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Produced by Barbara Tozier, Brian Kerr, Bill Tozier and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at










Copyright, 1915, by GROSSET & DUNLAP





World Film Corporation _Presents_


_in_ "LOLA" _by_ Owen Davis




Lola Clara Kimball Young
Dr. Barnhelm, her father Alec B. Francis
Dr. Crossett, her friend Edward M. Kimball
Dick Fenway } in love with Lola { James Young
John Dorris } { Frank Holland
Mrs. Harlan Olga Humphreys
Stephen Bradley Edward Donneley
Julia Bradley Irene Tams
Marie Mary Moore
Mrs. Mooney Julia Stuart
Nellie Mooney Baby Esmond
Dr. Mortimer Lionel Belmore
Life-Saver Cecil Rejan




The old man lay back in his chair asleep. The morning sun beat against
the drawn window shades, filling the room with a dim, almost cathedral
light. An oil lamp, which had performed its duty faithfully through
the night, now seemed to resent its neglect, and spluttered angrily.
There was the usual sound of the busy city's street outside the
window, for the morning was advancing, but here in the room it was
very quiet. A quaint little Dutch clock ticked away regularly, and the
tired man's soft breathing came and went, peacefully, for his sleep
was untroubled, his heart was full of happiness.

Presently the door opened, and a young girl came into the room, and
seeing him, there in the chair, she stopped, afraid for a moment, then
stepped forward and bent over him. She smiled as she straightened up,
and turning called out softly:

"Miss Lola! Miss Lola!"

"Coming, Maria," the answer came in a clear, fresh young voice; for a
moment the sleeper hesitated, about to awake, then thought better of
it, and dreamed a dream of the triumph that was to be his.

"Hush!" Maria spoke softly as Lola came into the room, and Lola,
following the girl's pointed finger, smiled lovingly as she crossed
and stood beside her father's chair.

There was a strong contrast between these two girls as they stood
there for a moment, side by side, young and good-looking as both
undoubtedly were.

Lola was the sleeper's daughter. Maria, their servant. Maria was
strong and rugged; Lola delicate and blond. Maria's splendid young
body had been developed by hard work, while her mind had been stunted
by a miserable childhood of neglect and abuse. Lola, since her
mother's death, had been her father's constant companion, and had
seemed to catch from him something of his grave and scholarly outlook
upon life, lightened, however, by the impulses of a naturally sweet
and sunny disposition, and the brave happiness of youth.

"He hasn't been to bed at all!" exclaimed Maria, as Lola stooped and
put her hand lightly on the sleeper's arm.

"Father!" she called softly. "Father! It is morning!"

He awoke, startled, for a moment rather bewildered, then added his
smile to theirs, and said brightly, "I am very happy, Lola."

"I'm sure you haven't any right to be, and, of course, you know that
you ought to be scolded?"

"Perhaps so," he returned, looking with pride at a complicated
electric apparatus on the table beside him, "but I have worked it all
out! I am sure of it this time!"

"Put that dreadful lamp out, and open the window!" called out Lola to
Maria, as she started to pick up from the floor bits of broken glass
and pieces of wire.

"I do wish you would use the electric lights, father. That lamp isn't
enough, even if you could be trusted to refill it, which you can't!"

"You can't teach an old dog new tricks, my dear," smiled the Doctor,
as he rose, rather stiffly. "The big thoughts won't come by electric
light, at least not to an old fellow who learned to do his thinking
under an old-fashioned student's lamp."

"Oh, I don't mind, not really," answered Lola. "And, besides, the lamp
saves money."

She was turning away when the Doctor's low chuckle of amusement
stopped her. "Are you laughing at me, father?" she questioned, with
pretended sternness.

"Just a little perhaps, my dear, because after this you need not think
of little savings. You shall give up your school-teaching; you shall
have new dresses every day of your life, and hats - - La! Never mind,
you shall see."

"You really think so, father?"

"I know it! After last night I shall never doubt it again. I did not
dare to stop until my work was done, and then I sat there, dreaming,
until I fell asleep."

He looked again at his apparatus with such pride and confidence that
even Lola, who knew nothing of the details of his experimental work,
was thrilled with the hope of his success, and rested her hand
tenderly upon his arm as she stood beside him.

They were much alike, these two, as they stood there together, the
tall, rather delicate old man, and the fragile, sensitive girl.
Dreamers both, one had but to look at them to see that, and they
started apart, almost guiltily, as the little clock on the mantel
struck eight.

"Eight o'clock! Oh, Maria! Eight o'clock! We must hurry!" Lola called
out to Maria, who was busily arranging the breakfast table in the
adjoining room.

"Come, father!" she continued. "Run and get yourself ready for
breakfast, and the very minute we get through I am going to put you to

"Not to-day, my dear," he answered gaily; "this is to be my busy day!"

As he left the room, smiling and happy, Maria looked after him

"He'll be sick if you don't look out, Miss Lola. He don't know no more
about takin' care of himself than one of my sister's babies."

Lola laughed cheerfully as she looked with approval over the neatly
arranged breakfast table.

"I think he is perfectly well, Maria, and quite delighted with himself
this morning. He feels sure that he has made a wonderful discovery,
something he has been working on for years. I know that he thinks it
is going to be a fine thing for all the world and for us, Maria; he
says it is going to make us rich."

"I hope so, I'm sure. There's lots of little things we're needing in
the kitchen," said Maria practically. "Anyway, he's the best doctor in
the world, and he ought to have the most money!"

"Don't get his egg too hard."

"No, Miss, it will be just like he wants it."

When the Doctor returned he found everything ready for his breakfast,
and he stopped to greet Maria kindly, as he always did, for aside from
his habit of rather old-fashioned courtesy she was a great favorite of

"Would you like a pan-cake, Doctor?" she inquired anxiously, as she
stood beside the table. "There's a Dutch lady boarding with my
brother's wife. She showed me how to make real German ones."

"I can't have you spoiling father," reproved Lola gently. "Besides
German pan-cakes are not supposed to be eaten for breakfast."

"She knows no more about German food," said the Doctor, "than an
Irishman's pig! You shall make me one of your pan-cakes to-night."

Maria smiled gratefully at him, and leaving the apartment ran down
stairs to the letter-box in the hall, returning a moment later with
the morning mail, which she put beside Lola's plate.

"Four letters," said Lola, glancing over them. "One for me, a bill!
Two for you, father." She pushed them across the cloth. "And, Maria!
Oh, Maria! This is for you. Oh, Maria! You're blushing. Who do you
suppose it's from," she teased, as Maria stepped forward eagerly and
took the letter.

"I guess, Miss," said Maria in confusion, "I guess it's from a friend
of mine."

Lola looked after her, as she hurried out of the room, the precious
letter clutched tightly in her hand.

"Poor girl! That is from her sweetheart, the one she calls Mr. Barnes,
and she can't read it."

"I thought you were to teach her," remarked her father, as he helped
himself to a second piece of toast.

"I am trying my best," answered Lola, "but she never had a chance
before, that's what makes it so hard for her now."

"She has done wonders since you found her, my dear girl. She has
caught the spirit of this great New York, and she is growing very

"Hello!" he exclaimed, as he opened the first of his letters. "From
Paul Crossett."

Lola looked up, surprised and pleased, as her father hastily read the
brief note, and continued.

"He is here, at last! Here in New York! And he is coming up this

"That's fine!" exclaimed Lola, her face reflecting her father's
pleasure. "I have heard so much about him all my life, and now I am
really going to see him."

"I, myself," said the Doctor, "have only seen him once in ten years,
only twice in twenty. He is a great man now, rich and famous, but he
was a scamp when I first knew him." He laughed softly as his mind
travelled back to the time when he and this successful French
physician were boys together at the University.

"How was it?" inquired Lola, "that a Frenchman was your chum at

"He was," her father replied, "even as a boy, a cynic, a philosopher,
and he amused me. He had a big mind, and a big heart, and I loved

As he spoke he opened the second letter, and after a moment's reading
looked up at Lola, his face reflecting an almost comic dismay.
"Listen, Lola! 'My dear Doctor,'" he read slowly, his voice betraying
his surprise and growing distress, "'I am going to call upon you
to-morrow, and ask you to do me a great honor. I love your
daughter - - '" he stopped helplessly, almost like a child, afraid to

Lola rose from the table, blushing furiously, but with a happy light
underlying the guilty look in her eyes.


He looked at her for a moment, and gradually his look softened and the
surprise gave way to a humorous tenderness.

"Let's tear it up," he suggested, holding the unwelcome paper out
before him. "I think that would be the best way out of this."

"Oh, no, father!" exclaimed Lola, catching his hand anxiously; "do go
on, it's very interesting."

"Oh," said the Doctor drily, "then we will proceed. 'I love your
daughter, and I want to ask you to let her become my wife.'"

"And to think," said Lola, as he paused, "and to think that I didn't
know his handwriting."

"So! So you know who had the impudence to write this," assumed her

"Well," replied Lola rather timidly, "I have my suspicions."

"Oh, this love business," groaned the Doctor in great disgust; "just
as I have everything fixed, this must come! It is Mr. Fenway, I

"Father!" cried Lola, indignantly. "Mr. Fenway! The idea!"

The Doctor turned the page quickly and read the signature, then
exclaimed to her in wonder, "John Dorris! And I thought he only came
here to talk to me! Did you know anything of this?"

"Anything?" replied Lola. "Well, I - I told him to write to you."


For just a moment he hesitated; they were alone together in the world,
these two, and the bond between them had been very close, and now all
was to be changed; this stranger, a man, whom a few months before they
had never seen, had stepped into their lives, and never again would
this man's child be to him quite what she had been for so many
peaceful, happy years.

Something of the bitterness of this thought must have become visible
in his face, for Lola stepped to him anxiously, and he, generous and
afraid of hurting any living creature as he always was, smiled at her
tenderly and put his arm about her as he spoke gravely: "God bless you
Lola, and if he is the right man, God bless you both."

She nestled against him, reassured by his tone, and he continued,
"John Dorris, a fine fellow, but I thought for a moment that it must
be Dick Fenway."

"Father," she protested, "it isn't at all like you to be so silly!
Dick Fenway is nothing but - but a millionaire!"

"Am I supposed to sympathize with him for that?" inquired the Doctor
gravely. "But, my dear," he added, as he saw that she was mutely
appealing for his sympathy, "I like your young man best, although he
is like the rest of us; he isn't half good enough for the woman he

He led her tenderly into the front room, and seating himself in his
favorite old chair, drew her down upon one of its sturdy arms, and
began to question her about John Dorris. At first she was conscious
and embarrassed, but little by little, reassured by his sympathy, she
opened her heart to him, and let him see that this new love that had
come into her life was not a passing fancy, but a feeling so pure and
tender that he sat awed before it, as all good men are awed when for a
moment it is permitted them to read the secrets of a woman's heart. He
helped her greatly in that half hour, and as she clung to him, timid,
half afraid even of her own happiness, he spoke to her of her mother
and of what her love had been to him.

In all the world I think there is no stronger tie, no closer sympathy,
than there is between a father and a daughter, and these two felt that
then, and gloried in it, never dreaming of that awful thing that was
so soon to come between them.

At last he left her, and went to change his clothes, and when Maria
entered the room ten minutes later, she still sat there, her lover's
letter in her hand, her mind filled with strange, new thoughts, half
happiness, half fear.

Maria went to her, and seeing the look on her face, and the open
letter in her hand, said timidly, "That's a letter from him?"

"Yes," smiled Lola happily, "from him!"

"So is mine, Miss," volunteered poor Maria, "but I can't read it."
Lola turned quickly to her.

"Shall I read it for you?"

"Thank you, Miss, I knew you would, but I'd be ashamed to have him
know it. He ain't like most of the young fellars hanging around. He's
smart! He's a sailor, on the _Vermont_, and he's just fine!"

"This is from Boston," said Lola, as she glanced at the open letter
Maria handed to her. "I am glad to read it for you, of course, but
before long I am going to have you so that you will be able to read
his letters for yourself."

"I hope so, Miss Lola, but I'm awful slow. I don't know what I'd do if
it wasn't for you," she continued gratefully; "there ain't anybody
else in the world I could bear to see reading his letters. I'd rather
just keep them, without ever knowing what he said. It's a lot just to
know that a person wants to write to you."

"'Boston, June Third,' began Lola. 'Respected Friend: I write you
these lines to say that I am well, and I hope you are the same. Boston
is a fine City, with lots of people and many buildings. There is water
here with ships and things in it, just like New York. I often think of
you, and no girl seems like you to me, so no more from,

"'Yours respectfully,
"'Wm. BARNES.'"

"Ain't that a fine letter?" said Maria, with great admiration.
"Getting letters like that makes me more ashamed than ever. I'm afraid
I'm too ignorant to appreciate all he tells about the countries he

"It is a very fine letter, I am sure, Maria, and he must be a fine
fellow, and very fond of you?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he is," replied Maria happily. "At first I wouldn't
have nothing to do with him, but he kept on coming around, - and now
I'm glad he did. After what I saw at home I about made up my mind not
to let any man come near me, but - but somehow he's different. He
wouldn't act like father, or like my sister's husband, I know; he's
the kind that seems to think a girl ought to be taken care of; that's
nice, when you never had anybody that thought that in all your life,
isn't it?"

"It's very nice, Maria," replied Lola, quite touched by the tone of
real affection in Maria's voice. "I am sure that it is the nicest
thing in the world." As she spoke a ring of the bell interrupted them,
and Maria, hastily putting the precious letter in her apron pocket,
went to the door and admitted a shabby little woman and a delicate

"Good morning, Mrs. Mooney," said Lola, as she caught sight of them.
"Good morning, Nellie! Come right in. Tell father, Maria!" she
continued, and as Maria left the room she bent over little Nellie and
kissed her tenderly, then turned to the anxious mother and did her
best to put her at her ease.

"I'm afraid we're too early, Miss," began Mrs. Mooney, in that tired,
colorless voice that tells its own story of hardship and hopelessness,
"but Nellie couldn't rest at all last night. We don't want to be
bothering your father, though; he's been kind enough already."

"He is quite ready for you, I'm sure," replied Lola, "but I will go to
him; he might need me to help him with his things." As she left the
room Nellie looked after her wistfully.

"There's nobody I ever see like her," she said, in that tone one often
hears in children's voices when they speak of those whom they have
selected for that strange form of hero worship so common to the young.
"When he hurts me, and I have to cry, I'll see her with the tears in
her eyes."

"I know," replied her mother gratefully; "it was she that first
brought the Doctor to see you, and he'll cure you yet, and if they do
that - - " She stopped for a moment and clutched at her breast, as
though to tear away the dread and anguish that was there. "It's all
right, Nellie - it's all right, I'm telling you! You're going to be as
good as any of 'em yet!"




Doctor Martin Barnhelm had for over twenty years practised medicine in
New York. Aside from the fact that he was thoroughly qualified for his
profession, he had a gentle, kindly manner that made him popular with
all his patients. His might have been an unusual success, but of late
years he had devoted more and more of his time to research work. He
had a growing reputation in the medical world, as an expert in the
development of electro-medical apparatus, and unknown to anyone he was
devoting all his energies to the realization of a theory, which to his
mind at least promised to be the most important medical discovery
since the introduction of antiseptic surgery. In the front room of his
apartment he carried on his experiments, and so complete was his
devotion to the object of his ambition that he scarcely allowed
himself time to earn, by his profession, even the modest sum necessary
for the household expenses. Lola saw that his heart was wholly set
upon this one idea, and without in the least understanding its
purpose, aided him by rigid economy, and had even, against his rather
faint protest, begun to add to the family income by teaching in a
settlement school.

Although the Doctor had so jealously guarded his time that he had lost
most of his wealthy patients, he had never been able to deny his
professional aid to those unfortunates from whom no other fee than
gratitude could be expected. Nellie Mooney was one of these. She had
inherited from a vicious father the tainted blood and the weakened
constitution, which, helped on by the bad air and insufficient
nourishment of the poor of the crowded tenement district, had resulted
in a tubercular disease of the bone of her right arm.

Mrs. Mooney brought the child twice a week for treatment, but of late
the disease had been gaining headway, and in spite of the Doctor's
best efforts, she was in constant agony. He was treating her now in
the little alcove he used as his office, and outside, with the
curtains drawn, Lola was doing her best to soothe the almost frantic

The treatment, in spite of all the Doctor's gentleness, was painful in
the extreme, and Lola was anxious to spare the poor woman the sight of
her daughter's suffering, but at the sound of a stifled cry from
behind the curtains, Mrs. Mooney was unable to restrain herself, and
rushed toward the next room with a cry of agony.

"Please," said Lola, as she gently stopped her. "They are better
without you."

"I'm going to her," exclaimed the mother, quite unable to withstand
the thought of her child suffering alone. "You don't know what it is,
Miss Lola; I've got to go."

As she spoke she drew the curtain aside, and entered the alcove, and
Lola would have followed had not a ring of the bell made her pause and
go to the door. It was still early in the forenoon, and as Lola opened
the door she fully expected to be greeted by another of the Doctor's
patients, but in place of that a young man stood smiling on the

"John!" she exclaimed happily, then stopped shyly as he stepped
eagerly forward and put his arm around her. It was only the night
before that he had told her of his love, and she was still afraid of
him, but he, manlike, refused to give up an advantage already won, and
drew her to him, holding her closely until she, of her own accord,
raised her lips to his.

"Did he read my letter?" he asked eagerly and rather nervously.

Now she had him at an advantage, for however great his fear was of her
father, she had none at all.

"Oh, yes," she replied, smiling, "and he is perfectly furious."

As she saw his face fall she would have reassured him, but just then a
moan of anguish from the alcove made him turn his head inquiringly.

"It is the little Mooney girl," she answered, in reply to his unspoken
question. "It is some dreadful disease of the bone, but father hopes
to be able to help her."

"Poor little girl," said John, as he offered her a cluster of gorgeous
roses that he had brought with him.

Lola took the flowers with a word of thanks, as the Doctor threw open
the curtains and entered with his arm about Nellie, and followed by
Mrs. Mooney.

"There," he exclaimed, "it is over now. You are a brave girl, Nellie.
You must bring her again on Saturday, Mrs. Mooney."

"You are not faint, are you, Nellie?" said Lola, alarmed at the
child's paleness.

"Oh, no, Miss," replied Nellie bravely, her eyes fastened with
wondering admiration on the beautiful roses.

"Take them," said Lola impulsively, holding them out to her, but she
shrank back, afraid.

"Oh, no! Why, you just got them yourself."

"He doesn't mind, do you?" Lola demanded of John, and he answered so
pleasantly and cordially that the child was persuaded to accept them,
and was taken home by her mother in such a glow of gratitude that for
the moment, at least, her pain was forgotten.

American Beauty roses, at a dollar each, on the window-sill of a
wretched tenement! An extravagance, no doubt, and yet I wonder if they
would have better fulfilled their destiny had they met the usual fate
of their fellows and been trampled under foot upon the floor of some
crowded ball room.

As Lola closed the door after Nellie and Mrs. Mooney, she turned to
see John and her father eyeing one another, with the consciousness of
the necessary interview showing in their faces. She laughed happily
and, crossing to the Doctor, pointed to John, who stood rather stiffly
beside the table.

"There is John, father."

"Humph," said he, coldly, determined at least that the young man's
path should not be made too easy, "so I see."

"I - I," began John, rather lamely, "I - er - - "

Lola laughed merrily, and catching one by each hand drew them

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