnace.

"What is the plot of the Piece?" he inquired of a Grand Army man,
sitting next.

"I think," replied the Veteran, "I think he is killing a Garter Snake."

"Oh, no," spoke up the conversational Conductor, "He is playing
Golluf," giving the word the Terre Haute pronunciation.

Mr. Pallzey looked with pity on the poor Nut who was out in the Hot
Sun, getting himself all lathered up with One-Man Shinny.

He said to G. A. R. that it took all kinds of People to make a World.
The grizzled Warrior rose to an equal Altitude by remarking that if
the dag-goned Loon had to do it for a Living, he'd think it was Work.
Mr. Pallzey had heard of the new Diversion for the Idle Rich, just as
peo