The Saturday Evening Post 1906-07-14: Vol 179 Iss 2

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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; ~ H “" Ses, We t Scar wit ttopt $1.0 - : $1,675. Dash is Pope-W Be sure the name ** POPE”’ is on your wneiiaaititihe ae Send t it ue of } nh T ? AJ ~ } SUGAR WAFERS | a; ; : tnt ; to the taste. Delicious dessert confections which lighten ; aeienemiemmeiaete aan ‘ 4 le) pprictical way’ ; the banquet, enliven the luncheon, bnghten the tea, JENN ak —<tigee e o- Meter a» re ‘od a marine ; and touch the daily meal with joyous zest. » - ff T a3 Petutue Pay In ten and twenty-five cent tins. | H er Instrument Re el 1 Wis ; , a) The Auto Meter FI - IN¢ \ ie — 2 . - a ila pa ea iat : — ; Prickly Heat, : 10 Days Free Trial Chafing, © Mian serthen yee oe aapre repaid. "BOWE | NATIONAL BISCUIT COMPANY and Sunburn, oy esson frit PAY A CENT « fier § I and all afflictions of the skin. le Do Not Bu .: von receipt of ZSc, Get Meanen' a © Not Buy 2 i. nt art } GERHARD MENNEN COMPANY, NEWARK, N. J a . , a a & a ee New Odell Ty pewriter ONE CENT t ea age pater No. 5 y ' free, pow al typewriter . 73 ie BRASS. BAND Chicago _— ‘Hotel Sorc sr re wait 1 now pre n recel dread 30 | le Danville at hat? comed poten eho Shad Finest Hotel on the Great Lakes the installment #2 fe MEAD CYCLE Co Dept. 8-55. CHICAGO } j ara 2 ga f tal gue, _ eens ‘00,8 967 A North 8t Momence i Ps * 4A : ‘ae 8) i , : acridine) gv inch ee ‘ SECURED OR FEE 2 REDUCE B RATES | deo tr ; Appr M Payment Mer. Box 23, CHICAGO BEACH HOTEL )ATENT sTURNED (} washington and Oregon. Ws: LYON & WEALY, @ Ades Street, Chicago Sist Bivé. & Lake Shore, Chicago ua Bekins Ho Honeehold Shipping Co 95 E Washi ngton Bt., Chicago EVANS. WILKENS & CO., Wast ingtc on, ‘D.C. <2) eG GS GF 0 GS GO Oe Ot OP G0 G0 G0 OO Oe OO On Gn Oe On Gr Ot Ot Oe Oe ieecrccovoauncceges OOOO IIIT IOC KS!

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The Two a =: Razor Liberal ex inge offe le Razor Complete, With 24 Sharp Blades, In Handsome Leather Case, $5.00 Ask your dealer. If y rit United States Safety Razor Co,, Shop Office No, 29, Adrian, M aha) SAVINGS eee & gels COM PAN OWENSBORO, KY. 5 I ’ e PLYMOUTH ROCK e largest and best t four weeks $2.50 $6 ‘ : first PLYMOUTH ROCK straight ~ ~ r ’ — 1906 fe. ‘ = wet rr =5 om P f n= trat Free Book How to Make Money with Squab Plymouth Rock Squab Co , 423 Howard Street. M Friction Drive Buckboard ORIENT World's Champion Motor Car all existing records WALTHAM MPG. COMPANY, Waltham, Mass., U. S. A. s | 4 . z Skull! ! 15 cts Tricks Mysterious ‘ g of Magic, Illusions, ete., a — . WRITE FOR IT TO-DAY THE CREST TRADING CO. 21 E Witmark Building, N. Y You are no greater intellectually than your Memory Dickson School of Memory 932 Kimball Hall, Chica Our $10.00 File i= 227%" fe keer! 1 . ] nd t weekly, semi eekly m n ake payments Ww H.R. Scheanoer, Jr., System Co., Ratomence, Mich. SHOP The Unearned Increment S' IME years ago a couple of young men from the Middle West went to New York City and put their few thousand dollars capital into a real-estate business Since then they have manceuvred shrewdly that they are now reputed to have eral millions holdings worth sey One of their transactions that paid well was the subdivision of a tract on Long Island, which was cut up into lots and offered to small investors outside the ci Advertising in the magazines moters in touch with an hitherto not the New realty field. Their advertising what sensational, and attracted chiefly a class of pure hasers who took property on the installment basis A large sum had been invested in publicity, and sal being made at a very satisfactory rate upor the original valuation of their Long Island prope rty, at good profits, when one of the promoters had asion to Investigate values on adjoining property What learned in an afternoon sent him hustling back to the office. If we should sell all that tract to-m at our own prices, en would we pre fit over the purch: price "he ‘About twenty-five ? er cent of his partners. ‘Do you know what we don’t sell at all?” ‘‘No.” ‘Why year has put the pro- investing puolie available in occ asked ’ said one will make if we the increase in values the past been as great as any could make. In two more years it may go up to fifty per cent. We advertise to sell lots that will increase in value, but we're really selling gold eagles for 83.08 Within a week a sensational line of ad- vertising in the magazines, which looked too lavish in its promises to conser ive investors, stopped abruptly) Pr romotion could not keep pace with the unearned increment. Ce ee She Knew It WAS riding de feeling nervous a trifle de | had lost my job and was on the foranother. Inmy hand I held a newspaper clipping containing numerous paragraphs beginning with the words Wanted, Sten- ographer.”” But I had little hope of getting a situ th } ywntown in a trolley car, P } “ and ponder lookout ation as good as the one for most of the advertisements had the look of cheapness and I feared low pa and uncertain tenure. Two women sitting in front of me were conversing with much and it was for me to avoid catching some of their words were discussing a third woman not Pihink Finally one said | think Miss B very foolish to get mad and give up her job.” I was all interes ‘Has she ‘Not yet nation when she to-day.” I had taken down Miss B.’s name by this time and wondered how | should be able t get her position. 1 did not dare ask the women, so at the next crossing I quit the car and made my way to the nearest drug store, asking permission to look at a ¢ directory. Down the ‘‘B” list Lran my eye fully, and at last was rewarded 3 , Miss Anna, Stenographer,”’ fol- lowed by home and office address l quickly dropped a nickel in the pay telephone and asked for the number of the office in which Miss B. worked. A gentle- man’s voice answered ‘I understand,” | said, ‘‘that need of an expert stenographer.” ‘I’m afraid you have the wrong num- ber,”’ came the answer. ‘‘] am well satisfied with my present help.” “Is this where Miss B. works?” I sisted. energ\ in possible who wa given it up but she will hand in her resig- leaves the otiice for lunch you are in per- Ye “Well, she is going to qi uit, and I wish to ap ply for the position.” That’s news to me ‘I am informed that she noon.” ‘You seem to know a about my affairs than | do is true and you can do the work, od chance of getting the job. will resign at great deal more myself, but, if it you stand a Miss B THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Outside N THE the Syrup Belt fall of 1901 I went from Michigar to California to work in a bank Phe boarding-house I selected was ver fair with but one exes ption, and that Was the naple-syrup which they served us with our ancakes i camanate distasteful mixture icose and otheringredients -toone who s used to the genuine article As neal I could find out, our boarding-ho exception t¢ the rule Seeing a chance to make a few doll began to SVI yrup to be ire ight rate igan Then whose brot through hin per g allon fe with the p until after ! syrup cost me from $1.15 to $1.20 per gal lon at the depot in California ] found tha I could undersel] and still m: me profit, so | a rice of S14 per galion ont yrul i pecete padi mad to be absolutely } My list of a juaintance Was sma by working after banking hour hout so much as a sample of the goods) | had i three days secured orders for about fift galior I ir ediat« telegrapt! | order for one hundred gallons a t three weeks had the syrup Phi as on irda and ast tda isa halt holida I k closedatt 7 I hired a dray and in a few hours had de ered all of my lars ders, including the at some distance fr t base of supplic \ few days later | had collected enough t pay for m t K, and according ent o1 a draft for $01.80, the shipment having amounted to one hundred and tw illor By thist ‘ ile were t { | ‘ | oO advertise Il got n ounces it the d tore m with p, and when I] indat » wasn't enthusiastic a bu I'd lea i Sal ple bottle with hir These samples neve Alte to bri! Ca er for from or to three gallor I kept this method uy unt t he end of t months, I had « posed of 1 ntire stock, and when I bal anced I accounts I found that I as ju ineven fifty dollars to the good deal, with the of the exception telegram and the freight on the syr as about twenty-five dollars, was How He Got Rich NHE followi incident occurred wher T I w a barefoot lad of ten years, living nan obscure country town in Maine. The wealthiest ms ithe community Wasa cer tain Mr. R.., £100,000. and to have ani dollars a da rh eamour to me so stupendous that I often wo how it was po wealth and resol tunity I would ask hin I did, on the ad ‘ all chores for hi n. th I made the who was reputed to be worth as mning di InY some sr tunity Mr. R., money?” He gave me a quick, kindly glance and soon came al how did you Make so n patting me on the shoulder replied l'litell you,myson. I bought: ra hats in the winter The full meaning of his remark wa appreciated at the time, but it made ( | impression, and as | grew to matu wisdom and significance be more anc more apparent ¥o 08 || 2 a J f pen INCOME ON SMALL SAVINGS 5% Industrial Say Times Bidg ogs and Lean Co Broadway, New York Columbia | (jraphophone ofa Ten M A Written Guarantee fare. M KNOW, Ww Free Trial and Eaay Payment Ojfer ‘ , : , M We Accept Old Machines of Make in Part Payment Any Gr I I H t 4 I Columbia Phonograph Co., Gea’ 90-92 West Broadway { New York M. ¥. Pr aos out ys

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Professional cooks use Lea & Perrins’ Sauce THE ORIGINAL WORCESTERSHIRE because no other season same fine, hn Duncan’s Sons, ing has the rich flavor. { 1 j « tate y experie HAPGOODS, Suite 142, 305 Broadway, New Vork = ~ Gasoline Engines are Sparked 50% Cheaper , rove t tt price is reduced from $3.25 to $2.50 r f tery Manufacturing Edison Sap, o 1¢,Orange,N.J = ° U NION TRU ST COMPANY 7 PROVIDENCE,.R.4. LL DEPOSITS OVER 15 MILLION DOLLARS |a} Your Kodak Film ny Experts Let fait Wr ‘ ffe ROBERT JOHNS TON. Mail Dept.. Kodaks, ) upplies & Finishing 12 North Main Street \ikes-Barre, Pennsylvania THE SATURDAY EVENING POST —THE EDITOR’S COLUMN— THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 423 to 427 Arch Street, Philadelphia By Subscription $1.50 the Year, Foreign Subscriptions: ForC yuntries in the Postal Union Five Cents the Copy of All Newsdealers Remittances to be Made by International Postal Money Order When Your Subscription Expires Three weeks before a subscription expires we inclose a renewal blank on which you may write your order for the renewal, and in the last copy sent on the old subscription we again inclose a similar blank. When we first notity « sur rene A Brief History s iTURDAY EVE NG POST s “rae ’ in fas ss. lts LinuoUs, t ve gp rsodaplap During ¢ intstend 18 Neimer began its pué f the Universal l sand Penn rugged title of the Gazette | RDAY FVENING POST Single Subscriptions, $2.75 The Shame of the Colleges! We find nothing left to expose but the colleges, and as all the muck-rakers are working overtime we have had to geta humorist to write The Shame of the Col- leges. Wallace Irwin is the man; so far he hasn’t done anything to benefit humanity except to make people laugh. We half fear that our readers will chuckle over Mr. Irwin’s articles, ** The Shame of the Colleges,’’ in which is set forth the Crimes of the Amalgamated- Gentleman Trust. Mr. Irwin spent three hours investi- gating Harvard College, and his disclo- sures will make even a Yale man blush. The dramatic interest of this chapter of infamy centres in the life story of Alexander Quaggles, who came to Harvard from South Dakota with no bad habits and ate his tobacco wholesomely from the plug. But the system was too much for Aiexander. The Crimes of the Amalgamated-Gen- tleman Trust will be followed by an expose of Yale, where they make demo- crats. In subsequent issues, at decent intervals, the shame of some more col- leges that are burning tainted money at both ends will be told. But there will be no remedy ! A Prominent Horticulturist Writes: “IT have found a home insecticide that costs next to nothing and is vastly superior to the expensive ones on the market: Melt a quarter of a pound of Ivory Soap and add to it a pailful of water, and it is ready to apply to your bushes with a whisk, an ordinary garden spray or a watering can.” | to Overcon July 14, 1906 Collar Quality To your question “*Is this a linen collar > demand a plain “* Yes" or » not buy a cotton collar ender: a fancy name o wear well a collar should be made of linen — not cotton sold as linen LONDON TOWN LINEN COLLARS four-ply-are “‘linen "’-stamped “linen.” hey are sold under guarantee They are Collar shrunk, not piece ehrunk, therefore keep size and shape he real 25c. kind, but sold at Z tora quarter in ‘, sizes bit exclusive — not to be had everywhere If your dealer cannot suk p ily you, send 25¢ for 2 London Town Linen Collars—cut shows Kingsway collar, comfortable and stylish MORRISON SHIRT & COLLAR CO. Dept. 1, Glens Falls, N.Y. Send for Book * “How We Be-Linen You. alae tg Ss 47% This bank originated the Banking by Mail system and numbers among its depositors residents in all parts of the World wh ounts range from one dollar pangs te st ids. Send! 1 4 Kiet I xX} you can Opel a SAVINES a ount by mail with one dollar and upwards. > A Periect S Smoke seur of French’s Mixture r Never bites the tongue Send 10 cents oan - , in silver or fact akes it stamps for a ‘The palates rat of large sample " Salen Tobacco”’ pouch and booklet;both / g j on. will be a de- er FRENCH TOBACCO COMPANY light to you. . j Dept. A, Statesville, N.C. A @ Wabash Coaster Wagon _.°% Wabash Manufacturing Company, 706 Mill St., Wabash, Ind TABLE BANKING CAN CGO. MACON. GA. OR BOOKLET A" TODAY Clearing Sale @:i"" TYPEWRITERS : Better than new ; e a Sh cer puice wits on tae OR FREE stlcece crotsining coparaticin! tut of eples ROCKWELL- BARNES CO.,1160 Baldwin Bidg., CHICAGO, ILL. wey Let me 1¢ sell Your Patent | | My tx ed ut 15 ye experience : Patent © REF, Patentsales exclusivel y If y Pr t r le ny ~~ WIL LIAM E. HOYT Patent Sales Specialist | | 290P Broadway N.Y.City

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Be oT): : . Copyright 1.966, by THE CurTIS PUBLISHING Company, Founded A’ dD’ 1728 by Benj Franklin TSheod nt the Philedalshia Post<Odlice | in the United States and Great Britain as Second-Class Matter Published Weekly at 425 Arch Street by THE CuRTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY ~ London: Hastings House,10, Norfolk Street. Strand,WC.

Volume 179 PHILADELPHIA, JULY 14, 1900 | Number 2 | | tee FSENAT 7 A Mirror of Our National Ideals | ha By Senator Albert J. Beveridge \S a!

HERE areourSumners? Whoisthesuccessor of William H. Seward Name me another Henry Clay!”’ exclaimed an earnest and informed admirer of the past —a worshiper of the heroes who are dead. Well,” came the answer —** Well, where are the questions that produced

a Sumner anda Seward? Where are the conditions that evolvedaClay? Where ~ q But they were the most determin« and intensel eful of any bod are the idea/s that were the real mothers of these great minds and souls?” (7) of men that ever went to the Senate of the United Stat Ihe vere ther The answer might perhaps have been that the equals of Sumner and Webster, 2 to put de he ir. Sheer ] r, cr ength, de ermina though not in the same lines, are in the American Senate to-day marked their characters and their d When the war wa ver ar

Yet in that answer abides the reason for the change in the character and reconstruction came, the quali Senators changed and _ rose Ni aptitudes of American public men—most of all of American Senators The group of men has been‘in the Senate than adorn when Conkling Senate reflects the ideals that have lasted sufficiently long and that have so \ I inds and Thurman appeared in the sea f the vat nes of the past saturated the American mind and conscience as to be said to be national rhe House of Representatives cannot as perfectly represent na A : i ‘ \ i ( iV, ui Senate, because the House is too changeable a body and reflects rather the i, Americar fe for the last generat en wth n al ul character 4

phases of the popular mind and heart during the period in which the ideals themselves are crystallizing 1p Thus, at the foundation of our Government the ideal of the American people Ly ideal that formed in the breasts of the people a decade after the Civil War was government itself —free government under orderly institutions, ‘‘ Liberty The Nation turned from armed conflict a political reconstruction to indu regulated by law,"’ as the noble old phrase has it. The people thought about b trial activity —I will not say industrial development, becaus h of that more than all other subjects put together —talked about it, wrote about it. * industrial exhaustion rather than development. The sughte r fore

The reason of this was that fora hundred years the Colonists had been dissatis- * the k ng of ! ‘ ere evel } ‘ t } tied with the government of the English king, and this di é meat ps i! Ir ra e « ‘ ( t ‘ discussion; and this discussion meant action; and this action meant independ- 2) and mills, ar I cata ‘ leveloy ence; and independence meant a workable Government of their own | ment et even th I é eager, | ‘ t! So the first Senators, and indeed ail of our early public men, were skilled ix greed the rul pa craftsmen of government. /n te jirst Senate ne yevery mar 1 college - But, no matter | e term it, every phase of the whole American industria sate ; nearly every man a lawyer; every man an earnest propagandist of that er» phenome from the er f the \ e he ¢ \\ , !

revolution of ideas which precede 1 and followed the revolution of arms; and fates has been materia | vill all t the present ! r enhave beet absolutely every one of them was a profound and lifelong student of the nature Y more practica ommercial every di For the last four dec: the and science of government

In the first Senate there were only two busine nen ay nancier, Robert I hy 1 ‘ } ul Morris —one-ninth of the whole Senate In the Senate to-day, ne / e-t f An more and more, a he eal ent th t est ye! ne of the whole Senate are busine men This in itself does not mean deteri- tr ivt ¢ é ¢ ‘ } ‘ oration of the Senate; but it means a change in the national ideal. This point is worth busine those properly stvle capta f ‘ rs of these over emphasizing, because there has been such an unjust assault made upon the Senate in lords of wealth—v e ger n their line i ess tl th Ha late years. The truth is that the standard of personal conduct among Senators is much and Jeffersor their f Webster, ¢ Calhoun in ‘ Sumner and Sewar higher now than in Webster's day in the of Morton and Cor ne in the \ eT } We would send a Senator to jail for doing uch thing as were often Gone ther put life, and especi iT he met { ti ‘ . enate a epre Webster even advocated in the Senate and had a claim passed for which he charged sented, a he da f the th and got a fee. So, beginning with the s ea ( If a Senator did a thing like that to-day he would be expelled bu men be col Until 1864 we find our Senators taking cases against the Government and think ‘ no harm of it. But the standard is different now, higher now; no Senator will take a hose successf I ne ‘ rove their capa e ! th ip] case against the Government to-day; no Senator can lawfully do s hou I Congre ndeed, t th 1 ‘ t ¢ re }? t neithe f these fa Then, too, the personal life of American public men is beyond all comparison better is, perhay ere than it was fifty years ago—vyes, better than It Was ten Years ago; and It grows better o! as lilu i na all the while, just as the personal habits of the American people grow better all the But th i th it tl ! ha while. Indeed, the Senate is almost as perfect an index of the personal habits of The wi rid 1 ees that the per of Americ: th the American people as it is a true reflection of the ideals of the American people that the iter Note, now, the two overwhelming ideals that filled the peop ming ‘ during the period of Clay, Webster and Calhoun—the ideal of state the Re sovereignty, on the one hand, and of nationality, on the other hand ! t hese ideals filled the people’s mind even more than the daily struggle dete ir ‘ " ‘ for their daily bread. So this period produced those intellectual mighty i f est ones whose sheer power of mentality and wide knowledge of the prob which me y Nat lems growing out of these ideals compel our admiration a generatiot | ef ‘ ? after those problems were solved ce, I } Nearly every Senator during this period was a profound student of porar a i f emé public questions, although there were not so many lawvers and fewer i ‘ } ‘ ( v nt er p college men than in the first Senate. A number of planters fron I ‘ and the mi vl Southern States were Senators-—-which merely emphasizes the truth meal al p I ‘ tha A that the Senate was the index of national conditions vill | producir Ar pul lif The tremendous period of the Civil War, and the dread Titanic years The America ple are nt hink e as well as d which immediately trod in its red footsteps, produced still another type dends. The re beginnir hink righ ness as well as prot of public men and especially of Senators who answered perfectly in their A type and re of this new or pe 1 is Theodore Roosev« terrible strength and relentless purpose the conditions which called es, and may we n ay one of its caus r, rather, are 1 them into public service. They were more widely scattered among Senator Albert J. Beveridge he and his work both a cause and a result

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The time for Theodore Roosevelt was ripe; the people were weary of the money ideal alone, with its million comforts and its million cruelties, its million luxuries and its million injustices, its incessant ministry to the flesh and its perpetual weakening of the spirit. And so when this young prophet of the new faith, which was yet the ancient faith, went back and forth among the people proclaiming righteousness throughout the land, the people heard him, and, hearing him, made him the first conspicuous represent- ative of the ideal he proclaimed. To this new period Amer- ican public life is responding already — responding with a rapidity that is incredible considering the extent of our dominion and the scores of our millions. So if it be said that the Senate has been representative of business ‘‘interests,’’ the answer is that business ‘‘inter- ests"’ have, for the last three decades until now, constituted the ideal of the American people. If the American citizen wants to see a change, let him stop envying and worshiping mere wealth in the mass; let him stop regarding huge railroad systems, or vast organizations like the beef trust, as things so big and admir- able that the people ought to serve them, rather than that they ought to serve the people ; let him quit his idolatry of the golden calf and stop thinking that a man is wise and good simply because he owns a copper mine in some distant mountains; let him abandon the base attitude of lifting his hat to the man who has acquired millions merely because he has tho let the average American quit all these prostrations of the soul and he will find American public life responding to his own altered attitude millions ; What the Senate Represents S' } WE see that the membership of the Senate is a faithful kK? picture of universal conditions and of national ideals from time to time. Let us see what are its functions in legislation; how it acts and what it represents, not in the character and occupation of its members, but in its method of working. The Senate is the organized distrust of the first violent and crude demands of popular passion and the organized trust in the people’s final opinion which comes when passion cools. The House is the instantaneous expression of pop- ular feeling; the Senate is the deliberate expression of popular judgment. Soe, when the country is fermenting with new ideas, growing out of changed conditions which the old laws do not fit, we hear those ideas instantly voiced in the House of Representatives. There they are first announced, first debated, first take definite form. But, in the nature of things, those ideas, in the beginning, are crude. The laws which are written to express them are defective and sometimes not even calculated to effect the very object which it is their purpose to accomplish. Time is needed for the growth of an idea as well as for the growth Patience and toil and devotion are needed to perfect a law as much as to carve from shapeless marble the immortal image that dwells in the artist’s mind. It is this principle that operates throughout the whole universe which constitutes the reason for the United States Senate. Somebody has called it ‘‘the sanctuary of the sober second thought of the Nation.”” De Toequey ille, who was the profoundest as well as the most accurate observer of our institutions, and whose study of them heated his calm philosophy into burning admiration, declared that the American House of Representatives is the expression of the emotion of the Nation; the American Senate is the expression of the judgme nt of the Nation.” Thus the House acts quickly, fervently, passionately, and always with the warm blood of the real and vital life of the people. And for precisely the same reasons the Senate acts deliberately, critically, almost with coldness not with the coldness of the indifferent worker, but of the scientist who, eager to solve the problems of the laboratory quickly, is yet far more eager to solve them accurately. And so the House is much more human than the Senate, and the Senate, in the nature of things, more judicious than the House. of a boy or a tree. sometimes Where House and Senate Differ I SAY that the action of both House and Senate have exactly the same cause. The Congressman is elected for two years. The people demand certain legislation instantly. The Congressman must be reélected at once; for a Con- gressman’s campaign never ends. And therefore, he responds to the people's immediate thought, because if he THE SATURDAY EVENING POST does not they will punish him by defeat. For the very same reason, the Senator is quite as apt to resist that imme- diate demand of the people. He is not up for an early election, and he considers, not what the people’s mind may be to-day upon this question, but what it probably will be He considers that if he votes for this measure now, the people will applaud; but if they change their mind four or five years hence, they will forget their applause of to-day in their condemnation of to-morrow. So out of human nature itself springs the question which the House puts to every measure: ” and the question which the Senate puts to every measure: ‘/s if what the people will want to-morrou when they have had time to think it over?’’ Andin answer- ing its questions, the House, under its rules, acts quickly ; for, in the nature of things, unlimited debate in the House is impossible. There are three hundred and ninety-three members in the House, and if each man should speak with- out limit on any important question the House, even if in continuous session, could not pass a dozen measures in a decade. On the contrary, there are only ninety Senators (and the men who wrote the Constitution supposed that there never would be more than forty at the outside). Therefore, extended debate is possible and necessary. The Senate is the only place in all the world where there is yes, more than that: the United States Senate is the only spot on earth where jree speech exists. Every man sees the universal advance of liberty and the gradual, but steady, capitulation of ancient forms of gov- ernment to those free institutions, of which those of our country are the first and most perfect model. Some coun- tries, like Switzerland, have caught up with and passed us in the race toward the goal of pure democracy; and others, like France and England, and in some features, such as her municipal government, even the German Empire, are as much more modern as we are now than we were more modern than they a hundred years ago. Yet in this universal uplift of peoples and nations toward the government of the people, the Senate of the United States remains the only sanctuary of free speech on earth. That is the most striking and glorious fact in the whole framework of our government — yes, and of all government; and I repeat it because it is so great, so tremendous. some years hence. “Ts it what the people want to-day ? absolutely free debate Much TalK Makes Wise Laws HE free speech of the Senate often means long debate. But without that extended discussion enactment of wise laws for the American people would be impossible. The country is so big — so vast; our people are so numerous; their interests are so varied, interwoven, interdependent, that a law which when enacted must cover a continent, and apply to almost ninety millions of people, and affect all of their interlaced industries, must be modified, balanced, adjusted with nicety, or it will work more evil than good. So, from every part of the country Senators ought to advise the Senate and the Nation as to what is best for the tepublic with respect to that law from that Senator's point of view; and for his opinion he should contend with vigor and enrich his debates with industrious research. He should speak, not for the separate we lfare of the state or section from which he comes, but jor the welfare of the whole {merican people as their welfare appears to him; for a Senator is not a Senator of a state: he is a Senator of the United States from astate. Heis the representative whom the people of a state send to the councils of the Nation to give the best wisdom of the people of that state in dev ising jor that state alone but jor the whole Republic. By the time even a small number of Senators has dis- charged this high duty of elaborate, careful and thoughtful counsel in the form of debate much time has been consumed apparently. But this is only apparently. As a matter of fact, very little time has been taken. For example, in the last eight years Congress has been in session on the average about four months a year. This is not much more time than is consumed by the legislature of a state. Yet during this historic period more new, far-reaching and destiny-freighted questions have been discussed and deter- mined than in any period of American history save only during the epochs that saw the formation of the Constitu- tion and the Civil War. A debate in the Senate rarely occupies more than two months. Only once in American history, even including the most determined filibusters, has a Senatorial debate lasted longer than three months. And these periods were not exclusively devoted to one subject. One subject was principally considered, but not exclusively. When Sen- ators are not speaking upon the principal question before the Senate, known as ‘‘ the unfinished business,’’ the Senate is swiftly transacting any other business that may be on the calendar. But take three months as the limit of debate. Is that too long a time to examine and discuss a question which, once determined, can never be entirely changed afterward ? Is it too long, for example, in a great world-policy like expansion, which commits the Nation to lines of action extending far beyond the horizon of any man's sight ? laws, not July 14, 1906 Are three months too long to deliberate upon the question of the Government control of railway-rates, which directly affects the entire transportation system of a nation that has more railroads than all other nations combined, on the one hand; and, on the other hand, affects the business of every shipper in the greatest and most active of commercial peoples, and indirectly affects the prices of products thus shipped to every one of our ninety millions who consume more than twice as much, man for man, as the people of any other country on the globe? Are three months too long time to think out and formu- late into some law that will work and work well any general revision of our currency system which touches the daily livelihood of every human being beneath the flag? Are three months too long a time to give to careful examination of tariff schedules in any attempted revision, considering that every industry in the United States and the occupation of every man, woman and child is adjusted to existing tariffs and must be readjusted to the new tariff so that it will do good instead of harm ? Yet popular impatience with the Senate began and has continued because of that deliberation. ‘‘Why don’t you take up the reform of our currency and put it through? A number of business men would not take a week about it,” said an active and intelligent business man. No doubt he could have settled the question in that time — from his point of view and that of his locality: but not from ninety points of view scattered over a continent representing people who before another decade will number a hundred million. / When it Looks Easy ae )U should have a more clearly defined policy of con- ducting the war,” said one of the typically impatient to President Lincoln. “Yes, I think so, too,” said that philosopher-statesman. ‘Let me have your views.” And the fervid adviser elaborated his ideas for an hour. ‘They look feasible enough, and I think I may say that I am convinced,” said Lincoln. ‘Will you not go to the hotel and draft for me a working plan along the lines you have described ?”’ With great glee this man, who represented a large com- mittee that had visited Washington, left the White House and told the other members that Lincoln had agreed to all he had advised and that he would immediately put it into effect; and with burning enthusiasm he went to his room and to his work. But the great weary war-President never saw this counselor of a sure-and-certain-and-speedy policy again. When it came to putting ideas into a form that meant something and that would accomplish thing the enthusiast found his task too great. And yet that is precisely the task that confronts every statesman who is fit to serve the people—statesmen, mind you, not demagogue or tricky politician. Length of service and freedom of debate make the Senate the great deliberative body; and both of these make the ( thought and settled JUDGMENT of the people. So, in the very constitution of each of the houses, the House is the originating body and the Senate the amending body. It is a curious and thor- oughly illustrative fact that most ideas which originate in the Senate have grown out of the examination of and been suggested by measures the House has passed; curious and illustrative, also, of the House that few of its bills upon important subjects are enacted into law without great modification at the hands of the Senate. Usually these Senate modifications are helpful. Usually the original house is too hurried to make its bills thoroughly safe or perfectly workable. On the other hand, not only is the Senate deliberate; it might also be said to be too slow. That is not only because of the length of time of the service of Senators, which gives them a portly leisure; not only because they are inclined to wait to see whether a popular demand is only a whim, growing out of passion, or of a fixed and increasing desire, growing out of necessity. The Senate is inclined to be slow because, fortunately, the larger number of its most influ- ential members are men of considerable a With a few exceptions, the chairmen of all important committees, which may be said almost to control legislation in the Senate, are men of very ripe years. Luckily age never puts on more sail. It is not in a hurry. Although it does not object to and even likes laborious routine, it frowns upon novel effort. It is Concluded on Pag some=- Senate representative of the permaner

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“Impatience, Indeed! He Bit Me!" I T ISN’T so sudden as you think,’ considering it for weeks.” ‘As if I didn't know that,"’ she replied ‘Your surprise was admirably feigned,” I complimented icily. “Don’t be a goose, Billy! I'm dying to know what finally decided you to propose.”’ “Is it psychology ?"’ I asked suspiciously “Just plain curiosity,’ she declared ‘Well, then, I’m simply crazy about you, Priscilla ‘‘But you've been that for years ‘‘And there was Carey Hamilton,"’ I admitted weakly “That's better,’ she said. ‘‘What about Carey?” “As if you didn’t know!” “You mean, of course, that Cars y has been rather devoted lately.”’ “Not rather, Priscilla devilishly devoted!" ‘What of it?"’ she asked innocently. ‘Look here, Priscilla,’’ I protested, ‘that doesn't go down with me; we've known each other ever since we were kids. I remember how you used to catch flies and pull their legs off. What a horrid little girl you were! And now it’s me that’s the fly, and it’s my wings and legs that you're despoiling.”’ ‘You're a beast, I that’s the fly.” ‘You haven't changed a bit,’’ I sighed “I wish I could say as much for you," said Priscilla ; Honestly, Billy, you were a nice child, and so generous Yes, you were generous then,"’ she admitted “Why then?’ I demanded. ‘‘Am I not generous now She was silent. I repeated the question ** We'll compromise,”’ she said sweetly, * generous now and then.” “Do you know how much American Beauties cost a dozen ?”’ I asked pointedly, with my eyes fixed on a rose jar near the window. “* Anybody can be generous with money,”’ said Priscilla ‘Now and then,’’ I retorted. “Carey Hamilton has been most considerate.” ‘I never liked him.” Why?” asked Priscilla ‘I refuse to answer.”’ You choose to insinuate,’’ she sneered ‘I choose to do nothing of the sort, Priscilla Crook- shanks! “T wisk you wouldn't call me Priscilla Crookshanks, Billy; I don't like it.”’ ‘“‘T don’t blame you. ‘“What has?” “‘Crookshanks, of course. Priscilla?” ‘‘Don’t be tiresome, Billy.”’ ‘“T won't, if you'll marry me.’ I said “I've been markedly, confoundedly, er Billy! Besides, you should say it’s and say you are It hasadeformed sound, hasn't it ?”’ Why don’t you change it, THE SATURDAY EVENING Woman Willful If I thought you wouldn't, I'd be almost tempt dao it Would you, really?” Almost Do you know, Billy, I've often thought had the making of a man in you?” That observation does you great credit,” I said “Thanks awfully.” What you really need,"’ she continued, “is a v “The very point I've been trying to mak« ‘But vou ought to do so Work ““(;,o00d gracious, no! thing with your life What made you think of that All the stories you read nowadays are built on that plan. Dear Young Thing falls in love with Rich Youn, Ass. Won't marry Rich Young Ass because he hasn't an Aim in Life. Dear Young Thing demands that Rich Young Ass prove his love by doing Something Worth While. So Rich Young Ass goes down to his father soap-factory in his ten-thousand-dollar automobile, di charges the office-boy teen sisters are depending on his three dollars a week for food and clothing—and sweeps out the factory himself Dear Young Thing is tickled to death. Rich Young Ass shows her an Honest Toil blister on his left hand and the next day the engagement is announced. Fierce, isn't it?” “Yes,” admitted Priscilla, ‘it’s what Lord Grimwood used to call ‘bally rot.’ Since he married Sally they've been crazy to have me visit them, but Dad won't let me go to England with only a maid, and I simply refuse to have Aunt Esther tagging along “Old Grimmy was all right,’”’ I said; ‘I liked him heap What's the matter with us getting married, and going to whose widowed mother and thir- England on our wedding trip?’ ‘“‘That’s just what I was going to propose,"’ said Priscilla ul 7 ID you ever do something, and then regret it ten minutes afterward?” Priscilla asked, as I sauntered into her drawing-room next afternoon ‘Perhaps,’ I answered guardedly At any rate, I haven't a ring to return,”’ she added triumphantly ‘That's soon remedied, pocket Oh, what a beauty get it?” “IT was at Tiffany's this morning before the doors were open. I'm glad you like it.” ‘*T do like it,”’ she replied; ‘‘and I'll tell everybody that Dad gave it to me for a birthday present But your birthday isn’t till next month! I gave it to you ‘Would you have me go around saying Billy Cartwright gave me’?”’ W hy not? We're engaged.” “T haven't really decided yet whether I'll be engaged or not. But I'll always keep the ring, Bill) No reason why you shouldn't.” “I’m so glad you're sensible about it; some men we expect me to return it : ‘*Much good it would dothem. But honestly, Priscilla I think you're treating me like a dog Still, pe rhaps I haven't been very nice There! ‘Give me another, and I'll produce a dog-collar of pearls,”’ I promised rashly ‘T might contract the habit,” said Priscilla; ‘‘ and kis I said, fishing into my waistcoat cried Priscilla When did yo And besid« See the ring I adore dogs about the ring Do vou feel better has gone out: it's considered dowdy nowada Yours are not dowdy,” I said they're I can't think of the right word.’ ** Heavenly ‘Exactly. Thank you “Don’t thank me; to.” ‘You didn’t kiss Carey! “Of course not; I kissed his Boston terrier It’s the sweetest thing! Will you buy me one when we're married, Billy?” “T'll buy you a hundred if you like. That reminds me I suppose I ought to speak to your father “T don’t see why Isn't it customary?” it's Carey Hamilton vou're ted POST N PURSUIT OF PRISCILLA A Chronicle of the Man Willing and the By Edward Salisbury Field crat only ng “Mere Affection,” I Said A Love Nip” Oh, ves, evervbody speaks to Dad: he very demo ic, you know But really, Priscilla, I i peak t ur father — it right Well, vou can't now, because Care Hamilton i peal to him, aid Priscilla What 1 cried rh s outrage Priscilla! I don't see wh lf Peterson, the gardener, asked me f he might speal 1) I'd tell hi Ye But Pet n ist in love with ratt me Priscilla; I wonder I never thought of it before Burning a ‘ too good for you, Bil “So you're going to marry me instead That er eance with a i You'll think I « 1 | Car bee ‘ ably long time; I r what has kept him Dad, probal No d t he f corners ( t and is reading his paper to hin If he has I'r re ( ( ‘ r patheti ] T ear Dad! he dos ove a my het ene! I never saw a mar ho didn r ) either, f nat itter I hate a ey? rid Pr i I time for v, Bill I'm not ng till Carey H n sh I Please I \ Diack Perhat flit } Perk ! that rey Hamilton isn't he | for I ( i i Wm our father think ] i | iViaid hit last night at the club, and he litera fellonn nec} he I told him If it had been anybody else I should have thought he looked relieved.” Oh, isn’t he, though! But vou needn't envy Carey | ptior for Dad preparil 1 pape or fi Medical et He might sav ‘ Yes’ just to get rid of him,” I ventured So he might, aid Pr la I never thought of that likes Carey, too Of course, if he sa Yes,’ that les it, B It « ‘ notnir ot the \ ‘ wed to mé it a little de ou are, Priscilla Now, that's a compliment I can appreciate, I'd much er you'd call me that than Dear or Du \ Promise you'll never call me Duck Ducky, Du How perfectly horrid of you, Billy!

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‘Not a bit. Why shouldn’t he look relieved?” ‘*Why should he?” ‘You might have wanted to marry some one he didn’t approve of.” jut he likes Carey Hamilton,” said Priscilla. ‘As for you, he was nice to you for my sake.” ‘Did you ask him to be?”’ ‘*T never ask Dad to do anything; I just te ll him to do it. e's a regular lamb.” I'm not,’ I warned. “Of course not,” she agreed; ‘‘they don’t christen But I haven't thanked you for that darling puppy you sent me What shall I call him?” “You might call him Tatters,”’ I said; ‘‘for, if he’s affectionate, he'll tear your clothes to shreds, and, if he isn't, he'll tear them anyway.” That's encouraging,” said Priscilla. ‘‘] can’t say I like the name of Tatters, though. Besides, I've already named him Hammy.” What an unpleasant name!” I said. him Piggie and be done with it?” I don't think that’s fair to Mr. Hamilton,’ pouted Priscilla Just Heaven!" I exclaimed. ‘She's named the dog 1 gave her after Carey Hamilton!” Don't be silly,"’ said Priscilla; ‘‘I only did it to tease him.” You didn’t stop to consider that it might tease me, too. You oughtn’t to call a well-bred, self-respecting dog Hammy; it’s too degrading.”’ Carey is the great-great-grandson of Alexander Hamil- ton, one of the finest names in American history.” And your dog is sired by Saturn, king of the Dog Star Kennels, and one of the finest-bred dogs in the world.” Good gracious! Is he? How interesting! Hammy isn't a beautiful name, I'll admit; besides, there’s that old proverb about giving a dog a bad name. I think I'll call him after one of Chevalier’s songs. I adore Chevalier.” Which one will you name him after?” The Little Nipper. It sounds something like Little Dipper, and that’s more in keeping with Saturn and the Dog Star Kennels. I know I'll just love Nipper, Billy I'm sure you will. The lucky brute! Can't we have him in here, and christen him properly ?”’ If vou'll ring, I'll have James fetch H ambs, Billy ‘W hy not call Of course we can him from the kitchen.”’ ‘You ought to keep him in the stable. The cook will feed him too much, and the other servants will spoil him.” I'd rather have him spoiled than kicked to death by a horse.” , Nonsense! Horses understand dogs.” **So do cooks, Fed dogs are fond dogs, Billy. Here he is now! Did he bite you, James? Only nipped you?”’ There, you see,”’ I said; ‘he's trying out his new name before he knew he had one. Come here, Nipper, old boy!’ “That's not the way to talk to dogs,"’ said Priscilla, planting Nipper in her lap Lie still, little Nipper-ipper we're going to christen you.” What with?” I asked. Tea, I suppose,” answered Priscilla; ‘it’s the handiest Stop him, Billy; he’s chewing my lace!"’ It shows he's hungry.”’ I wonder if he really ought to have something to eat Hold still, Nipper, while I christen you.” Be careful,” I urged ‘You'll upset that cup of tea.” Who's doing this?” said Priscilla. ‘‘The dear! He is sO impatient to be christened I can hardly hold him Ouch!” Just his impatience, Priscilla Impatience, indeed! He bit me Mere affection,” I said A love nip.” Nothing of the sort. He's a vicious dog, that’s what he is, and he isn't well bred, either — he’s frightfully rude Billy, the spikes on his collar are all tangled up in my lace Nipper, you little brute Pa If you don't make him get down I'll scream.” All right. Come to your Uncle Billy, Nipper There!” said Priscilla, ‘‘I hope vou're satisfied. Most likely I'll have hydrophobia from the bite on my wrist, and my gown is a perfect wreck.” ‘Il told you Tatters was a good name for hin I said Billy Carts t rea beast! Leave the house at onee!’ Or you might re-christen him Rags. I once knew a really noble dog named Rags And you say you love me!’ I said I loved vou At » present moment, love is too mild a word——I adore vou “And I hate you! Now go, please, before I set Nipper on you No, I don't mean that ea Qa I'm sure you don It was only the Nipper part that I didn’t mean. Now go, please, or I'll set Hammy on you.” iv “T'M SO giad to see you,” beamed Priscilla, as if that pleasure had been denied her for a month, instead of twenty-four hours. ‘‘I was just telling Mr. Hamilton that vou had deserted me lately.”’ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “And a Sunburst of White on His Forehead” “T’ve been frightfully busy,” I explained, accepting my cue like a little man. ‘How are you, Carey?” **Howdy-do?” said Carey, not any too enthusiastically. “I thought I left you at the club.” ‘So you did,” I replied pleasantly. ‘I didn’t know you were coming, so I telephoned him,”’ fibbed Priscilla. ‘* You see, I'm in trouble, and Dad's so busy that I hate to bother him.” Dear me!” said Carey sympathetically. ‘You in trouble? How very sad--extraordinarily sad, don't you know? Pray command me, Miss Crookshanks. Beauty in distress has a friend in me always —always, Miss Crook- shanks. Bear that in mind—always.” ‘Il don’t know about the beauty part,”’ said Priscilla, but I can answer for the distress; I’ve lost a dog—a valuable dog.” When?" I demanded sharply. “This morning,’’ answered Priscilla. ‘I told Annie to take him for an airing in the Park, and somehow he got away from her.” Too bad! A horrid shame!” said Carey. “Yes, indeed!”’ I agreed ‘Do you know, Carey, she had named the dog after you?” Why, Billy Cartwright, I hadn't any such thing!” ‘*‘T was sure you wrote me you'd named him Hamilton,” Isaid. ‘Of course I jumped at the conclusion that Carey gave him to you. You did, didn’t you, Carey?” I wasn't aware that Miss Crookshanks wanted a dog,” said Carey, ‘‘or I should have given her one long ago.” I tried to once,” I confessed. ‘Il asked her if she would accept a puppy, and her answer was: ‘This is so sudden.’ Discouraging, wasn’t it?” “Ha, ha!"’ laughed Carey. ‘She thought you meant Ha, ha! Rather neat, old man!” “Of course we'll try yourself Uncommonly neat,” I assented and find your dog for you, Priscilla.” Of course we will,’’ said Carey. What kind of dog was it, and what was its name?” It was a Boston terrier,’ answered Priscilla; ‘‘some- thing like yours, Carey, only better bred.” *Oh, I say!” protested Carey. ‘Mine is one of the best-bred dogs in America; he took a blue ribbon at the last Dog Show.”’ And its name was Nipper,” continued Priscilla, with a side glance at me Nipper?” I repeated Sounds as if it would bite,’ said Carey Oh, no!”’ said Priscilla ‘It was the most affectionate dog I ever saw What a charming name How’s your arm?” I asked wickedly. Did he bite your arm?” demanded Carey “The ! Mark my words: you're well rid of him.” It was just a love Vicious brute **How unkind of you, Mr. Hamilton nip sesides, it helps to remind me of my dear lost dog You'll both help me find him, won't you?” I would go to the ends of the earth for you,”’ said Carey majestically “I'll turn New York upside down if it’s necessary,” I proclaimed ‘You're both as sweet as you can be,” said Priscilla, ‘“‘and if you'll only find Nipper for me I'll love you to my dying day.’ July 14, 1906 I shall work as man never worked before for reward,’ Carey declared. “T’'ll find the pup,’’ I stated briefly. ‘‘ But, first, you must give us a proper description of him, Priscilla.”’ “Yes, that’s right,’’ said Carey, taking a pencil and notebook from his pocket. ‘*How much did Nipper weigh?” I asked. ‘About fifty pounds,” said Priscilla; ‘‘at least, I think he did.” ‘Did he wear a collar?” “Yes,” answered Priscilla the collar on your dog, Carey.” ‘What were his markings?” “He had four white feet.”’ “Don’t you mean white forefeet?’’ I asked, determined to be fair, and give Carey his chance. ‘* Yes, that’s it-—white forefeet, and a sunburst of white on his forehead about the size of a dollar. The rest of him was regular Boston terrier color.” ‘*Was your name on the collar?’’ Carey inquired. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t, nor Nipper’s name, either. Of course you'll advertise.” “We ll, rather!’’ I said. ‘In the Heraid,”’ said Carey. ‘In all the morning papers,’’ I announced. ‘In the Telegram,”’ said Carey. ‘In all the evening papers,” I declared ‘It’s awfully good of you,”’ cooed Priscilla. ‘‘I don’t know what I should have done without you.” “The dog isn’t found yet,’”’ I warned. ‘It’s as good as found,”’ boasted Carey “I'm sure you'll find it, Mr. Hamilton,”’ said Priscilla. ‘“T hate to speed the parting guest, but you two men really ought to think about going. There’s plenty of work ahead of you, what with advertising and hunting for poor dear Nipper. You'll report progress to me now and then, won't you, Mr. Hamilton? If you’re too busy to come to the house, Billy, you can either write ortelephone. Now toddle along, my gentle knights; here’s a chance to gird on your armor and rescue a puppy in distress. Be good to Nipper when you find him, Mr. Hamilton. Don’t run into any windmills, Billy. Good-by.” “It had spikes on it—like Vv “ZOU have the beginnings of a first-class dog show out- side,”’ I said, pointing to the street “Thanks to you,” said Priscilla grimly, ‘‘or to your advertisement, rather. The doorbell has been ringing ever since seven o'clock this morning; forty dogs have been shown to James— and they’re still coming!” “No doubt of it,’ I said. ‘‘I passed nine or ten on the avenue, all headed this way. But you're wrong in holding me responsible; if you'll remember, my advertisement read ‘Address all communications to Box 62, University Club.’ “Then it was Carey Hamilton who so thoughtfully supplied the public with my house number.” “It must have been,”’ I said. ‘I saw his notice in this morning's Herald. But you really oughtn't to blame him, you know; he wouldn't recognize Nipper if he were to see him on the street, and James would.” ‘Just the same, it’s very tiresome to have one’s front steps turned into a dog-kennel,”’ said Priscilla. ‘As if it wasn’t enough to have lost poor dear Nipper! Do tell me what you've done about finding him, Billy.” “Well, I’ve set my man, Jenkins, on the trail, and I've done some tall thinking since I saw you. No Nipper yet, but I still hope.” I’m sure Carey Hamilton has done more than that.” ‘*He has; he has hired a detective.” “Not really! A detective! Goodness, Billy, it’s just like a story!” “A detective-story “‘Nonsense! It seems to me, Billy, you might be better employed than loafing here. Why don’t you do as Carey is doing, and put more heart into looking for Nipper? It would be more graceful on your part. Besides, I love a man of action.’ ‘I love action, too.’’ “Tn others.” “Exactly, Priscilla —though I can’t see where the action comes in in Carey's case; it seems to me the detective is the busy man thers ‘But of course Carey talks things over with him, and they plan, and scheme, and find clews and things.” Everything but dogs,’’ I agreed ‘That’s hateful of you, Billy, when you know how I’m suffering about Nipper. I do miss him so! He was such a companion.” ‘Let me see, you had owned him a whole day and a half when you lost him, hadn’t you?” “That's all, but I think you’re horrid to throw it in my face i “Perhaps it wasn’t altogether decent of me.” ‘It was shameful! And I must say, from your present treatment of me, that I’m grateful, extremely grateful, that I'm not engaged to you, Billy.” “Oh, but you are!” ‘Prove it.”

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“T’ve proved it!"’ I announced triumphantly. ‘A kiss proves nothing,’ said Priscilla the nicest things about them. ‘And nothing proves a kiss,”’ I said, ‘‘another point in their favor.” ‘We're a couple of sentimental geese, Billy, sitting here and talking of kisses.” **Mere words,” I said. I like a man “You're so clumsy! And now you're lace, just as poor Nipper was day before wish you wouldn't remind me of him, Billy —it’s unkind sut do you honestly feel cut up about Nipper, Billy ?’ ‘**How can you doubt it?”’ “Well, if you'll be good, and go now, to-morrow afternoon.” “T'll be good as gold. Do you know, Priscilla, I have a presentiment that I'll find Nipper,before I see you again ?"’ ‘You'll do nothing of the kind —though I only wish would, Billy. My poor, lost lamb!” ‘* Poor, lost lamb,’’ I repeated. It’s like the Scriptures, isn’t it? But if your lamb is lost, it’s the only one in towr that is; the other ninety-and-nine are safe in front of the house. Hear ’em how] -— dear little things! that’s one of ot actior tangled in my yesterday l l you may come ou on the sidewalk Couldn't he, thoug to you, complacently How dared he! “Just what ysell Ma t i riddle It’s too funny for words. So he I accepted him. Poor Carey Poor Billy!" I said Nothing of the sort, dP: I ! to anvbody, Bill Who « lid beheve a i stupid ? ‘ ‘He must have had some is f l sa He hadn't, Bil ot a jot You might tell me what happened, vou } Nothing happened He i me How ant! Yes, wasn't it l't ll at sea as regards particula I su ‘ It was nothing nothing atall, Sa Pr la ( asked me if I liked rings, and | said I adored ther he asked what kind I liked best and | uaa nom course silly Cartwright, you grow more unbearable each day! Now go, before I lose all love for you.” “All right, my dear, I'll go. But I'd like to step into Dad’s study and tele- phone before I leave. May rr” “Certainly, Mr. Cartwright.” ““And Priscilla, love sa ‘*What is it, Billy?” *T’'ll let myself out by the side the side door, understand.”’ door vi ™ H, BILLY, Nipper is lost!" wailed Priscilla, meeting me at the drawing-room door with a tragic face ‘‘Has been for three days,"’ ! cor- rected. “No, he hasn't,’ she faltered ‘““What do you mean?”’ ‘*Why, you see, I thought —' she stammered You thought it seemed,” I encour- aged. “The fact is, Billy, Nipper wasn't lost at all.” ‘The deuce he wasn't!” ‘‘No, he was safe in the kitchen all the time. It was lots of fun while it lasted, but now he’s really lost, and I don't know what to do.” ‘“There’s Carey's detective,” I gested. “Don’t be cruel, Billy!” “It’s you that’s cruel: pitting me against Carey Hamilton in a wild-goose I wouldn't have thought it of you, Priscilla.” ‘‘Nonsense!”’ said Priscilla. ‘I only aroused yoursympathies — what few you have. And, if you want the truth, I believe you've known Nipper wasn’t lost, all along.” ‘Perhaps I have.” ‘I’m sure you have.” ‘*When did you miss him?" I asked ‘‘Last night after dinner. I went down to the kitchen to see him, and he was gone.” “Did you take Carey Hamilton with you?” “Of course not, silly!” that is, it seemed “Go on.” sug- chase. at lunch, and ; [ asked n h? He rccepled a THE SATURDAY EVENING ‘‘Perhaps you told him you were going to telephone,” I suggested **Why do you say that?”’ she asked. “‘T telephoned from Dad’s study yesterday afternoon, if you'll remember,”’ I said. * Billy Cartwright!” P “Yes,” I continued, ‘and, while I was telephoning, Nipper was asleep in the coal-scuttle in the kitchen.’ ‘*And you let yourself our the side door,” said Priscilla “The kitchen door,’’ I corrected. “Billy Cartwright, you've stolen my dog! him at once—at once, do you hear?” ‘There, there! Don’t make a scene, Priscilla. Your dog is lost—has been for three days. If you don’t believe ask Carey Hamilton.” ‘*You're a monster, a human monster!” ‘Why not ‘inhuman’? It sounds better.” ‘* And it’s more true: you’re an inhuman monster, Billy, and if you don’t send for my Nipper at once I'll—I'll break our engagement!”’ ‘You've done that already. so yesterday at the club.” “He didn’t! He couldn’t have!” Go fetch me, Carey Hamilton told me “Tl Tell Everybody that Dad Gave That's rubies.”’ “Go on.” “That's all—only h to show "ne next time them.” why I said see What a subtile way ‘‘Carey is awfully s **And now he thinks ing! How frightfully I’m sure I'm “Oh, ves; “I’m not: again as long as I live ‘Don't be hy I give you my “When?” “To-morrow, perhay I understand.” sterica word |} glad y I never wi if I'm bored to death, and I want Nipper, Bil If you don’t send for him this minute I'll never ] it to Me for a Birthday Present" diamonds, e asked if he he called, ar of propos ubtile he , hen ou thin is SO amused in mM) l, Priscillz 1e will S ( 1 ‘arey s de might told hira I'd love life! ket Nipper will be found tective Is ver bring some ring speak to you POST * hor ‘ \ Ar nay i Yor } } ten t ousl W lawye nor the que I imr phone pr fe demo tice t lav and Sy rth I hoy replied P Cl That ina (lar “IT py hirthy pla } rupted ; " , } ' ” r} ipia ard! om Iton affec 1Or wasn t I’, at mr tele add that Sparrow faithful and capa Nipper presence ‘ [Therefore : ed. vour titu f M Crook ant ested int If alone mmer i Sparro mse ure quall af i hank the ‘ that Spar a tol , et wher I; ' : it of Wi : ar Kenn | { } y ma I i KI ki n t Ninp Sip] pete ] « ‘ ed

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‘‘We’re both dining at the Plantagenet Browns,” I explained. **So we are,” said Priscilla ‘‘T am, too,” said Carey. ‘Yes, you're to take in Miss Morton,”’ I agreed. ‘‘Too bad, old man, but you'll be seated miles away from us.” From us? Who's us?” demanded Priscilla. From Miss Crookshanks and Mr. William Patterson Cartwright,”’ I replied vil "H' )W did you manage it, Billy?"’ asked Priscilla, as we sank into our chairs before Mrs. Plantagenet Brown's festive board that evening. ‘Mrs. Planty is a dear,’”’ I explained. ‘‘T hope you didn't tell her we were engaged, Billy.’ Perhaps I didn’t,”’ I returned. ‘Because we're not, you know,” she continued, “That's a beautiful ruby you're wearing, Miss Crook- shanks.” ‘*Dad gave it to me on my birthday,” said Priscilla. ‘*Which is next month. Let me see, you'll be “Twenty-two.” ‘I thought it was twenty-four.” “Tt was twenty-four, Billy, but it is twenty-two.” There's a vast difference between is and was.” “Only two years. But that reminds me—I've got something awfully important to tell you.” ‘‘Why didn’t you tell me this afternoon?” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST **T couldn't very well,” said Priscilla, glancing across the table at Carey Hamilton, who was doing his best to be nice to Miss Morton. ‘‘The fact is, Billy, I received a letter this morning from Lord Grimwood’s sister, Lady Maud.” ‘‘Very interesting,” ladmitted, ‘‘ but hardly important.” “Just wait till I'm through,’’ warned Priscilla. ‘‘ Lady Maud is on her way home from Japan, and will arrive here to-morrow.” ‘‘We must give her a good time while she’s in town,” I said. ‘‘She’s sailing the next day,”’ continued Priscilla, ‘“‘and Sally has cabled that she and Lord Grimwood expect me on the same boat.” ‘‘Are you going?” I demanded grimly. “Of course I’m going. There, didn’t I tell you it was important?” ‘This is a nice time and place to tell me, Priscilla.” “Just what I thought. I hate a scene.” ‘*Perhaps your father won't consent.” ‘He has already consented —at least, I’ve told him I’m going. Dad’s only objection, all along, has been my not having a proper companion for the trip. That’s where Lady Maud steps in, you see.” ‘It’s preposterous, and it’s unkind.” “It is a little sudden. I’m sorry for you, Billy.” “I’m sorry for myself. But there’s still time for us to be married before you go, Priscilla.”’ ‘‘Time enough! Why, man, there’s only two days.” ‘It only takes ten minutes.” July 14, 1906 “It takes clothes,” said Priscilla—‘‘heaps of clothes.” “Tl buy you all you want in Paris.” ‘But I’m going to England; besides, it is not to be thought of. I'll be back in the fall, though, Billy ; so cheer up.” “You'll bring back a Lord, or Earl, or something.”’ ‘*A Duke or nothing, Billy; a Duke is none to good for me.” ‘‘None of them are good enough. You're not really going to leave me behind, Priscilla?”’ ‘I’m afraid I am, Billy.” “You don’t care.” “Yes, I do. I’m awfully fond of you, Billy.” **Does Carey Hamilton know you're going?" “Of course not.” ‘‘Well, that’s some comfort.” ‘‘And I’m going to leave Nipper with you, Billy; he’ll remind you of me.” ‘*He'll remind me more of Carey and his detective.” “You got the best of me there. How did you know Nipper wasn’t lost?’’ ‘I suspected it from the first.”’ ‘**But how did you know?” ‘**T got in ahead of you with James.” ‘‘Of course I told James not to breathe a word.” ‘I asked him where Nipper was, the afternoon he was officially lost you didn’t hear me, for you were talking to Carey. Naturally, James told the truth.” (Concluded on Page 20) THE QUEST of the COLONIAL OR the lover of the old, the sign of ancient furni- ture always possesses a potential attrac- tion, whether it be represented by the Antichita” of a back street in Perugia, the ‘‘Anciens Meubles” of Tours, or the *‘Antiques’’ of Fourth Avenue or Pine Street. On our own side of the water, antiques of all things—are apt to run in fash- ions, although fashion is supposed to have nothing to do except with the things of to-day. But the real collector cares nothing for the passing fashion, and is therefore likely to be best pleased with the out-of-the-way shops where fashions are unknown. In Philadelphia, as in other large cities, these are tucked away in odd corners Not that the large shops are to be arbitrarily avoided. One may find there precisely the genuine bit he has been searching for. And in Philadelphia, as an average, prices are likely to range lower than in New York Philadelphia and its vicinity offer a fruitful field. A loan exhibition given in the Germantown quarter of the city, only a few years ago~ it was in 1902 gave some indication of the prodigious number of old pieces still pre served. After all, it need not be won- dered at. For in that section there is an imposing array of Colonial homes, and the entire city is a city of ancestry. Not only, therefore, did all the exhibits have a local habitation, but many were connected with historical names. There was profusion of old silver and pewter, of there was profusion of swell-front chests, of pieces of inlay and marquetry, of pieces of oak and walnut and cherry and mahogany. Naturally, too, ther¢ (pris seeneenrcocresreoe is) brass and china; ess == (6 Fine Example of Pre-Revolutionary Settee. Cabriole Legs, with Shell Ornamentation. A Piece with Unusual Curves. In the Collection at Stenton PHILADELPHIA, DELAWARE AND VIRGINIA 1—Chest-on-Chest. Remarkably Beautiful Example. About 1780. 2 -Highboy, About 1770. As Distinguished from Chest-on-Chest were fine specimens of the Windsor chair, Philadelphia being the city in which that style of chair was first made in this country, not long after King George the First established its vogue in England. One knows that the field must be broad in which there are such gleanings, and so the quest of old-time furniture hereabouts has the constant fascination of probable success. When the breaking up of some old family, or the death of its last representative, brings about the dispersion of old furniture, and the goods are to be sold, it is not customary, as it isin New York, to hold the sale at a shop, but in the old house itself. In the aumberless little trips which may be made in the vicinity of Philadelphia the impression of the existence of a great quantity of old-time material, in private houses and in shops, is confirmed. At a town upon the Delaware, less than an hour by rail from the city, we found a curious little wistful-faced, droop-shouldered man; silent, rather; almost shy, indeed. His shop seemed to have but little in it. A few candle- sticks, a piece or two of mahogany, some china which, if one were disposed to be captious, might scoffingly be set down as modern reproduction. At first the man was torpidly indifferent; but we knew of him by reputation and therefore knew that there was more to him and to his ancient furnishings than appeared upon the surface. But nothing had given a hint of what was really to come, Slowly he thawed; slowly he perceived that he was talking with some one who appreciated and cared; and he led the way into a long and narrow room behind his little By Robert and Elizabeth ShacHKleton ©». & was su o treasures; and then he led the way upstairs, through his living rooms, and into apart- ments filled to over- flowing with ancient things, and in which old cupboards and secretary drawers hid quantities of glasses and genuine deep blue china. Down the street we went with him, and through a passageway, into a cold and drafty barn crowded full with antiquities. . In one of the dark corners stood, side by side, a highboy and a chest-on-chest, names often used interchangeably, although, properly speaking, a chest-on-chest comes practically to the ground, whereas a highboy leaves sufficient space for cabriole legs. The highboy was one with steps on its top for the display of china, and in appearance was not much later than the date at which this article of furniture first appeared, about the beginning of the eighteenth century. The chest-on-chest was of a later date; naturally enough, as, although there were a few in use by 1750, they did not become at all common before the time of the Revolution. Everything was as he had obtained it; nothing had been repaired, nothing restored. But, in spite of a glad willingness to show his wares to those who would appreciate, it was clear enough that his personal desire, apart from needful considerations, would be to hoard and not to sell. If one is to consider all of Pennsylvania as being in the vicinity of Philadelphia, it opens a wide field. One may explore the south and west of Pennsylvania with deep pleasure in the exploration and with satisfaction in results; but it is not positively needful that one should go so far; there is much to be had within easy distance of the city. fo} Settee Owned by John Hancock; Really a Double Chair. Chippendale Form. Walnut Wood. In the Col- lection at Worcester, Massachusetts }

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We wandered at random, one autumn day, through a charming inland town, some twenty-five miles from Philadelphia. Old trees shaded the old houses and old-fashioned flowers bloomed in the old gardens. Ve turned a corner, rounding a large and comfortable house, and saw, standing within a porch of generous proportions, at the side, a thin and fluttery elderly litth Quakeress. She was talking with a towns- man, who was halting with reluctant feet, looking back longingly at a bundle of magazines which he

THE

had Just set down and trying to overcome his cautious frugality. ‘Thee may take them or leave them, just as thee chooses,’’ said the little Quaker lady, bringing the incident toa close with a mild peremptoriness under which the man went shamefacedly awa. It was evident that at this house, although there was no sign or announcement, something was being sold. If one thing, why not another? And it was a charming house, with charming possibilities. And so one of us stepped inside, and the Quakeress stood smiling a greeting from the top of the few steps. ‘‘Can you tell me if any one in this town has a claw- footed sofa, and would be willing to part with it?” ‘**We have one here, and are willing to sell it to thee,” was the reply. She asked us in, and called her husband And we saw, directly facing us, set in front of a closed fireplace, precisely such a sofa as we were in search of. In every particular it answered the requirements which we had in mind. It was eight feet long, inside measure- ment. It was done in dark leather, however, rather worn by years of use, instead of its original covering. It wasa thing of perfect lines and curves. It had claw feet, and above them were elaborately broad and spreading wings Each arm was in a superb double curve, and the faces of the arms were beautifully carved in acanthus leaves, with the carving narrowing and broadening to follow the chang- ing line of the wood. The back was elaborately carved from end to end, with a charming interrupted roll in the middle. At each end, under the lower curve of the arm, was a space for one of the old-fashioned hard cylinder pillows -a fashion of much older date than this sofa, but revived a century ago—but we discarded the pillows, as the sofa was finer and in better proportion without them. This sofa had been used by the two Quakers for thirty years, and before that had been in possession of the one from whom they obtained it for some forty-odd years; tracing back the pedigree, thus, to 1830. 1830 there is no record of it; but it could scarcely have been more than twenty years old at that time, as it is of early Empire style. The Quakers showed us through their house; they had decided to sell what they had, and give up housekeeping, although they had been housekeeping all their married life. We went from room to room, and up waxed stairs, and saw old-time bits at every turn, on every side. And again we thought what quantities of old furniture still exist, when this house, found so entirely by lucky fortune, was but one out of many. The sofa was not the only article that was obtained from them. We secured a highboy, well over the century mark in age, and worthy of its name, it being more than six feet high. It is of walnut, with wealth of drawers and of old brasses. Bandy-legged it is, and has web feet; web as distinguished from claw, the rib of the toes being indicated instead of completely earved; astyle often used on fine old pieces from their being considered less breakable than the claw-and-ball. And now, here is the strangest part of a strange story The two Quakers sold searcely anything besides what they sold tous. Ready to dispose of their old treasures as they were, they were ready for a short time only. Whatever had turned them in that direction was so soon and s¢ completely altered as to cause them to decide to keep their home and all their household goods, after all. Surely an old-furniture providence watches over the ardent collector They felt no regret for having sold to us; at least, if they did they stoutly maintained to the contrary, and they wished nothing undone that had been done. Only no more was to be sold, whether to ourselves or to any one else. And we found that we had made two charming friends, of tastes congenial; friends whom it is a pleasure to meet and to hear from. ‘‘ We were sorry to have missed you the other afternoon’’—in such wise writes the old gentleman. “Come again; come again on the first day of the week. For in the Friends’ calendar the first day of the week is consecrated to the social amenities.” In both the North and the South a great proportion of the furniture was made by native cabinet-makers, even before the Revolution; and after the war importation still more decreased. Previous to In the South, however, the proportion of native-made

furniture was never so great asin the North, and therefore

SATURDAY EVENING POST

The Empire Sofa. Winged-Claw Feet Acanthus Carvings Ca:efully Gradu- ry ated. Fine Curves in Arms and Back. Eight Feet Inside Measurement in the South there is m« of English, Dutch or French manufacture, more likelihood of picking up an English Chippendale or Sheraton or a French Empire instead of those of American mak« The lists of cabinet-makers of a century or more ago in the different cities do not t, seem to bear out the idea of a distinct difference ectior f the cour try in the matter of furniti g, for comparison of

the number of Charleston Boston, or those of New York wi not exhibit any marked difference. But the shops in the Northern cities averaged a larger size, or at least more of an annual output; and, more important than this, there were great numbers of makers of furniture scattered through a host of little towns and villages in New York and Pennsy] vania and New Pngland, whereas in the South there were ‘omparatively few outside of the larger places A narrow and uncompromising critic, writing two hun- dred years ago of his impressions of Virginia, and not under- standing that a region of plantations could not fairly be expected to manufacture as much as other parts of the country, complained bitterly of the Virginians that “though their country be overrun with wood, yet they have all their wooden ware from England — their cabinets,

chairs, tables, stools, chests.”’ Less of it remains than might be expected from the splendid furnishings recorded of some of the great houses. But those were the exceptions and as an offset many a house went bare enough. After all, the greatest amount of old furniture, as a total, in the Northern States and Colonies, was in the homes of the middle class, which, practically, did not exist in the South That Washington, at Mount Vernon, had chairs alone that were valued at nearly seven hundred dollars, did not imply that Virginia was filled to overflowing with fine chairs And there is a grim reason why much of the splendid furniture that once existed in the South has disappeared that is, the ravages of two wars. In this respect almost all of the South was more or less affected Now and then a piece escaped destruction by a curious chanes \ family in Charleston proudly preserves a fine bookcase whose

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| Cupboard of the Kind Called in Virginia a Beaufet. Built into Wainscoted Wall. Above the Top Shelf the Wood is Ribbed in the Shape of a Shell

havir on le ed he } } ed th as horse | +} ~ f I t f I ! ct ‘ om 1 centur } } in New | ‘ ‘ i and richme 1 « ist not confine | ! ‘ of age or pretensior As witl 1 the heirlooms in the cabin near the there are things to be found in shabby plac t} uses having been destroved any a negro cabin there may be fou broken, almost worn-out, but still beautifu pe men of attractive old furniture This came a with perfect naturalness A} furniture past it isefulness, ready to De replac if i! piece, would not be made into kindling, would not be away inacorner of the barn. It would be passed ahead favored slaves, Just as coats and dresses were t ed tothen Most of the furniture so given away has been complet: worn-out and destroyed, but enough remai: to be a highly desirable object of search And, beside what was given to the colored folk in the days of prosper the thered and took to their huts ma a piece whe

the r ions were looted and destroved Negroe are apt to be careless in breaking and handling furniture their own homes, but at the same time they have a < curious instinct for preserving things, eve hence the value of this hint in regard to 1 of ancient pieces Although there is general harmony of style in the furni- ture of the North and the South, there are at the same time some interesting difference New Orleans, tl rich in the old as would be expected from its history and from the extent of its old French Quarter, till shows more of the furniture of Louis-Quinze and Louis-Seize than does any other part of the country In the South there are more couch-chairs than in the North; these, the «/ / of the French, as distinguished from the chair or the bed, be ing long and narrow, with a piece like a chair-back

at one end In the South, too, there are more of what are known as double chairs, a self-de criptive name It Virginia and Maryland one may sometimes find an Empire sideboard with a mirror at the bach There are more corner-cup boards in the South, with gla in the front of the lower half of the cupboard, thaninthe North; althoug! it is not customary with Southerners to term thern cornet cupboards, but beaufets or buffet bo-fat being a custon ary local pronunciation in Virginia. The dinner-wagor too, may be considered a Southern institution and name, it being a double-decker,side-table In a Virginia house, in the lower Shenandoah regior of unusual size | ead of being of the we came across an old lustre pit held at least a quart and a pint, i! small capacity of most of the pitchers of this ware. The owner, an old man living solitary there, was glad t t it for a dollar gut, noticing something in the botton beneath the accumulated dust of years, it was taken out and handed t hin It was a piece of linet lace and a nair of knitting needles A change came over the old mar face He spoke ir low voice, with a sort of awe rh what 1 f ‘ working on when And as he turned the piece Ver and looked at them and at the pitcher in which they had long been hidden, his mind was busy with the past It was clear, too, that he would be heartbroken at losing, now that old pitcher which his wife had used for that final put ting awa a putting awa which wa to have beer but for an hour or two! He did not ask that we conswmier the sak unmade; but when the pitcher was offered to him agair he eagerly grasped it, with a grievous sort of joy In the vicinity of old Smithfield, that little tewn famous for its hams, and its church by Sir Christopher Wren; there are many piecesto befound. And, indeed, the whole regi round about Williamsburg, the early capital of the Con

monwealth, repays a search It is fitting that in a towr where there is a ‘“* Palace Green,” and a‘* Duke of Gl ter Street,”’ there should st ll be some of the fine old h it is fortunate that this ancient Colonial region was not rreatly harried and burned in the Civil War And slender-legged Heppelwhite side-table, with a charmir curve, discovered upon the side-porc! fa +} bucket set upor } t} as it _ t i matter ol! eepir ‘ the alert as from a negro cal } at 1 ecure bra cande n't there a pair } ve , , ; ' : ' in the pickle |

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10 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 14, 1906 A SUPREME COURT LEAK Love and the MarKet—and the United States vs. The Seaboard Transit and Service Corporation By WILL PAYNE HE was young, im- pulsive and very much in love. She knew she oughtn't to do it; but knowing that did not put down the thrill in her pulses or still the voice of her willful heart, which scorned her for being stingily circumspect when she might give him happi- ness. Besides, for both of them, so much depended upon it. Walking across the room again, she chanced to see her image in the mirror, and at once said to herself re- provingly: ‘‘ Betty, you mustn't think of it!’ She tried to hold fast to the concept of herself—which the image had evoked- as a grown-up young lady in a dinner-gown; not a very tall or bulky young lady, and evidently, from the dark hair and eyes, of an ardent temperament, still with all the responsibility of having reached years of aiscretion., As she turned away she put the tip of her finger against her lips very much as she used to do when the algebra proved elusive. She was a bit discouraged over herself because of the rash impulse that had been teasing her. And then —for reproof always tended to make her headstrong she let the impulse have her. She was grown up; there- fore entitled to take her fate in her own hands. Out in the rather heavy and funereal hall—the house was old-fashioned, with a brownstone front and all the ponderously respectable gloom that commonly goes with brownstone fronts--she paused, listening, burglar-like. All was still, however, as it should have been. With a swift little dip of her trim, lithe body she caught up her skirts and ran fleetly up the stairs. Her hand darted to the switch that turned on the electrics, and she slipped into a bedroom, leaving the door open. The lights in the hall only half-illuminated it, yet she quickly. found what she wanted -a pair of trousers, soberly gray in color, of large girth and a trifle baggy at the knees. They had been tossed across the foot of the bed, and their limp folds yielded with a kind of pathetic helplessness to her pink- tipped and larcenous fingers. The capacious right-hand pocket held some loose change and a bunch of keys. With the keys in her hand she flew up the second flight of stairs. and entered the room which occupied the front of the third story. The lights, when she turned them on, revealed it as a study, with a belittered writing-table over near the windows. The ways of the house were as instincts to her. She did not even glance at the litter on the table, but sat down and applied a key to the right-hand drawer of the table. The contents had been dumped into the drawer with a disorderly hand. There were half a dozen paper-bound pamphlets, with considerable printing on the front covers. But she did not bother with them. Her fingers went straight for the sheets of legal-cap paper, scrawled over in a hand that was simply abominable; and in a moment she had them in orderly sequence on the table. The hand was not only incredibly bad, but the writing was a mere series of broken memoranda, with blind ab- breviations, and everything in the way of an article left out. Betty could read it, however, and did, with shining eyes —a nali crease occasionally coming in the middle of her brow 1 staving there until she scrambled over the obstruction. It took her, perhaps, ten minutes. Then she whipped the heets and pamphlets back into the drawer, locked it and shook the handle to see that it was secure. A quick glance “The Old Boy was Walking, Chipper as a Lark” } und the room assured her that all was as before. She turned out the lights, ran down, replaced the keys in their supine receptacle, darkened the second hall and again descended. in fact, all was done so rapidly that, when she stood once more in the parlor, it half-seemed to her that she hadn't done it at all. In that odd instant she found Miss Betty Pettigrew's image staring at her, with rather frightened eyes and with parted lips. Perhaps something about the defenseless emptiness of the house impressed her; and she might have thought it all over carefully —but just then she heard the maid go pattering down the hall to the front door, and the next moment she could not withhold herself from the joke of his standing out there in the hall, taking off his hat and coat and, so to speak, mentally smoothing himself down and primping himself up to meet Parents, when, in fact, only she, all alone, was there. So when he entered she bowed and tried to make her voice a throaty bass in saying: ‘‘ How do you do, Richard? How do you do?” Graham was older than she; but that did not help him a great deal, for he still had pretty much her own young, gay-hearted, heedless outlook upon life. The thing was in her mind even while she chattered and laughed —indeed, it gave a deeper light to her eye, a happier lilt to’ her voice. For it had become perfectly clear and simple. It was only for Dick that she was doing it, which was the same as one’s right hand helping one’s left; something so natural and inevitable that not to do it would be abnormal. “T’ll tell you some news—something I know and you don't.” She stooped toward him, lifting her pretty chin. “You're areal lawyer!’’ As he waited for the nub of the joke, she dropped her hand upon his and spoke low, as one speaks of things that are most dear: ‘‘The decision is in your favor, and it’s won exactly on your point, too!” ‘Really, Betty?’’ he breathed incredulously. “True, Dick! The case is won exactly on the point you raised. That ought to help!” The gayety had vanished. Not at all that they were less happy, but because the happiness had passed to its higher power that, as much as sorrow, makes laughter incongruous. Graham himself was fairly awestricken. It had been only by the rarest good luck—and the in- dulgence of afriend of his father—that he, a mere young- ster, had been given a chance to make one of the The Hand was Not Only Incredibly Bad, but the Writing was a Mere Series of Broken Memoranda arguments before the Supreme Court in a ease so impor- tant as that of the Government against the Sea- board Transit and Service Corpora- tion. The big law- yers, upon whom the company en- tirely relied, had treated his*‘ point”’ with good-natured tolerance. It wouldn’t do any harm for a vealy but promising youth to tell the Court that it had no jurisdiction be- cause so much of the business of the company was within States in- stead of inter- State. While they hurled their formi- dable harpoons at the whale in the case, young, likable Graham might as well be innocently angling for a gudgeon. It had rather been implied that, if this vital case were won, Graham was to have a pretty good berth in the extensive legal department of the Seaboard Transit and Service Corpora- tion.. Butif he himself had actually won the case! . . . Well, he could see the berth extending and taking on trap- pings of price. And that meant Betty! The manner in which foreknowledge of the decision had come to him appeared in a perfectly clear, simple light. It was something Betty had done for him out of her love and courage and generosity; something that showed anew her complete trust in him—Betty, who had always stood by him like a brick; who had declared all along that his argument was the best of them all—while his mind was full of modest doubts on the subject. ‘*It means a whole lot, girl—most of all because it means you!” he said, very gravely —even a bit unsteadily. He realized her then as the heart tender, yet brave, that would steadfastly help him fight his battle with life--with a firmer will and higher courage than he had. And he felt his own unworthiness as humbly as a man so helplessly in love should. ‘‘We must trot along,” she warned. ‘It wouldn’t do to be even a minute late when they left me to bring you single-handed.”’ The distance was only two blocks, so they walked. Out- of-doors, under the stars, their gayety returned. They took to building their house extravagantly. ‘‘Let’s be stuck up and purse-proud,”’ she suggested. He laughed, care-free. ‘‘I’li tell you! I'll pitch in and buy up a lot of Seaboard debentures! When the decision comes out it will put them up a dozen points! We'll make a bundle of money!” ‘*Then we can have an asthmatic butler like Fairfield’s,’ she returned. ‘‘He someway seems the highest-priced one I know of!” “And I Says to Myself: ‘ The Decision is Against the Government u a of the day’s inevitable grist of visitors to the Capitol, having looked down upon the empty House of Representatives, observed the bored Vice-President and six inattentive Senators passing a batch of private pension bills, tried the echo and stood upon the spot where Adams fell, at length tentatively approached the small, dark door surmounted by the arms of the nation. The seated atterdant pulled the cord that opened the door, and they tiptoed gingerly in, hats in hand. They found themselves facing a tall screen. But when, obedient to the finger of another mute guardian, they stole breathlessly to right or left toward such seats as might be vacant on the curving benches for spectators, and so passed the obstructing screen, they were rewarded by a view of the Supreme Court of the United States in session.

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a | Few of them stayed long. They could not hear the words of the distinguished attorney who was arguing the Mil- waukee Riparian Rights case, and could not have under- stood them had they heard. The justices, in their silken robes, ranged behind the bench which occupied the base line of the small, semicircular chamber, appeared to have little more use for what the distinguished attorney was saying than the visitors had. Two of them were diligently reading paper-bound pamphlets like the one Betty had found. Another was laboriously making notes out of his pamphlet. Two were whispering together. A_ stout justice rested his head against the high back of his chair and shut his eyes, with an effect of extreme exhaustion. One, at the end of the bench, resting his elbow upon it and leaning his cheek against his palm, seemed to have resigned himself to hearing the attorney rumble. It was at him, evidently, that the attorney pecked in his palm with his thumb and forefinger. Of course, the Court and the THE Court as a whole, it thought that some certain members of it, who had evidently been careless about this matter « the Seaboard decision and so laid the great tribunal open to criticism, deserved, in their individual capacities, th severest censure It added that this was by no means the In some other cases—notably the recent Wall Street had evidently fortheor first instance Pipe Lines cas« foreknowledge of of the stocks that were affected therel Ision, as the movement had shown Thus a general air of irritation and gloom pervaded the Bench. Each justice experienced the unwonted and intolerable sense of having been suddenh a public pillory. There was no justice to who a of carelessness on the part of a colleague ins as this was not distressing: none to whom the in\ outright knavery was not horrible Yet t act were pretty conclusive; and the nine sat attorney were aware that what he said made no difference at all, as all of his arguments were tained in the printed briefs which he submitted, upon which briefs the Court would make up its opinions long after it had blissfully forgotten whatever it happened to have heard of the oral argument. There was a fair chance, however, that the attor ney’s client was not aware of it and so would submit more grace- fully to the charge of $2000 for the rumbling and palm-pecking. In any event, it was not the busi ness of the Court, and the Court had something else to think about. A very disturbing thing had happenea. The New York Planet of that morn- ing devoted its front page to a bold and double-leaded criticism of the Court. Other branches of the Gov- ernment were criticised freely and chronically ; attacking them, in fact, was a sort of journalistic stock in trade; but not this mighty tribunal whose silken robe enfolded one-third of the powers of Government, and the most conclusive third. Its powers were so great and definitive; in its hundred and twenty years it had borne itself with such conspicu- ous integrity that it sat serenely above the accusatory flood where- with a free people reminded its other servants of their servitude So it was as sensitive to criticism as a woman where her reputation is concerned, or a young author about his first publi hed poem. The Planet’s attack, of course, had not been frontal—for not even a Planet dare directly invite the Court’s wrath—but a flank move- ment. Its headline was, ‘‘The Supreme Court Leaks,”’ and it pro- ceeded to demonstrate that Wall Street had foreknowledge of the Court’s decision in the Seaboard Transit and Service case. The Court’s decision, it found, was officially given out at noon Monday. But when the Stock con- Exchange opened at ten o’clock a big buying of Seaboard debentures had begun, and a ‘“‘tip’’ had been handed around to certain brokerage houses that the Court was about to give a judgment in favor of the ‘ompany and against the Government. The Planet d:scovered and reproduced a telegram which one of these houses had sent to its Chicago correspondent about eleven o’clock. The telegram read: ‘‘Buy some Seaboard debentures. is going to decide in favor of the company. straight from Washington connections.”’ The Chicago house had carelessly posted the telegram along with other market ‘‘tips paper men had seen it. From ten o'clock until noon Seaboard debentures had advanced nine points. More- over, there had been what the Street called ‘good buying”’ of them the Saturday before. The Planet gravely pointed out how highly scandalous it was that the Stock Exchange gamblers should have foreknowledge of the Court’s decisions; how certain this was eventually to lead to public suspicion of the Court’s integrity—than which, in the Planet’s opinion, nothing could be more lamentable and disastrous. For the public to lose its implicit confidence in the integrity of the Supreme Court would be to weaken the very corner-stone of our system of government; and although the Planet had a most reverential respect for the The Supreme Court We get this ” and gossip, so the news- Supreme Court is as Straight as a String” consciousness of a daub, a nasty yellow smear, upon tl great robe of the Court. Justice O’Brien glowered steadily at his brief His had incautiously expressed the opinion, to Chairman Johnson, that the Attorney-General and that he had bungled « pecially in the Was it pos ible that Johnson had drawn “leaked” Very heart was torn. He Was an 4@SS, Seaboard case. his own inference and stout Justice Mortimer —with his eyes closed — was three shades |] than usual, and infinitely unhappy. expansive moment, he had told his old chum, the Attorne General, that the Seaboard decision was going to be agair him. The Attorney-General's honor was unque but might he not have fatuously passed on the word to chum less Mcderately stout Justice Pettigrew made his notes in pain. He had written the He could fairly stake his life upon the fidelit stenographer who had copied it, and that wa ighter On Sunday, ina too tionable some discreet ? decision of the exactly even a possibility that she had betrayed him And while the Court, with its distresses severally hidder beneath its black gowns, ground solemnly on, Betty Pett why it cut him so to be compelled to contemplate grew and Richard Graham sat behind the solemn brown- stone front in a misery still more acute She was pale as she bent forward and spoke to him with a kind of yearning, heart-broken earnestness SATURDAY EVENING POST “T'll Take My Oath, Here and Now, that So Far as | Know Every Justice of the f ! fath I know that part of I l ) +} over ca " rs i hay lor \ ‘ ij ? i i ce he t! i bor ou see, dear, I 1 eXa exactl where | stand (raha fa t ale as herself in | } nai } hair on both sides of |} . hy ‘ and pulled hard " I ‘ was a method of mnemor hat he had prac ror ral ir-scnool Gays Be l'r i ear al i al isla that | live. Can't ‘ lati that that ) W l I ( have beer irel id Wat 1 l i la entia whe ‘ the | ? ra ? ‘ T ’ Wa I eXa ‘ hing I said to Even wit | wouldn't { hy than tha Of course l that Bob know ill a I s and wh i ty t th w } he Seal na 4 ! t ‘ al he ade i } rue t ! } ‘ A " thir tha I cal te Hi fa puckered, as } it her ! t ! | Y ¢ > «i ‘ t N na Dd ! ud We can't te Che fault is mine 1 | t il the deci r ind told ett t? eniu t of he th kr After that nere Wa ‘ t ™ ‘ body else might have told, too: but 1 « ildr i that | didn't d it She bent for ir bow her head ind ! he ft t ether So T'y r t t father to-nicht She had gr ip with the Court havin ! eover, an imaginative oma feelit I Its honor and dignity were a kit f religion to her Ad trations came vent ( I ( ( blew by a vutumn leaves. Queer fellows got even int he Senate, and frothed and ¢ iporated But tl T ed tice at und } ‘ hield int i, | {ir ie SK Her father | e and tr t were of th ila f her} inat ar hi ’ ht har ‘ } } ] i he to fa ild. a k befor have ! i i i il ! t } } have na i atl I } I 1 the 1 ! er rt 1 il that 1 ha an or ary human de eth hat Was more or be expe ed hur cha and t hich one might therefore a t one ‘ But th hbetraval of the Lech i 1 |} I lerest, 1 ! l sy ! honor as a ju ( lo see a racelul iit per n wee] n nd re echable ! ‘ 1 i! annil i t t \ tha Graham could think of was that | inted to di He comprehended t what it meant her. It wa hi ke that e had done it: and } in’t } hor 1) lo it now, Be } leaded broke Dor do it 1 lhe was | tha ld and ne aived | ‘ al fishr Somebody else did rt 1 t W a litth rh is paltering advice, and he | H ted t beg her | her fathe hat t I 1 had even a ¢ dea ol r i ‘ t I Per i KeT ta ‘ r head | shall hir 1) } Ihe r 1} } Wa Re Let t I } ha ma easier! He had 1 ‘ i t ’ i ild desire to fend off the from her head rhe terror of mminer as thunder it her hea also, although she now held herself t ‘ Noth can change ne aid wait e da So far fror ightening wit! he morrow, the i t howe The Planet } ther

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front-page article about the ‘“‘leak.” Its investigations, it said, had disclosed strong —in fact, almost conclusive circumstantial evidence that foreknowledge of the Sea- board decision had reached the Street through the Wash- ington office of Wells & Co., stock brokers. This house had led in the buying of Seaboard debentures. The ‘‘tips”’ that other houses received seemed clearly traceable to it. Moreover, it was Wells & Co.’s New York office that had sent the message to the Chicago brokers. The Planet learned that Wells & Co. had been ‘‘right’”’ on the Pipe Lines decision —that is, they had sold the securities heavily just before the Supreme Court handed down its sweeping opinion against the company. In the same way Wells & Co, had been ‘‘right,’’ with conspicuous profit, on the Great Lakes Freight Bureau case a year or so before. The Street evidently believed that Wells & Co.’s Washington oftice had some sécret source of information as to pending decisions of the Court. The distressed justices felt that this was too pointed and circumstantial to be ignored; yet they shrank from the vulgarity of aformal investigation. It was all well enough for the House and Senate to investigate charges against themselves; but for the Supreme Court to do it was un- precedented. Still, something ought to be done. Several persons were consulted by several justices. Practical Senator Brainbridge, to whom Justice Morti- mer went, offered what seemed the most feasible plan. He knew Brock, the manager of the Washington office of Wells & Co. Suppose he have Brock up to his office and question him, quite informally—but with the sobering implication that if he didn’t tell what he knew he might be haled before the Supreme Court and possibly sent to jail for the next hundred years or so. It was agreed that THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Mortimer and Pettigrew should be at the Senator’s office and help in the questioning. Manager Brock entered the Senator's office with the blithe air of one upon a pleasant and possibly profitable errand; but was visibly dashed by the sight of the two justices. The broker was an undersized and _ reddish gentleman, still on the sunny side of forty, with eyes that twinkled shrewdly behind his glasses, and a brisk yet socia- ble manner. “Mr. Brock,” said the Senator, with imperturbable suavity, ‘‘Justice Mortimer; Justice Pettigrew.” The silent handshaking which followed had something the air of that which takes place within the roped arena, when the champion, while going through the affable form, casually drops his eye to the solar plexus on which he means to land. Brock smiled a little, rather nervously. The grave faces of the justices were unresponsive. Pettigrew put his shaken hand in his coat-pocket and furtively wiped it on his handkerchief. The Senator, who meant to make the introductory speech, was waiting for the dramatic effect to sink in the broker’s mind. But Brock himself broke the ice—he was habitually rapid at a recovery. ‘*Well, 1 suppose you gentlemen have got this Planet yarn on your minds,”’ he said eandidl.’, as he dropped into a chair. As he addressed two-ninths of the Court, Justice Mortimer replied: ‘‘The articles in the Planet, Mr.—ah Brock, have produced a very painful and, we think, a very injurious impression. If an impression should go abroad that, in any wise, the integrity of the Supreme Court was open to any imputation, it would, in our opinion, amount to a national calamity. The nine men in whose keeping the honor of the Court now happens to rest feel a very July 14, 1906 grave responsibility. They feel that, if any doing or omission of theirs should result in lowering the high and spotless character which the Court has borne for more than a century, it would be not merely dishonorable and dis- graceful, but an act of treason of the most culpable sort.” ‘“*Brock,’’ the Senator put in--perhaps in terms more level with the broker’s habits of thought —‘‘ your office was ‘right’ on this decision. I want you to tell us where you got your ‘tip.’ ”’ The broker laid his fist demonstratively on the corner of the Senator’s desk. ‘‘Senator Brainbridge, and you, too, gentlemen,” he said, ‘‘so far as your thinking that I know of any crookedness in the Supreme Court, or anybody connected with it’’—he strove a moment for a sufficiently strong term—“‘just forget it! I'll take my oath, here and now, that so far as I know every justice of the Supreme Court, and everybody connected with it, is as straight asa string. Yes, sir—so far as I know!” There was no mistaking his earnestness; yet his form of expressing it was scarcely pleasing to the justices. ‘‘ Yet you bought these securities and advised others to buy them on the strength of what the decision was going to be,”’ said Pettigrew, and furtively wiped his hand again. ‘‘That’s true enough,” said Brock frankly; and, re- laxing to his customary sociable manner, he smiled genially as he added: Ve made an almighty killin’ on ’em, too. Did the same thing, you know, on the Pipe Lines case.” ‘**How did you do it?”’ the Senator demanded plumply. “‘That’s what the Court is bound to know. You'd better tell here than over yonder.”’ He nodded in the general direction of the small, dark door surmounted by the national shield. ‘*Tell me, Brock.” Concluded on Page 23) THE FIGHTING CHANC Y JANUARY the complex social mechanism of the metropolis was W hirling smoothly again; the last iltra-fashionable Decem- ber lingerer had returned from the country; those of the same caste outward bound for a Southern or exotic winter had de- parted; and the glittering machine, every part as- sembled, refurnished, repolished and connected, having been given preliminary speed-tests at the horse show, and atuning up at the opera, was now running under full ts steady, subdued whir quickened the clattering pulse of the city, keying it to a sublimely yneopated ragtime. Three phenomena particularly velocity; and characterized that metropolitan winter: the reckless rage for private gam- bling; the incorporation of a company known as The inter-County Electric Company, capitalized at a figure calculated to disturb nobody, and, so far, without any avowed specific policy other than that which served to decorate a portion of its charter which otherwise might have remained ornately and comparatively blank; the third phenomenon was the retirement from active affairs of Stanley S. Quarrier, the father of Howard Quarrier, and the election of the son to the presidency of the great Algonquin Loan and Trust Company, with its network system of dependent, subsidiary and allied corporations. The day that the newspapers gave this interesting in- formation to the Western world, Leroy Mortimer, on By ROBERT W Decades Ago it Had Been Considered a Big House e AUTHOR OF rOLE. ETC being bluntly notified that he had overdrawn his account with the Algonquin Loan and Trust, began telephoning in every direction until he located Beverly Plank at the Saddle Club—an organization of wealthy men, and suf- ficiently exclusive not to compromise Plank’s possible chances for something better; in fact, the Saddle Club, into which Leroy Mortimer had already managed to pilot him, was one riser and tread upward on the stair he was climbing though it was more of a lobby for other clubs thanaclub in itself. To be seen there was, perhaps, rather toaman’s advantage, if he did not loaf there in the evenings or use it too frequently. As Plank carefully avoided doing either, Mortimer was fortunate in finding him there; and he crawled out of his hansom, saying that the desk clerk would pay, and entered the reading-room, where Plank sat writing a letter. Beverly Plank had grown stouter since he had returned to town from Black Fells; but the increase of weight was evenly distributed over his six-feet-odd, which made him CHAMBERS only a trifle more ponds ous and not abdominally fat. But Mortimer had become enormous; rolls of flesh crowded his mottled ear-lobes outward and bulged above his collar; cushions of it padded the backs of his hands and fingers; shaving left his heavy, distended face con- gested and unpleasantly shiny. But he was as minutely groomed as ever, and he wore that satiated air of prosperity which had always been one of his most important assets. The social campaign inaugurated by Leila Mortimer in behalf of Beverly Plank had, so far, received no serious reverses. His box at the horse show, of course, produced merely negative results; his box at the opera might mean something some day. His name was up at the Lenox and the Patroons; he had endowed a ward in the new pavilion of St. Berold’s Hospital; he had presented a fine Gains- borough —the Countess of Wythe--to the Metropolitan Museum; and it was rumored that he had consulted several bishops concerning a new chapel for that huge bastion of the citadel of Faith looming above the metro- politan wilderness in the north. So far, so good. If, as yet, he had not been permitted to go where he wanted to go, he at least had been instructed where not to go and what not to do; and he understood how much longer it takes to shuffle in by way of the back door than to sit on the front steps and wait politely for somebody to unchain the front door. | |

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Meanwhile he was doggedly docile; his huge house, Mortimer, you must tak ' You area | nderstand \ } . facing the wintry park midway between the squat palaces I meant anything by saying | wanted I ! atitude } of the wealthy pioneers and the outer hundreds, remained Look here; be decent and f witk I woul ffer | f \ } magnificently empty save for certain afternoon conferences youanatfront would | even if I wer id. | \ } } H of very solemn men, fellow-directors and associates in do it now, just when you're gettir ! t re OW } } 1 business and financial matters save for the periodical me. I’m nota fool, anyway Phis i deadly earnest, | hat was done for |} Wi presence of the Mortimers: a mansion immense and __ tell you, Mortimer, and | ng angry al i Yo He ha each } shadowy, haunted by relays of yawning, liveried servants, yot to show your confidence in n you've got to take wh Wh } } . , half stupefied under the vast silence of the twilit splendor. you want from me, as you would from any friend I rese See |} ld Pla He was patient, not only because he was told to be, but your failure to do it m drew a line between me high colored ha all squ ween also because he had nothing better to do. and your intimates u're really my friend, show it! I think s« muttered Mortimer B Pla “ ‘‘Things are moving all the same,”’ said Mortimer, as There was a pause \ curious and unaccustomed not relinquish his ha he entered the reading-room of the SaddleClub. ‘‘Quarrier sensation had silenced Mortimer, something almost aki: Then tell me how to draw that check! Great Hea and Belwether have listened more respectfully to me to shame. It astonished him a litth He did not quite Mortimer, what is friendship, anvhow., if it doesn't since they read that column about you and the bishops little matters like this little misunderstandi and that chapel business.” th ('m the man to be sensitive, not you. You ha Plank turned his heavy head with a disturbed glance , Wi been very good to me, Mortimer! could alr - around the room. Songs ithout Sense you In a position where the only thing I pe “ ! **Can’t you be careful?” he said; ‘‘there was a man ; quare something of my debt here a moment ago.”’ He picked up his unfinished By Wallace Irwin “A few minutes later. while he was Gllime in thee letter, folded and pocketed it, touched an electric bell, dusty ¥ h in riding clothes and r ame and when a servant came, ‘‘Take Mr. Mortimer’s f da seat by ‘ he wind vhich order,” he said, supporting his massive head on his huge dropped, and ther ) } » as hands and resting his elbow on the writing-desk. Hell Fle \ 1 Mc a ‘T’ve got to cut out this morning bracer,”’ said } houlder } ' Mortimer, eying the servant with indecision; but he polished floo gave his order nevertheless, and later accepted : Fle d 1 amia th rop and when the servant had returned and again ‘ | } } , he half emptied his tall glass, refilled it with mineral forma water, and, settling back in the padded armchair, said W i ' Mortimer } “If I manage this thingasit ought to be managed, you'll which Plank offered and car “ go through by April. What do vou think of that?” even a nod of thanl You know Bk Pla Plank's phlegmatic features flushed. I’m more cours What! I thought evervbod naw obliged to you than I can say,”’ he began, but Mortimer Plank.” silenced him with a gesture: Mr. Fleetwood and Mr. Plank hook hat **Don’t interrupt. I’m going to put you through the resumed their seats Patroons Club by April. That’s thirty yards through Ripping weather!” observed Fleetwood, repla the centre; d’ye see, you dunde rheaded Dutchman? his hat and rebuttoning the glove which } } It’s solid gain, and it’s our ball.” removed to shake hands with Plan! I f ‘I want to say,’’ began Plank, speaking the more people out this mornit i easy More os slowly because he was deeply in earnest, ‘‘that all this want that roan hunter of mine 1 looked over you are doing for me is very handsome of you, Mortimer. mean King Dermid, because Marion Page wants hir I'd like to say—to convey to you something of how I you don’t She was out this mornir and she sp feel about the way you and Mrs. Mortimer of it agair **Oh, Leila has done it all.”’ Mortimer, lifting a replenished gla hook his hea “*Mrs. Mortimer is very kind, and you ‘ave been so, too. and dr thirstil ilen 1--I wish there was something some way to~— to a: Saw rat W bur } Fleet “To what?” asked Mortimer so bluntly that Plank politely to Pl us the t | d ir flushed up and stammered: one another ‘To be—to do a—to show my gratitude.” I hunted there for a d r two eplied Pl: ‘‘How? You're searcely in a position to do any- modest] If it’s that | Irish th uchbred thing for us,” said Mortimer brutally. ere riding that 1 want to sell I’d like a look it ‘*T know it,”’ said Plank, the painful flush deepening. Miss Page doesn’t faney hin Mortimer, fussing and growling over his civar, was Fleetwood laughed, and glar i edly at Plar nevertheless stealthily intent on the game which had er hi rla It isn’t th } e Mr P so long absorbed him. His wits, clogged, That’s Dr ce Stephen Si dulled by excesses, were now aroused to a far horse He interrupted hi sort of gross activity through the menace to exchange greetir with eral n of necessity. At last Plank had given him The Song of the Dancing Dervishes who came to the room rather noi an opening. He recognized his chance. their spurs resounding across the oal ‘“‘There’s one thing,’”’ he said deliber- This is the song that the Dervishes sing This is the song that the Dervishes shout, floor One of them. Tom O'Hara. ioin ately, ‘‘that I won’t stand for, and that’s As they whirl, as they skirl in a magic ring, Turning cartwheels in and out, the tris imming his crop on the de any vulgar misconception on your part As cheek by jowl While the Slaves of the Sheik beside Plank and spreading himself o of my friendship for you. Do you follow They holler and howl Bellow and shriek. an armchair, from the seat of which } me?” Aud prance and dance and whoop and wail While pilgrims come to the tum-tum-tum forcibly removed Mortimer’s feet ‘*T don’t misunderstand it,”’ protested Till their lips are pale, Of the kettledrum, out excuse Plank, angry and astonished; ‘‘I don’t In the land of the mad Mad Mullah, As long as the daylight lingers, Hello!”’ he said WI ” As they caper and kick As they throw fierce spasms Oh, ves; met Mr. Blar I mean As though,” continued Mortimer Like Haroun el Nick Across the chasms Plank at Shotover, I think. How d menacingly, ‘‘l were one of those needy In the moon of the Blue Abdullah: And whistle upon their fingers do? Had the pleasure of potting social tipsters, one of those shabby, pan- *Alich il Allah! ‘Allah il Allah? tame pheasant Rotten sport, ye dering touts who- ‘ pea oy Pee know What do you do it for, M ‘For Heaven's sake, Mortimer, don't Yinf Bismallah Yio! Bismalich Blank talk like that! I had no intention hl ap we gol a tock sie Wha 1 you come for, if it’s r ‘*_One of those contemptible, para- nt Gat B nage tle sport?" asked Plank ly tha er - : : é ! sang ! ang Bang sitic leeches,”’ persisted Mortimer, getting - - took O'Hara a momet realize he redder and hoarser, ‘‘who live on men There was a man in Khoordistan, In Badahir an old Emir been snubbed like you. Confound you, Plank, what A very holy Mussulman Balanced a broomstick on his ear [ didn't meat fT the devil do you mean by it?”’ From the mosque of the Great Malecca For three successive winters drawled ‘*Mortimer, are you crazy, to talk to Who had nine wives in his fair hareem Upon that ear his faith he pinned | ipp , } , me like that?’ But he left ’em all in a prophet’s dream Till up there came a desert wind “No, I’m not, but you must be! I've And walked on his hands to Mecca And broke the broom to splinters know And a mind to drop the whole cursed business! Kismet bang! but he perspired, Kismet bang! but he was sad ence, broken by M ‘ I've every inclination to drop it! If And when his hands grew very tired Being the only broom he had I f you haven’t horse sense enough — if you ‘I’ll rest a while,’ he said; Its loss he did deplore | ind amus« haven't innate delicacy sufficient to keep So upside-down he stood, and thrust And so to gain his soul’s rey } you from making such a break is His holy turban in the dust He balanced toothpicks on his nose f Did ‘I didn’t! It wasn’t a break, Morti- And slept upon his head For seven summers mot j \ mer. I wouldn’t have hurt you ” Boo! boo! Font hoo! \ } , ‘You did hurt me! How can I! feel Yip, hurvo! Aalamazoo ! the same again? I never imagined you He was a good Mohammedan, A faithful Moslemite was he, \ thought I was that sort of a social mer- A very famous Mussulman An ardent, earnest devot« cenary. Why, so little did 1 dream that In the faith of the mad Mad Mullah!”’ To the faith of the mad Mad Mullah!” him a er Lid M r you looked on our friendship in that Sing the Dervishes as they whirl an Sing the Dervishes as they whirl and ru h ther’s death } light that I was —on my word of honor! whiz, whiz, Fleet d lifted his ¢ I was just now on the point of asking vou As they jip and jog As they skip and hop gently shook the 1 t r} for three or four thousand, to carry me Through a maniac clog And flip and flop the t I f to the month’s end.” In the moon of the Blue Abdullah. In the moon of the Blue Abdullah any man up THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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‘*You mean the action of the Lenox Club?” asked Plank seriously. “Yes He’s resigned from this club, too, I hear. Somebody told me that he has made a clean sweep of all his clubs. That’s foolish. A man may be an ass to join too many clubs, but he’s always a fool to resign from any of ‘em. You ask the weatherwise what resigning from a club forecasts. t's the first ominous sign in a young man’s career.”’ ‘‘What’s the second sign?” asked O'Hara with a yawn. ‘Squadron talk; and you're full of it,’’ retorted Fleet- wood —-‘''I said to the major,’ and ‘The captain told the chief trumpeter’—all that sort of thing and those Porto tico spurs of yours, and the ewe-necked glyptosaurus you block the bridle-path with every morning. You're an awful nuisance, Tom, if anybody should ask me.” Under cover of a rapid-fire exchange of pleasantries between Fleetwood and O'Hara, Plank turned to Mortimer, hesitating ‘“‘] rather liked Siward when I met him at Shotover,”’ he ventured. ‘I’m very sorry he’s down and out.” He drinks,’’ shrugged Mortimer, diluting his mineral water with Irish whisky. ‘‘He can’t let it alone; he’s like ail the Siwards. I could have told you that the first time leversaw him. We all told him to cut it out, because he was sure to do some fool thing if he didn't. He's done it, and his clubs have cut him out. It’s his own funeral. Well, here’s to you!” “Cut who out?’ asked Fleetwood, ignoring O’Hara’s parting shot concerning the decadence of the Fleetwood stables and their owner. “Stephen Siward. I always said that he was sure, sooner or later, to land in the family ditch. He has a right to, of course; the gutter is public property.” ‘It's a sad thing,” said Fleetwood slowly. After a pause Plank said: ‘‘I think so, too. . . . I don't know him very well.” ‘You may know him better now,” said O'Hara. Plank reddened, and, aftera moment: ‘‘I should be glad to, if he cares to know me.” ‘*Mortimer doesn’t care for him, but he’s an awfully good feliow, all the same,”’ said Fleetwood, turning to Plank. ‘‘He’s been an ass, but who hasn't? I like him tremendously, and I feel very bad over the mess he made of it after that crazy dinner I gave in my room. i What? You hadn't heard of it? Why, man, it’s the talk of the clubs.” I suppose that is why I haven't heard,’’ said Plank simply; ‘‘my club-life is still in the future.” Oh!”’ said Fleetwood with an involuntary stare, sur- prised, a trifle uncomfortable, yet somehow liking Plank, and not understanding why I’m not in anything, you see; I’m only up for the Patroons and the Lendx,”’ added Plank gravely. “I see. Certainly. Er-hope you'll make ’em; hope to see you there soon. Er--I see by the papers you've been jollying the clergy, Mr. Plank. Awfully handsome of vou, all that chapel business. I say: I’ve a cousin~ er young architect; Beaux Arts, andallthat—justover. I'd awfully like to have him givena chance at that competition invited to try, you see. I don't suppose it could be managed, now Would you like to have me ask the bishops?’’ inquired vely shrewd. And the conversation became between the two, which Mortimer obse rved, keeping one ironical eye on Plank, while he continued a lesultory discussion with O'Hara concerning a very | ] Plank, n very core private dinner which somebody told somebody that somebody had given to Quarrier and the Inter-County Electric people; which, if true, plainly indicated who was financing the Inter-County scheme, and why Amalgamated stock had tumbled again yesterday, and what might be looked for from the Algonquin Trust Company's president. ‘Amalgamated Electric doesn’t seem to like it a little bit,’ said O'Hara. ‘Ferrall, Belwether and Siward are in it up to their necks: and if Quarrier is really the god in the machine, and if he really is doing stunts with Amal- gamated Electric, and is also mixing feet with the Inter- County crowd, why, he is virtually paralleling his own road; and why, in the name of common-sense, is he doing that? He'll kill it; that’s what he’ll do.” ‘He can afford to kill it,’’ observed Mortimer, punching the electric button and making a significant gesture toward 1is empty glass as the servant entered; ‘‘a man like Quarrier can afford to kill anything.” “Yes; but why kill Amalgamated Electric? Why not merge? Why, it’s a crazy thing to do-—to parallel yourown line!"’ insisted O'Hara. ‘‘That is dirty work. People don’t do such things these days. Nobody tears up dollar bills for the pleasure of tearing wad “Nobody knows what Quarrier will do,’ muttered Mortimer, who had tried hard enough to find out when the first ominous rumors arose concerning Amalgamated, and the first fractional declines left the Street speechless and stupefied O’Hara sat frowning and fingering his glass. ‘‘As a matter of fact,”’ he said, ‘‘a little cold logic shows us that Quarrier isn't in it at all. No sane man would ruin his THE SATURDAY EVENING POST own enterprise, when there is no need to. His people are openly supporting Amalgamated and hammering Inter- County; and, besides, there’s Ferrall in it, and Mrs. Ferrall is Quarrier’s cousin; and there's Belwether in it, and Quarrier is engaged to marry Sylvia Landis, who is Bel- wether’s niece. It’s a scrap with Hetherington’s crowd, and the wheels inside of wheels are like Chinese boxes. Who knows what it means? Only it’s plain that Amal- gamated is safe, if Quarrier wants it to be. And unless he does he’s crazy.” Mortimer puffed stolidly at his cigar until the smoke got into hiseyes and inflamedthem. Hesat fora while, wiping his puffy eyelids with his handkerchief; then squinting sideways at Plank, and seeing him still occupied with Fleetwood, turned bluntly on O’Hara: *‘See here: what do you mean by being nasty to Plank?” he growled. ‘I’m backing him. Do you understand?” ‘It ¢s curious,’’ mused O’Hara coolly, ‘‘how much of a cad a fairly decent man can be when he’s out of temper!” “You mean Plank or me?” demanded Mortimer, darkening angrily. ‘‘No; I mean myself. I’m not that way usually. | took him for a bounder, and he’s caught me with the goods on. I’ve been thinking that the men who bother with such questions are usually open to suspicion themselves. Watch me do the civil, now. I’m ashamed of myself.” ‘Wait a moment. Will you be civil enough to do something for him at the Patroons? That will mean something.” “Is he up? Yes, I will;’’ and, turning in his chair, he said to Plank: ‘*‘Awfully sorry I acted like a bounder just now, after having accepted your hospitality at the Fells. I did mean to be offensive, and I’m sorry for that, too. Hope you'll overlook it, and be friendiy.”’ Plank’s face took on the dark-red hue of embarrassment ; he looked questioningly at Mortimer, whose visage re- mained non-committal, then directly at O’Hara. ‘*T should be very glad to be friends with you,” he said with an ingenuous dignity that surprised Mortimer. It was only the native simplicity of the man, veneered and polished by constant contact with Mrs. Mortimer, and now showing to advantage in the grain. And it gratified Mortimer, because he saw that it was going to make many matters much easier for himself and his protégé. The tall glasses were filled and drained again before they departed to the cold plunge and dressing-rooms above, whence presently they emerged in street garb to drive downtown and lunch together at the Lenox Club, Plank as Fleetwood's guest. Mortimer, very heavy and inert after luncheon, wedged himself into a great stuffed armchair by the window, where he alternately nodded over his coffee and wheezed in his breathing, and leered out at Fifth Avenue from half- closed, puffy eyes. And there he was due to sit, sodden and replete, until the fashionable equipages began to flash past. That afternoon, however, having O’ Hara and Fleetwood to give him countenance, he managed to arouse himself long enough to make Plank known personally to several of the governors of the club and to a dozen members, then left him to his fate. Whence, presently, Fleetwood and O'Hara extracted him~— fate at that moment being per- sonified by a garrulous old gentleman, one Peter Caithness, who divided with Major Belwether the distinction of being the club bore — and together they piloted him to the billiard- room, where he beat them handily for a dollar a point at everything they suggested. ‘You play almost as pretty a game as Stephen Siward used to play,” said O'Hara cordially. ‘*T wish Siward were back here,’’ said Fleet wood thought- fully, returning his cue to his own rack. ‘‘I wonder what he does with himself — where he keeps himself all the while ? What is there for a man to do, if he doesn’t do anything? He's not going out anywhere since his mother’s death; he has no clubs to go to, | understand. What does he do~— go to his office and come back, and sit in that shabby old brick house all day and blink at the bum portraits of his bum and distinguished ancestors. Do you know what he does with himself ?’’ to O'Hara. ‘I don't even know where he lives,” observed O'Hara, resuming hiscoat. ‘“‘ He’sgivenup his rooms, I understand.” “What? Don't know the old Siward house?” ‘Oh! does he live there now? Of course, I forgot about his mother. He had apartments last year, you remember. He gave dinners corkers they were. I went to one — like that last one you gave.” “I wish I'd never given it,’’ said Fleetwood gloomily. “If I hadn't, he’d be a member here still. . . . What do you suppose induced him to take that little cat to the Patroons? Why, man, it wasn't even an undergraduate’s trick! It was the act of a lunatic!” For a while they talked of Siward, and of his unfortunate story and the pity of it; and when the two men ceased: ‘**Do you know,” said Plank mildly, ‘‘I don’t believe he ever did it.”’ O'Hara looked up surprised, then shrugged. ‘‘Un- fortunately he doesn’t deny it, you see.” “T heard,” said Fleetwood, ‘‘that he did deny it; that he said, no matter what his condition was, he couldn’t have July 14, 1906 done it. If he had been sober, the governors would have been bound to take his word of honor. But he couldn’t give that, you see. And after they pointed out to him that he had been in no condition to know exactly what he did do, heshutup. . . And they dropped him; and he’s falling yet.” **I don’t believe that sort of a man ever would do that sort of thing,’ repeated Plank obstinately, his Delft-blue eyes partly closing, so that all the Dutch shrewdness and stubbornness in his face disturbed its highly-colored placidity. And he walked away toward the wash-room to cleanse his ponderous pink hands of chalk-dust. “That’s what’s the matter with Plank,” observed O'Hara to Fleetwood as Plank disappeared. ‘‘It isn’t that he’s a bounder; but he doesn’t know things; he doesn’t know enough, for instance, to wait until he’s a member of a club before he criticises the judgment of its governors. Yet you can't help tolerating the fellow. I think I'll write a letter for him, or put down my name. What do you think?” “Tt would be all right,’ said Fleetwood. ‘‘He’ll need all the support he can get, with Leroy Mortimer as his sponsor. Wasn't Mortimer rather nasty about Siward though, in his r6le of the alcoholic prophet? Whew!” ‘‘Siward never had any use for Mortimer,” observed O'Hara. “I'll bet you never heard him say so,” returned Fleet- wood. ‘‘ You know Stephen Siward’s way; he never said anything unpleasant about any man. I wish I| didn’t either, but I do. So do you. So do most men. ee I wish Siward were back here. He was a good deal of a man, after all, Tom.” They were unconsciously using the past tense in dis- cussing Siward, as though he were dead, either physically or socially. ‘*He was always decent about women,’’ mused O'Hara, walking toward the great marble vestibule and buttoning his overcoat ‘He was absurdly decent that way; he was indeed. And now look at the reputation he has! Isn't it funny? Isn't it, now?” “What sort of an effect do you suppose all this business is going to have on Siward?”’ “It's had one effect already,” replied Fleetwood, as Plank came up, ready for the street. ‘‘Ferrall says he looks sick, and Belwether says he’s going to the dogs; but that’s the sort of thing the Major is likely to say. By the way, wasn’t there something between that pretty Landis girland Siward? Somebody — some gossiping somebody talked about it somewhere, recently.” ‘I don’t believe that, either,” said Plank, in his heavy, measured, passionless voice, as they descended the steps of the white portico and looked around for a cab. ‘‘As for me, I’ve got to hustle,”’ observed O’Hara, glancing at his watch. ‘I’m due to. shine at a function about five. Are you coming uptown either of you fel- lows? I'll give you a lift as far as Seventy-second Street, Plank.” ‘Tell you what we'll do,” said Fleetwood impulsively, turning to Plank; ‘we'll drive downtown, you and I, and we'll look up poor old Siward! Shall we? He's probably all alone in that red brick family tomb! Shall we? How about it, Plank?” O'Hara turned impatiently on his heel with a gesture of adieu, climbed into his electric hansom, and went buzzing away up the avenue. “I'd like to, but I don’t think I know Mr. Siward well enough to do that,” said Plank diffidently. He hesitated, coloring up. ‘‘He might misunderstand my going with you~ as a liberty—which perhaps I might not have ventured on had he been less — less unfortunate.” Again Fleetwood warmed toward the ruddy, ponderous young man beside him. ‘‘See here,’’ he said, ‘‘you are going asa friend of mine — if you care to look at it that way.” “Thank you,” said Plank; ‘‘I should be very glad to go in that way.” The Siward house was old only in the comparative Manhattan meaning of the word; forin New York nothing is really very old except the faces of the young men. Decades ago it had been considered a big house, and it was still so spoken of — a solid, dingy, red brick structure, cubical in proportions, surmounted by heavy chimneys, the depth of its sunken windows hinting of the thickness of wall and foundation. Window-curtains of obsolete pattern, all alike, and all drawn, masked the blank panes. Three massive wistaria vines, the gnarled stems as thick as tree-trunks, crawled upward to the roof, dividing the facade equally, and furnishing some relief to its flatness, otherwise unbroken except by the deep reveals of window and door. “Cheerful monument,”’ repeated Fleetwood with a sarcastic nod. Then the door was opened by a very old man wearing the black ‘‘swallow-tail’’ clothes and choker of an old-time butler, spotless, quite immaculate, but cut after a fashion no young man remembers. ‘‘Good-evening, Gumble,’’ said Fleetwood, entering, followed on tiptoe by Plank.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST **Good-evening, sir.” . . . A pause; and in the he glanced sharply at Siward, who lowered his eyes, whil “How is Amalgamated Electric?” asked Fleetwood unsteady voice of age: ‘‘Mr. Fleetwood, sir. . . . Mr. the red tint in his hollow cheeks deepened abruptly —.’’ A bow, and the dim eyes peering up at Plank, who ‘*Why did you drop the Saddle Club, Stephen?” Fleet- “I think it’s all right. Want to buy me?" replied ! stood fumbling for his cardcase. wood demanded. Siward, smil Fleetwood dropped both cards on the salver unsteadily “I’m not riding; I have no use for it,’’ replied Siward. Plank stirred in | hair ponderously. ‘‘Somebody is \ : extended. The butler ushered them into a dim room on ‘You've cut out the Proscenium Club, too, and the — kicking it to piece t rid the right. Owl’s Head, and the Trophy. It’s a shame, Stephen.”’ **Somebody , ed ‘ ‘‘ How is Mr. Siward?”’ asked Fleetwood, pausing on the ‘*I’m tired of clubs.” ** Hetheringtor nodded Fleetwood, Siward nodded threshold and dropping his voice. ‘Don’t talk that way.” back. Plank wa The old man hesitated, looking down, then still looking ‘*Very well, 1 won't,” said Siward, smiling. ‘‘ Tell me Of cours continued Fleetwood tenta | , away from Fleetwood: ‘ Bravely, sir, bravely, Mr. Fleet- what is happening out there,’’ he made a gesture toward people need not worry, with Howard Quarrier ba of ‘ wood.” the window; ‘‘all the gossip the newspapers mis I've you “The Siwards were always that,”’ said the young man _ talked Doctor Grisby to death; I’ve talked Gumble to Nobody said anything for a whil Presently Siward’s gently. death; I’ve read myself stupid. What's going on, Billy?’’ restless hands, moving in search of something, encountered “Yes, sir. . . . Thank you. Mr. Stephen—Mr So Fleetwood sketched for him a gay cartoon of event a pencil lying on the table beside him, and he picked it up Siward,”’ he corrected, quaintly, ‘is indisposed, sir. It caricaturing various episodes in the social kaleidoscope and began drawing initials and ser on the margin was a—a great shock to usall, sir!’” He bowedandturned which might interest him of a newspaper: and all the serolls framed initials, and away, holding his salver stiffly ; and they heard him mutter **How soon will you be out he inquired at last all the tials were the same, twining and twisting into ing under his breath, endless variati of the “*Bravely, sir, bravely. : = ; letters S. 1 A-—a great shock,sir! ... . . Yes, | must to th Thank you.” office to-morrow,” he re Fleetwood turned to peated absently l am Plank, who stood silent, better—in fact I ar staring through the fading quite well except for this light at the faded house- prain.”’ He looked down hold gods of the house of at his bandaged foot, then ' ' Siward. The dim light his pencil moved listlessly i touched the prisms of a yrain, continuing the end crystal chandelier dulled less Variations on the two by age, and edged the letters It was plain that h carved foliations of the he was tired ) marble mantel, above Fleetwood rose and “Se which loomed a tarnished made his adieux almost affectionately Plank moved forward on tiptoe, mirror reflecting darkness. Fleetwood rose, drew a window-shade higher, and nodded toward several pictures; and Plank bulky and noiseless; and Siward heid out his hand, saying something amiably moved slowly from one to formal another, peering up at the “Would you like to dead Siwards in their have me come again?” crackled varnish. asked Plank, red with , ‘This is the real thing,” embarrassment, yet so : observed Fleetwood cyn- naively that at first Siward found no words to answer him: then Would you care to come, Mr. Plank?” Yes Perhaps Plank had changed, perhaps Siward had; for he found nothing offensive in the bulky young man now — nothing ically, ‘‘all this Fourth Avenue antique business: dingy, cumbersome, de- pressing.”’ “1 like it,’’ said Plank, under his breath. . The butler returned presently, saying that Mr. Siward was at home and would receive them in the library above, as he was not yet able to pass up and down stairs. “T didn’t know he was as ill as that,’’ muttered Fleetwood as hea ! "lank followed the old man up the creaking stairway. But Gumble, the butler, said nothing in reply. Siward was sitting in an armchair by the win- dow, one leg extended, his left foot stiffly encased in bandages. ‘“‘Why, Stephen!” ex- claimed Fleetwood, hast- ening forward, ‘‘I didn't know you were laid up like this!’ Siward offered his hand inquiringly; then his eyes turned toward Plank, who stood behind Fleet- particularly attractive either, except for a certain simplicity, a certain direct candor in the heavy blue eyes which met his squarely Come in for a cigar when you have a few mo- ments idle," said Siward slowly It will give me great pleasure aid Plank, bowing And that was all He followed Fleetwood down the tair Wands held their coats, and bowed them out into the falling shadow of the winter twilight Siward, sitting beside his window, watched them enter their hansom and drive away up the wood; and, slowly dis- : \ ‘ avenue A dull flush had engaging his hand from — sesamin nents settled over his cheeks; 1 Fleetwood’s sympathetic “A Man May be an Ass to Join Too Many Clubs, but He’s Always a Fool to Resign from Any of ‘em” the aroma of spirits hung grip, he offered it to Plank. in the air, and he looked “‘It is very kind of you,” he said. ‘‘Gumble, Mr. Fleet- “Out? Idon’t know. I shall try to drive to the office across the room at the decanter. Presently he drank wood prefers rye, for some inscrutable reason. Mr. to-morrow.”’ some of his tea and pushed the cup from hin Plank?’ His smile was a question. ‘‘Why the deuce did you resign from all your clubs? The clatter of the cup brought the old butler, who toddled ‘“‘If you don’t mind,” said Plank, ‘I should like to have How can I see you if I don’t come here?” began Fleetwood — hitherand thither, rer ng trays, } ng chairs into place some tea —that is, if sa impatiently. ‘‘I1 know, of course, that you're not going fussingand potteringabout, untilamaidcame tint le ‘‘Tea, Gumble, for two. We'll tipple in company, Mr. anywhere, but a man always goes to his club. You don't — bearing a lar SI i down the s! lrew tl a Plank,” he added; ‘‘and the cigars are at your elbow, look well, Stephen. You are too much alone.” sad-colored curtains, went to the mantelpic ind peered Billy,” with another smile at Fleetwood. Siward did notanswer. His face and body had certainly at the clock, then brought a wine-glass and a spi to ‘“‘Now,” said the latter, after he had lighted his cigar, grown thinner since Fleetwood had last seen him Plank, Siward, and measured t lose ir ence He swallowed % iW *‘what is the matter, Stephen?” too, had been shocked at the change in hir the dark, it, shrugged, pert her to cl the position of hi (f ‘ Siward glanced at his stiffly extended foot. ‘‘Nothing hard lines under the eyes; the pallor, the curious in chair and footst« nd nodded tha ind dist al. ; much.” He reddened faintly, ‘‘I slipped. It’s only a mobility of the man, save for hi rers, Which were alwa ‘““Gumble, ar 1 there he a 1 careless! twisted ankle.” restless, now moving in search of some small object to The butler entered from the hallway. “* ss For a moment or two the answer satisfied Fleetwood; worry and turn over and over, now nervously settling into ‘“*You may leave that deca te then a sudden, curious flash of suspicion came into hiseyes; a grasp on the arm of his chair.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOUNDED A°D' 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 421 TO 427 ARCH STREET GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR PHILADELPHIA, JULY 14, 1906 MaKing the Ghosts Walk | aa )M the South, and in the dominant wing of the Demo- cratic party, one hears little nowadays about States’ rights. But in the North, and among some Republican leaders, a rather keen solicitude for that ancient doctrine appears to be arising. Chairman Tawney, of the House Committee on Appropriations, invites attention to the rapidity with which ‘* Federal policing and Federal super- ision of the domestic affairs of the people of the United States is growing,”’ involving an obliteration of the rights of the States. A prominent organ of high finance desires : to pause and reflect upon the consequences of “ placing in the hands of a centralized government these new weapons by which a ruthless majority may work its will upon the minority, at the same time taking from the local govern- ments their chief power to protect their own citizens.” Recently, also, a number of learned professors of constitu- tional law have demonstrated that the President, in impos- ng his will upon Congress, is upsetting the balance of government which was intended by the framers of the Constitution. It is quite true, as alleged, that the Constitution was adopted in the idea that complete local self-government was essential to the preservation of individual liberty. But it is even truer that an argument that has to go back one hundred and seventeen years to find a sanction is too decrepit to venture outside a classroom. The citizens whom their own States could no longer protect against the will of a ruthless majority, as expressed in recent acts at Washington, are rebate-giving railroad presidents and proprietors of untidy slaughter-houses. The framers of the Constitution deserved so well of posterity that their ghosts should be left in peace. There is a kind of cruel indecency in evoking these helpless spooks, clad in their quaint Colonia! fashions, unacquainted with any other mode of ocomotion than feot or horse, and making them utter rhostly counsel about present conditions of which they are so morant that the poor shades themselves must wanly blush with embarrassment. The laws against fraudulent spiritu- alistic enterprises should be extended to protect them. A Personal Tax Case agen late Marshall Field was commonly regarded as a business man of the best type. For some years he paid personal-property taxes on a valuation of $2,500,000. Recently the trustees of his estate filed a schedule showing that he held taxable personal property of a value of $17,500,- 00. Inquiry disclosed that Mr. Field had agreed with the board of assessors to pay on $2,500,000, but had declared that he would change his residence if they raised the assess- ment. He was the heaviest taxpayer in Chicago, and very likely contributed his fair proportion. The point, however, that he did not pay what the law said he should, but only vhat he himself judged to he equitable The president of an important civie body, himself an able lawyer, calls attention to these facts and denounces them anarchism.”’ This seems too strong a word — especially as leveled at the late merchant ‘+r Phe grotesque absurdities e personal-property tax were thrust in the faces of the good people of Chicago — as of nearly every other American mmunity - when, year after year, and even decade after decade, as the city waxed mightily in population and alth, the gr amount of personal property returned r taxation increased hardly at all. Everybody knew it was fareical; but nobody had really the courage to attack i system which was theoretically just, endeared by tradi- } and, more particularly Was supposed to make the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST bloated bondholder contribute his share to the Government. In Mr. Field’s city most of the great office buildings are owned and operated by concerns that call themselves ‘‘safe-deposit vaults,’’ because a law—passed long ago, when somebody suspected there might be a need of it forbids the formation of corporations to handle real estate. There is not much point in blaming Field or the assessors. If the law does not conform to the facts we must expect to see variations from it —as in this personal tax case —-of as much as 600 per cent. Life as a Gamble HE celebrated Mr. Canfield, of New York, in a leisure moment caught from other affairs which have been engaging him rather closely of late, has favored a reporter with his philosophy of life — which is, that it is all a gamble. Very many, observing the great part which chance plays in the affairs of men, adopt the same view, and this is especially true among the young. Saith the Preacher: ‘The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor yet bread to the wise; but time and chance happeneth to them all.” Which is all true. Yet we have always observed, as a singular circumstance, that the men who insist most that pure chance is the governing factor, and who have had the widest opportunity to observe its operations, are precisely the men who are most careful to limit the operations of chance in their own affairs. The professional gambler preaches chance, yet he always keeps as large a percentage as possible in his own favor. If he grows rich it is because he so arranges the game that sixty per cent. of the chances fall on his side and only forty per cent. against him. Many of the most successful stock and grain brokers, who elo- quently invite others to speculate, never speculate them- selves —having discovered that it is much better to take a steady, safe commission out of the other men’s hazards. Chance is a great element in life; yet it is an odd fact —as the books of Mr. Canfield and of the stockbroker would doubtless show —that whosoever wholly follows it will lose nine times out of ten. Life isa gamble — in which, however, you are practically sure to lose unless you can get a per- centage in your favor. The only method of getting this saving percentage which the experience of men has yet proven sound is to apply yourself with industry and intelli- gence to every favoring opportunity that arises and trust as little as possible to chance. The Preacher saith also, and in almost the same paragraph: ‘‘Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” Child Labor in Wall Street S' )ME child-labor organization ought to take up the case of the infants of Wall Street—in the light of such occurrences as the recent disappearance of a messenger-boy with $200,000 of negotiable securities. Like most other employers, the men of the Street are no doubt personally well-intentioned and humane. They simply do not pause to reflect upon the real injustice of subjecting the child- mind day after day to the strain of running about with a considerable fraction of the national debt in its custody. The financial district is crowded and bustling. Its many streets are narrow and torturous. Numberless passage- ways, threading from one thoroughfare to another beneath twenty-story structures, tend to excite thoughts of slipping away. A poor boy trotting across this region with the price of a crack ocean-liner or a foreign principality in his pockétmay well be subjected to such tempting imaginings as would quite upset his moral balance. Children should be given tasks commensurate with their capacity. A boy may be intrusted with the price of a theatre ticket and left to weigh the pleasure of seeing the show against his moral obligation as trustee. But when he can, out of his mere fiduciary small change, buy the whole theatre, the problem is a heavier one than his immature mental machinery should be taxed with. The employers have not given this sufficient reflection. Per- haps they are inclined to be careless because, in the main, if a slip occurs they charge it up to somebody else anyway. But in transmitting parcels of a value exceeding $100,000 they should employ men unless, of course, they have figured it out that they stand a better show with the boys, in which case they should use pneumatic tubes. The Court Review Again NE of the humorous features of the contest over the railroad rate bill consisted of the railroad contention that it would be monstrously unjust to vest a final authority to fix rates in the Interstate Commerce Commission, com- posed of Federal appointees who devoted themselves exclu- sively to the study of railroad affairs and were therefore highly expert in them; but that justice could be obtained only by handing this final authority on to the Federal bench, composed of other appointees who, generally speaking, Knew nothing whatever about railre vad affairs and could teli the difference between one class of rate and another only after somebody had explained it to them July 14, 1906 The packers, also, when their troubles came up, instantly moved for a broad court-review provision; and probably the courts suffer an unjust imputation thereby. Men who derive profits from public abuses are fond of the courts, not because the courts favor public abuses, but because they are such magnificent devices for delay. They are a kind of temporary sanctuary affording a secure interval of from two to five years between the detection of an abuse and the final judgment. A vigorous and thoroughgoing reforma- tion of court practice —which, as it stands, was created solely by lawyers for the exclusive benefit of their own pro- fession--would probably bring more good to the public at large than any other single political action that could be mentioned. This is pretty generally recognized by the learned and the lay alike. Now and then some bold spirit arises to propose that it be actually undertaken. Then he realizes that it would be subject to court review, and his courage fails before the prospect of almost endless delay. Where Trust-Busting Fails oo to the press dispatches, some gentlemen of Cleveland, engaged in the ice trade, have taken pains to point out ina very cogent manner one of the salient defects in the popular campaign for the suppression of com- binations in restraint of trade. Ohio, like all advanced Commonwealths, is amply provided with anti-trust laws, and the gentlemen referred to have been indicted for oper- ating an ice trust. One of them is quoted: ‘This indict- ment may raise the price of ice. If it costs us much to get out, we'll have to get the money back some place.”’ Another observes: ‘‘As long as they heap up expenses on us, in- creases in price are apt to continue.” There is the difficulty. Individuals may be fined, or particular corporations solemnly ordered to go into disso- lution; but the combination itself, the actual restraint of trade (which here means restraint of competition), is never destroyed. It practically always persists—with a large bill of expenses which the consumer must pay. Crime and Punishment WO vice-presidents of the Mutual Life have been indicted —about a year and a half after the life insur- ance disclosures began. Meanwhile, a court has held that Mr. Perkins was not criminally liable for his part in contrib- uting funds of New York Life policy-holders to the Repub- lican campaign. Some railroad and other corporations have been found guilty of violating the law against rebates and have suffered the imposition of fines which, perhaps, amounted to ten per cent. of the illicit rebates. Large numbers of pickpockets and burglars whose actual depre- dations were humorously trivial in comparison with the vast peculations involved in the life insurance and rebate grafts have been sent to the penitentiary. Of course, this is not the fault of the courts, nor necessa- rily of the public prosecutors. The law has not yet recog- nized certain opportunities for crime which arise under the modern system. Fining a great railroad corporation $20,000 is about as effective as making a face at the wind; yet that seems to be about as far as the law can go in pun- ishing a crime which may easily entail more injury than a thousand burglaries. We have often wondered what would be the result if a corporation should be formed for the practice of housebreaking and its second vice-president, in charge of the jimmy department, were haled into court Could he plead that he had no personal knowledge of the particular housebreaking in question? Legally we live a good deal in the clothes of the last generation or the last eentury. Often they do not fit. The Balance of Trade HE foreign trade of the United States, for the fiscal year just ended, was of record-breaking proportions, and the balance in our favor very large. One hears little jubilation over that fact; yet only afew years ago a favorable balance of trade was commonly believed to be the foundation-stone of national prosperity. Within a half-dozen years a really great business man said: ‘‘It is only what we sell abroad and get money for that makes the country rich; what we trade around and consume among ourselves adds nothing to the store.’’ .No doubt he had read that in some book on political economy and ‘believed it. The political econo- mists themselves used to believe it, until one of them, apply- ing the law to himself, sold his clothes for cash, thereby establishing a large balance of trade in his favor, but, un- fortunately, contracting a cold that laid him up for weeks. Then it began to dawn upon him that if the balance of trade theory were sound all we needed to do to get exceed- ingly rich was to sell everything we had abroad and so secure an enormous stock of foreign bills of exchange, which we might patch together into clothing and even, under the new breakfast-food dispensation, learn to eat. Every young man ought to study political economy, for it now and then lets him into some valuable industrial history. But he should bear in mind that most of its theoretical conclu- sions are wrong ——— nee

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ge a rs | The Senate’s Robinson Crusoe \V ILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK, Senator from Mon- tana, has an income of $36,000 a day. That isa mere bagatelle of thirteen millions a year, and then some And he has less fun than any man on earth. Clark is the richest man in the Senate. Indeed, he is one of the richest men in the world. It is quite likely that he has more ready money than John D. Rockefeller —cash on hand —although he is not so rich as Rockefeller by a great many millions. He built a railroad from Salt Lake City to Los Angeles recently and he paid for it in cash, mile by mile Nobody else in this country or any other ever did a thing like that. He has announced that he will not be a candidate for re- election to the Senate. That is not surprising. With all his money he isazeroin the Senate. He is out of place. Every- body looks on him asa man who came to the Senate because he is rich —which is more or less true; and he is given grind- ing illustrations of the fact, known toall those who know the Senate, that the dollar gets nowhere in the upper house « Congress unless it is coupled with some legislative ability There are rich men in the Senate, plenty of them; but those Senators who are Senators because they are rich, and for no other reason, are pathetic figures in the greatest delibera- tive body in the world. Notwithstanding the various gen- tlemen who are decrying the Senate, there never was and never will be a success there not backed with brains. Nor must it be thought that Clark has no brains. Far from it. He has as fine a commercial mind as ever discov- ered how to make two or a dozen dollars grow where one grew before. Still, the commercial mind and the legisla- tive or the legal mind have different convolutions and get at things in different ways. Clark knows all about how to deve lop a coppet rmine, f but when it comes to a bit of constructive states- manship a dozen men in the Senate who are worry- ing along on their $06.15 a week make him look like an abandoned claim. It would seem that a man who is worth a few hundred millions might afford a few friends Clark, apparently, hi none. He isas solitary as Pike's Peak. He is a lonesome as Robinson Crusoe. To be sure, he surrounded by a lot of secretaries, but they are i secretaries and get no further. Beyond that, there is nothing. Every- body says ‘* Howdy-do?”’ to him, but nobody Says, “Clark, old man, I'm glad to see you - He tries to be congenial, at that. Occasionally he gives a dinner and invites as many as will come They go and look him over and eat his food and Representative Littlefield, of Maine drink his wine and come away. Nobody pays the slight- est attention to him in the Senate. He works hard, too, attending committee meetings and keeping up with his correspondence. Once in a session he makes a speech, usually on some mining or land topic. He reads from manuscript, with amazing crescendo and diminuendo effects, and his own papers 1n Butte and Salt Lake tell of the great forensic effort of the distinguished statesman, and not another paper in the wide, wide world carries a line of it. Clark wanted to be a good Senator. He had ambitions to serve his country and he tried faithfully. He couldn't do it. In the first place he was not cut out for senatorial success, and in the second he came in with the handicap of mere money. The Senate has respect for money — too much, some people say —but it requires the right kind of a man to be hitched to the money. Clark is great in his way, but he is not a Senator, and he knows it now. He has four dissipations: his whiskers, his house in New York, his pictures, and work. ‘Two of these are the direct outcome of his money. By means of the third he got the money, and he could have the whiskers if he didn’t have a cent. Such is the prodigality of Nature. The whiskers are THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WHO'S WHO—-AND WHY Serious and Frivolous Facts About the Great and the Near Great > ° D> * ED > GD * GED + GED > UD © GEE - « _ — xx > > a > a William A. Clark, Senator from Montana red and bushy, and show evidences of careful attentior They are always immaculate, combed just so and carefull barbered and pomaded. He runs to hair, for that on hi head is as bushy as that on his chin and as exquisitely tended He is Sixty-five years old, but, so far as hair and whiskers go, he looks like the graduate in osteopathy just out of school and figuring on a place to settle down He buys pictures because he has money. He buys good pictures because he can afford them. They are a fad with him. He talks about art as if he invented perspective He is wont to mourn because art is being commercialized but when there is anything choice to be had, he prompt commercializes art to such an extent that nobody else get within hailing distance of what he wants. He will ha a great collection of old and present-day masters when he gets his art gallery finished, and he will have a lovely t looking at them all by himself. His house in New York is his passion. He started out to have the finest residence on the continent He has beer building it for years and will be years more at it. The « side of it is covered with bronze gimeracks and with stat of various kinds, and on one corner there a Wwe ! looks like a church-steeple that has run against the demor alizing influences of the world, the flesh and the devil Clark works all the time. Night after night he goes into the telegraph offices in Washington and writes messa for an hour at a time, sitting there, often, as late a night. When he is at his desk he is laboring incessant] over papers, A man came across on a private car fron Butte with him once. Clark was working over papers ‘Mr. Clark,” said this man, ‘‘why do you work so hard Why don’t you have some fun?’ “TI can't let go,” sighed Clark “Tf I story ped now the | would say I had broken down. I must keep or He is close with his money He never seer } body. He drives his employees to their utmost. Net wiry, he seems to be as active and vigorous now as he wa twenty years ago, Clark tries to be a good fell party) he sings to his guests. He hasashrill tenor voice tt has been cultivated, and a stock of opera gesture Hi gets up ona chair and sings ‘‘Home, Sweet Home There is this to be said of him: he is a producer He bought in and developed mines; he buil ope ned country. W hat he has he took out of the ground That is more than most men who have approximate much money as he has can sa And, with his} : his application and his faculty for making money, he we have been rich even if he had not gone into mining “Age First” \ THEN the consuls of the United States, England were performing their joint duties in San William Chambers, the American consul, put up the of the three countries over the door of the room where the ‘ ‘ Nat i \ } , and } ( Sr | } the arrat } Het (har ( nha i \ we 1 } r) ' rs) ! ! Cit ‘ re I a hrea he i 7 na ’ i I } } } Ami i ( (na Becauss t] Cusicl her rea I ! ‘ i Cha T} ri } ’ } ‘ hice } excited ove ul hiv irk I ! tripart the Irish harp on the British 1 1s not put there u after the Act of | und that Ame t} ; . lica } Ma Chee ns AM Ww a M. G. Scheitlin, now the “ feature’’ man on the Chicago Record-Herald, wa rking aS a reporter n St. Lon he was sent one! ht to get the st oft the suicide of a Polish girl Scheitlin found the house filled with neighbors, who were holding a hilarious wake he master of ceremonies wa the girl's brother. He seemed rather l of the distir tion brought on his house by hi ters act Che brother welcomed the reporter effusively and told him the details Then he said Wouldn't you like to see her rhe reporter said he would, and the brother elbowed his way through the crowded room, shouting Stand back! Make way for the re porter 1’ rhe re ponse to his commal was not so prompt as he would have liked, and the brother said angrily Stand back, I tell you! Make room! You ain't giving the corpse a chance to breathe Brevetted for Bravery yVVERYBODY ealls Alfred J. Stofer, a well-kn 4 Washington character Major” Stofer Where did you get your title, Stofe Representative Littletield, of Maine, once asked | Earned it, i} Stofer replied killin’ Yankees in the uN But. Stofer i were not o igh be a ‘ Wh i | was a soldier t t i] i ae I was livin’ in my native village of Culpeper, \ y ? } er me al tw } ! ke for tl 3 ted Confederate cause and ell ) But he Hd you Kill t! Wille I I ! n,! ' , ¢ ipple p ind } I The Hall of Fame € Senator Hale, of Mains ne of the most dignified and re of th tater , e f , San | , i il i 1 Te i He isa gedial plaved } RB } Barrett and $ | f ( Ju Ca I ATs} vi i int Senator hom her nat ‘ ame ea} i nite State ~ rht Resaca, bu ha hand vith il handed Indiana } i than } o someth ithen ha I Sergeant-at-Arms Ransdell to spare of the Senate

Page 20

18

THE SATURDAY LITERARY THEIR WAYS AND TH One of the Newcomers TMHERE is just ositv about now quite as much curi- Ernest Poole as there usually promising newcomers in the magazines, and a dozen wild stories are current regarding his schooling and experi- Here, however, are the facts: Poole graduated from Princeton in 1902. I meant to write as a profession,’’ he con- fesses in a recent letter, ‘“‘and picked out the tenements simply because I had heard that life ghere was more dramatic and gave better material for writing. I went to the University settlement. 1 first spent three months for the Child Labor Committee, writing on the ne wsboy Ss. I talked with hundreds of them, ate with them, lived with them. I felt then the tremendous Power of the Street, and what little chance the tene- ment mother has with her boy against it. I saw that the reform laws which the Child Labor Committee was passing would not have much success, and this doubt has been borne out by the results Then I went on the Committee for the Prevention of Tuberculosis; picked out the worst block in the city, where have occurred over five hundred deat ‘hs from consumption in the last few years. I gave it the nick- name ‘The Lung Block.’ I spent two months there illustra- ting by human stories is about ence, occasion, heartened by the different foods included in the fifty-cer it table d’hdéte, the half-dozen literary novices e snthusiastics ally subscribed five dollars each for the publica- tion of a new magazine. The subscriptions were written in ink upon a table napkin mine host had few to spare—which was tacked to the wall. The name of the new magazine was Bile—For the Bilious. Of the half-dozen subscribers two have since broken through ‘the publishers’ wall of re- serve: Henry Wallace Phillips, whose Mr. Scraggs is just now helping to make merry many a vacation, and Rupert Hughes, who is credited with a novel and two plays as his share of this winter's spoils. Punch with Care i SPITE of the fact that he is the editor of Punch, that bulwark of British humor, Owen Seaman, who is probably the cleverest living writer of parody, has a healthy admiration for the Great American Joke. An old friend of his Cambridge days quotes him as saying: ‘The Gallic wit has becomea mere tradition; the Yankee brand has eclipsed it altogether. It is a curious thing, but it is always the active nation, in contrast to the merely thinking one, that produces a great national humor.”’ Mr.

EVENING POST FOLA EIR WOR consuming long strings of the succulent Roman food ‘But, Doctor,”’ she should I go back to native dish of Italy?” And it was only then that she that ‘ Veir Mitchelli”’ Mitchell.” exclaimed, ‘‘why America to get the learned was Italian for *‘ Weir A House-to-House Author HE late Professor Shaler, of Harvard,was a notable example of the author who, as Mr. Howells has advised, does not put all his eggs in one basket. His last three books were each issued by a different pub- lisher. First, The Individual was put out by the Appletons; then The Citizen appeared with the imprint of A. S. Barnes & Co., and now Man and the Earth is pub- lished by Fox, Duffield & Co., the senior member of which firm is, by the way, the younger brother of John Fox, Jr. Across the Ocean for Reward T IS not with novels as it is supposed to be with plays—a London success doesn’t always spell an American triumph. Thus, Sister Carrie, a novel by Theodore Dreiser, an American, was extravagantly praised in England, but in this country hardly noticed

the terrible facts which the scientists and doc- tors had already proved I wrote for the Commit- tee a pamphlet which was sent to the ten thousand richest peo- ple in New York. It was also published in every newspaper in the city. Three newspapers gave three editorials each. There was a fight to tear down ‘The Lung Block’ and make a park of it. But political in- fluence siepped in and all Was stopped. There are now thou- sand cases of consump- tion in New York ‘Later I spent months in the shops, then two months on the North River docks with the forty thousand dockers, and seventy two sweat-

at all. Thus, too, May Sinclair’s earlier books, published in her native England, had small sale here, and that though the one she liked least Audrey Craven-—-was well received by the London critics, who turned the cold shoulder to The Divine Fire until it was ‘‘taken up” by Owen Seaman and one or two other men of lit- erary discernment. Miss Sinclair, by the way, denies the story that it took her seven vears to write The Divine Fire, the real time expended being exactly two years and three months, though after starting it she put it aside for five years while engaged on lighter tasks. She has now

still later | went as a corresponde nt to t he meat strike, and lived two months in stock- yards. A year ago I was sent to Russia, where I stayed three and a half months had gone asa correspondent, but the things I saw there made it simply impossible to keep out of revolutionary work. In fact, many other correspondents were in it. I had a splendid interpreter to help me. Two or three times I was arrested, but only held for a few hours. Finally, however, a more serious affair occurred and my interpreter was only saved from jail by the fact that the chief of police, who searched my luggage, could net read English. We left Russia soon after and went to London with a plan for getting guns. This plan was only one of scores being constantly tried by revolution- ists, and, like so many others, failed. I came back to America. Having lived with the Slavs--the men of ideas and dreams —I came at once into the country of quick nervous action. My impression was very vivid. This impression I tried to ex- = in my first attempt at a novel — The oice of the Street.”’ Their Salad Days TW AS not so many years ago that a hand- ful of ” erary apprentices foregathered weekly 4 cheap French restaurant on one mil York's side-streets They had abundant enthusiasm for each other’s pro- ductions and unbounded faith in their own But faith without works doesn't make an author’s reputation, and publishers were suspected of a secret compact, so unan- imous were they in their disinclination to issue the works of these immortals. On one Ernest Poole, Snap-Shot in a Russian Peasant’s Cottage Seaman is himself, by the way, an apostle of activity. Although forty-four years old and a member of four clubs — the Savile, Leander, Bath and Queen's — he is still an expert at tennis and an excellent shot. He does not scorn even croquet, and clings to bridge whist in spite of its decline as a merely fashionable fad A Vermicelli Cure , gs ‘ $. Weir Mitchell the physician there gather as many stories as about S. Weir Mitchell the novelist. This is but of them Last wihter Doctor Mitchell sent to Italy for rest and recreation a patient who had for some months been cha his care ‘And if you feel that you need a physician while abroad, you had better se« Doctor So Rome.” The patient as sufferers from nervous diseases gene rally do did feel the need of more dectoring while in Italy and therefore looked up the great So-and-so— the best known specialist in his line in that country but neglected to say that she had, whil on he said, and-so in at home, been under Doctor Mitchell's s care Signor So-and-so asked the usual questions, and then, in somewhat broken English, remarked ‘Madame, as an American you had bet- ter return to Philadelphia and take the Vermicelli cure.” Jeing an Italian, the pronounced the ‘“‘e”’ the patient and nut-diets doctor naturally as if it were ‘‘ch,”’ and who had heard of water-cures herself had a vision of an American Friend of the Russian Revolution — From a published a new novel, which, although it pos- sesses all the distinction that belonged to its predecessor, is nevertheless very different from The Divine Fire. Mr. Loomis Handicapped EARLY all authors get many requests for autographs —and nearly all authors pretend to dislike acceding. But Charles Battell Loomis is nothing if not unusual. A short time ago, for example, an admirer of his work got the humorist to pose for a silhouette and, later, sent him the result with a note asking him to ‘‘write a few lines under it —and return it Mr. Loomis wrote ‘My dear M Blani ‘When I consider that I posed only five minutes for this silhouette, I am lost in wonder that you should in have secured a likeness whic h lorty- years to acquire. four A McCutcheon Summer ) ap T. McCUTCHEON, with drawings the readers of this magazine are familiar, sailed the other day for Europe, to be gone for the entire summer. Hie intends to spend some time in Paris. Then he will go to Southern France: thence to Constantinople, Odessa and Tiflis. The Caucasus, the Caspian Sea and Merv are en his route, and he expects to journey by caravan into China and a thousand niles into Siberia, from which country he will go East or West—as the mood directs— by way of the Trans-Siberian Pailway

so short a time it took me v hose

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THE

SATURDAY

EVENING POST 19 ODDITIES @ NOVELTIES “ecco oo F BREEDING THE EIDER DUCK ENDEAVOR TO SAVE A ARCTIC BIRD. A MAIN! VALUABLE F THE eider duck can be induced to breed satisfactorily on Old Man’s Island (near Machias Bay), which the Audubon Society has leased from the State of Maine for the os ge tng propagating and preserving wild iirds, the enterprise wil! prove very inter- esting and possibly quite profitable. Such an experiment is said to be contemplated, and, although the birds in question belong to Arctic regions, they sometimes build their nests as far south as our own most northerly territory on the Atlantic These ducks have been subjected toasort of semi-domestication along the coast of Norway, where they breed in enormous numbers on certain islands not far from shore. Their output of ‘‘down,”’ which is gathered asa Pree, ~atieal is taken from the nests, and the people frequently carry the dacklings in baskets to the sea when they are big enough to look out for themselves It is at this time that the mother-bird es- corts her flock to the gcean’s brink, and swims away with her little ones. When the female duck has built her nest of grass and sticks, she plucks from her own breast a quantity of down, which she forms into a sort of mat big enough to fold over the eggs and keep them warm when she is absent for a while. These mats are system- atically stolen from the nests, two or thre« times in succession, the hen bird being finally obliged to make a demand upon the drake fora supply of down. The rule is not to steal a mat in which drake’s feathers ap- pear, because, if this is done, the pair will give it up in disgust. One of these little eider mats is worth about twenty-five cents at first hand. Gath- ered in the way described, the down is sorted into lots according to quality, cleaned, and put up in small bags, carefully sewn, for export. The best of it fetches five dollars a pound. Relations having thus been established between this ocean fowl and man, which are profitable on one side at least, the eider duck seems likely to escape the fate of extermina- tion which has overtaken one of its nearest relatives. This was the Labrador duck, which formerly was plentiful in summer along the coast of Labrador and about the mouth of the St. Lawrence River. It bred on rocky islets, where it was safe from foxes and other carnivorous enemies. But ‘ sportsmen”’ attacked it on its breeding- grounds, destroying it wholesale, and the last known specimen was killed in 1852 ALL FOR THE FARMERS — THE GOVERN MENT GOES PLANT-HUNTING ABROAD AND THE FARMER GETS THE PROFIT. | get spent by our Government in 1 importing useful plants from foreign and often remote parts of the world seems to have been well invested. It t $2000 to fetch from China, in 1864, the sorghum, which to-day produces in this country a crop worth $40,000,000 annually. The Kafir corn was introduced at an ex- pense of not more than $5000 for the benefit of the semi-arid Southwest, and is worth to us at the present time $15,000,000 a year Macaroni wheat, a comparatively recent importation from Russia, $10,000, and already puts annually into the pockets of our farmers Its cultivation is rapidly extending, and, requiring little water, it is the chief de- yendence for a crop on 500,000 cod which are too dry.to grow other and more thirsty wheats The Japanese *‘ Kiushu”’ rice was intro- duced at an expense of $18,000 a few years It has largely augmented our rice production, and is an important factor in the phenomenal growth of this branch of agricultural industry in Texas and Louis- iana. Since its importation the value of land in the coast sections of Texas and Louisiana has risen from $2 to $40 per acre, and the output from 115,000,000 pounds to 650,000,000 pounds. If one-half of this increase is due to the Japanese rice, its annual value to us is $2,000,000 In summarizing these facts, the forth coming Year Book of the Department of cos cost us onl) $10,000,000 acres of

ago. EVER Y - Agriculture will say th which

us S5S0OO0, have cost east $1,000,000 annually the value of this } of crop 1n W iscon in alone Ihe a i her DarieV. imported at an expense f oniv S1lOUO is now one f the tandat varieties in the United States, the earl output being worth many millions The cost of introducing the navel ora from Brazil was next to nothing, budwood from certain ‘freak trees, fo i chance in the State of Bahia, being t to the Department of Agriculture by of our consuls. To-day the value of the crop of oranges produced by trees propa gated from this budwood is estimated SS,000,000 annually.

The cost of all seed and plant introduct and distribution by our Government IS52 up to the present moment has beet about 34,500,000; 1d the estimated ar nual value of only : of the anmeties th

imported is far in excess of $100,000.00 NOTH AND HIGH-ART VENEERS — THERE IS ING CHEAP ABOUT THE BEsT SOMETHING GoopD ABOUT ALL. MHE aay gone Dy WAS «le spised as a spec les Of cheap shan At the present time practically all tine fur has when veneermng

niture is veneered, hardly ot bel solid. Pianos, tables and car-ceilings ‘ nvariably treated in this wa) As f cheapness, the best mahogany enee! thirtieth of an inch in thickness, sells for thirty cents a square foot! It is deemed of utmost importance it trade to get veneers that have a handsor natural pattern, or ‘‘figure,”’ as the technic- al term is. Accordingly, special value is set upon those parts of thi tree where large limbs join the trunk likewise it is with the base of the monarch where the roots begin to start out Here, at the tree-bottom, the pattern ex-

for he purpose,

posed by the saw cutting crosswise complicated and beautiful, and such slice are frequently utilized for the tops of cost tables. Veneering on fine furniture is usual ‘five-ply"’ mea that there are five thicknesses. Fo you see, when wood

swells or shrinks, it does so not lengthw of the grain, but crosswise, and, such changes, several sli f I superposed, one upon another and at right angles with each other in grain, mutually holding one another in shape. For this reason wood that is prop- ‘ rly veneered is really better than the solid stuff, inasmuch as it is unchangeable. Veneers are sometimes cut as thin as a fiftieth of an inch, when the mat precious. From those of high value, such as are sawn from mahogany they descend to the we employed in such great quantities for butter plates, pie dishes, berry and othe r rece ptacte S these be evolved by a process that transforms, with the aid of

respect ol ne

and satin- wood, od-slice boxes,

! knives, whole logs into continuou ribbons Hundreds of square ests are being devoured annual these conveniences for transportation and the market. Not only wood, l thisfashion. A machine has beer by which a good-sized elephant’s tusk n be converted

miles of for- } vto py however, Is treated in

continuous into a

vory a dozen feet in d twer inches wide. And now marbl itilized ordinarily in tk i veneer being rarely used in solic , but applied commonly in the form of thin slabs f building purposes, masses of brick or cor serving asa core. The effect is quits handsome, and the cost litt] HLL crete comparativel THE NURSE’S CROWNING GLORY —A PROFESSION IN WHICH CAP AND CA Go TOGETHER, S DISTINCTIVE (and, one might i heraldic) emblems of the fro which the wearers are graduated, the caps of trained nurses afford an interesting study All of them are pretty, and some of them ar most picturesque. One, for ¢ xample , which is the device of a famous hospital, resem- bles the ancient Phrygian cap, coquettishly

schools DA Y Ss CIEN CE inapp-fell

reproduc ‘it rched n : e hieanherisopediomibchadies Tats for Men f the peasa f Norma a l if { trai ‘ litter , I i r I Ata r t alt I ra hat the oraduates of ¢ - chool ee cal . 4 tr i} ™ t th " , = a tl I ) | ts in I \ Py , { t he ra , 7 ' ose " \ 1a ‘eg — The ( \l iewtns | i ? porta Kona | t K f of th rait r t P | int ' ’ le ‘ tt if ‘ , 7 Obvi - oi { t Suny int ino r T ’ , r ’ lorougt h »p-kelt Del a iN a i to wear a cay e rule tk however, the headgeai peg ees f | t Sy bdatt ‘ them. ne rst ta white bar THE CrRoruT & KNapp Co. round the front, and graduate f ‘ » : the Is, on be g full-fledged 540 | » New I nurses. exchal } hand for a| « blac one * : ie) ~ Plainness and 1 ire always thé 4% |nterest ‘ é t here . re al rm la v7 } } r ' . = ‘ tne } bs 4 us is apror } ho } ul ra fad ont 7 rT th i un + : Wher t I tra 5h as . weet thee waite ' i) us I } tt ippear i re ee n tl t. But, to « [ae TT opt a i nd bonnet he r i TL Tl , a ‘ ed t nfr It ! F rf aid ad cine: eee euttariend ettey iat ME en f deaconesses, so that the foreign-trained rse might ea ber taken for a person belor n ) relig is order

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IN ‘You are suspicious.” ‘I’m heart-broken at present. drop in to-morrow afternoon ?”’ ‘I'll be too busy you, sides, I want you to call on Lady Maud. You might take her for a ride in your automobile, and then you could dine some- where, you know. 1’ going to run in to clever or awfully May I either very Lo see Billy. Be- see her for a miriute in the morning, but | sha’n’t have time for more than that.” ‘Hang Maud! She’s at the bottom of all my trouble.” But you'll tz - her for a ride, Billy?” ‘I’m blest if I will!”’ She’s Lord Grimwood’s sister.” ‘Il wouldn’t take her if she were his grandmother!’ But she's expecting you.” She can't be, unless You didn’t tell her I would, Priscilla?”’ ‘I didn’t tell her anything,’’ answered Priscilla; ‘‘I wrote her you would, though. She'll expect you, Billy, and if you'll be good, just this once, you may come to see me to morrow evening at ten o'clock only for a minute, mind.’ I'll do i You always have your way, Pri iscilla.”’ ‘*You're a dear, but you haven t eaten a thing. Everybody is noticing it. ‘Nonsense! Nobody eats when they’re dining out —it’s bad form. Where did you iy Maudie was stopping?” ‘At the Holland House, Billy And when does your boat s ail ? ** Friday, at el ven o'clock. An unlucky lay, isn't it?”’ ‘An unlucky American, Hoboken day for me. Hamburg- and Plymouth, I Suppose ¢ ‘The ‘All right, her for a ride, had in New York and make generally. Will that do?”’ “If [hadn't called you a dear a moment ago I'd call you one now, Billy. You ought to send her some roses, though.” *T'll send her a dozen. Just the same, I think it's awfully shabby of you to go to England without me.” ** Not another word. Deutschland.” I'll call on Lady Maud, take buy her the best dinner to be myself useful Talk to the girl on our right now, or Mrs. Brown will never ask you to dine again.” 1X HERE, that’s a reward of merit,”’ said Priscilla It’s just ten o'clock, and you're a good bey.” “Twas worth a thousand-mile journey,” I beamed. And the Holiand House isn’t a mile away,” replied Priscilla According to that, I owe you nine hundred and ninety-nine kisses,”’ I said. I'm ready to pay, Pris cilla 4 For a mile at a time?” she asked. ‘For a mile at a time.’ ‘ll accept payment for two miles if you'll promise not to be gloomy, and go , k ; home when I tell you, Billy Chis is our last time together and l want it to be a pl asant one. ‘] will promise on one condition.” ‘**A reasonable one, I hope.”’ ‘Nothing could be more reasonable. I may new All I ask is that morning with my bile, and Hoboke ahd You haven't b Haven't | call for you in the Limousine automo- dock at safely to the see you need a beauty to console me while you're rone P ris ‘ila.’ ‘ So you chose a gasoline one.’ ae gasoline-—-steam. I'm bound to \ ith fire ‘you and Nipper will have glorious rides together n* lly you om ‘OF cor shall never take any one but Nip per ‘ **You'd better not; I'll haunt you if you do.” You'll haunt me, : Bi haven't consented to 1 i Pri ‘I think it would be lovely Billy dying to see your new car The trunks went this afternoon, and Agnes can take care of herself.” “I'l! send Jenkins over to look out for Agnes, and we'll take Nip ho with us, Poor, de ar Nipper -I can't bear to part with him wailed Priscilla But do tell me about Lady Maud. How did gether?” you get on te THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (fon ‘*Maudie nuded from Page s) I took her for a ride, and she loved it; I treated her to a dinner at Sherry’s, and she loved it; she loved you, she loved the roses I sent her, she loved me and she loved New York. She loved Nipper, when I described him; she almost fell on my neck when I told her you and I were engaged, and ‘ ‘You didn’t tell her that, Billy!” ‘In short, she loved everything she saw, and everybody I mentioned, except Carey Hamilton.” ‘*Good gracious! ‘*Like a book.” ‘Where did she meet him? ‘‘She has never met him, but she has acquired an unaccountable aversion for Carey — queer, isn’t it?”’ ‘If I weren’t going away to- -morrow I'd discipline you, Billy ¢ ‘artwright.’ ‘You don’t mind, really?’ “Oh, but I do! Lady Maud will tell everybody I’m engaged, and a nice time I'll have in England! What’s the use of going if I’m to be placarded: *‘ Hands Off Engaged'?”’ ‘It’s not so bad as promised not to tell.” ‘It seems to me, for a first call, you made surprising headway, Billy.” ‘I can’t help being engaging. Maudie liked it.” ‘Of course she did; all women like to be confided in —I like it myself. Carey Ham- ilton is the sweetest thing, when it comes to confiding!”’ ‘*Has he told you the story of his life? I hate to think of you're being bored.” ‘I wasn't bored; it was awfully interest- ing.” ‘Mere imagination.” ‘But Carey has no imagination.” ‘That's why you were bored.” ‘*Well, supposing he did bore me, Billy; he’s awfully good and kind and consider- ate. is a trump. Does she know Carey ?”’ ” that. Maudie Besides, ‘What an exciting trio of virtues! But let's drop Carey, Priscilla; this is our last night, you know.” ‘There are lots of nights to come, Billy. Besides. I've dropped Carey ; he proposed this morning.” “Serves him right,’’ I said. ‘‘Any man who would propose to a gir: in the morning deserves to be dropped.” ‘He did worse than that. on the sidewalk, in front of the He proposed Holland House. I suppose if I'd said yes he’d have embraced me then and there. It was Billy. But of course ositively insulting, was a perfect lady, and told him I ap- preciated it.” ‘lL hope hedidn’t makeascene, Priscilla?” ‘He wept, Billy —actually wept! And then he tagged along after me for a whole block.” Still weeping?” “Still weeping. in my iife.”’ ‘Poor Carey! I never was so ashamed awfully good and He’s kind and considerate! “Truly considerate. Let’s talk about something else, Billy—something mor cheerful.’ 7 ‘Could you stand another proposal ? ‘I could from you, Billy. But we're already engaged, you know.”’ And Dad didn’t give you that ruby?” You gave it to me, silly. And you're wearing it? Because I1—I'm fond of you, Billy.” ‘Because you love me, Priscilla.” ell, then, because | love you. satisfied, Billy Cartwright.” I never was more satisfied in my life.” ‘I'm glad of that, because I've got to send I hope you re you home now. Trot along, Billy Boy, while you're happy.” All right, 1’ go. By the way, Priscilla the sailing time is ten o’clock instead of cleven, so I'll have to come an hour earlier.” Heavens, Billy! Are you sure?” The Steamship Office telephoned to Lady Maud late this afternoon. It's the tide, you know. Nine o'clock is an unholy hour, but it can’t be helped, Priscilla.’ I'll be ready, Billy. I'll have breakfast at eight, and say good-by to Dad here at the house. Now run along, dear.” x VE just said good-by to Dad, so | can't see very well, Billy,” said Priscilla ‘Nobody can see well at nine o'clock in the morning,” I replied, pretending not to notice the tears in her eyes. rURS UIT @Fr PRISCILLA she “But it looks perfectly grand,” I do continued. ‘It’s a regular whale. love a big automobile!”’ ‘Lloyd Osbourne calls them Bubbles,” I said. ‘‘I wénder why!” ‘Because they burst so easily, I suppose. Goodness, Billy, there’s room in _ this tonneau for a dozen people! Where's Nipper?” ‘*Here he is. There won’t be any too we're gcing to pick much room, Priscilla; up Lady Maud, you know. ‘*Poor Dad!”’ said Priscilla. le “ave him and Nipper.” ‘And me?” ‘And you, Billy.”’ “Never mind. We'll not that now. All right, Charles. “The car is perfect, Billy. like a sewing-machine.” “I’m glad you like it, Priscilla.” ‘‘T adore it! I feel better already. ‘“‘It will do its little fifty miles an hour without turning a hair. And I bought it for you, Priscilla; I’m going to ship it over on the next boat.” ‘Billy, you're too I feel like a little pig, love you, Billy.” ‘And I'll send Charles along in case your new Bubble bursts.” ‘It will cost a heap of money.” ‘* Anybody can be generous with money.”’ ‘Billy Cartwright is the soul of gener- osity. But do look where we are! This isn’t Fifth Avenue.” ‘Broadway and sg risci ia.” ‘The Holland House is on Fifth Ave nue, Billy.” “We'll turn at the next corner,” ‘*T hate to think about It runs just ” sweet for anything! leaving you. I do Twenty-eighth Street, I replied. ‘There, what did I tell you?”’ ‘But we're crossing Fifth Avenue,” Priscilla protested, ‘‘and— why, he’s stop- Billy!” es, he’s stopping,”’ I admitted. “In front of a church!” gasped Priscilla. “The L ittle Church Around the C orner, . I ex jlained; ‘‘ Lady Maud’s inside.’ “Inside ? Inside what, Billy?” ‘Inside the church, of course,”’ I replied. ‘*She’s to be one of the witnesses.”’ ‘One of the witnesses! Have you gone out of your mind, Billy?” ¥. never was more sane in We’ » to be married.’ Oo We re not!”’ ‘I’ve got the marriage-license in my adie” I said. ‘‘Come on, dear, we ieerene much time to spare; the boat leaves at eleven.” ‘At ten,” corrected Priscilla. **At eleven,”’ | repeated. ‘‘Come, Maudie is waiting for us.”’ “TI can’t be married wailed Priscilla. ‘He'll be here in a minute,” “Billy, this is outrageous! married —so there!”’ ‘You might as we ll,’’ I said. “But I haven’t any clothes.” ‘I've oceans of money, Priscilla.”’ ‘And my passage is bought and paid for; I’ ve gotone of the nicest suites on the boat. ping, my life. dear, without Dad!” I replied. I won't be ‘The very nicest has been reserved for W. P. Cartwright and wife,” I returned. ‘Hurry, dear.” ‘I won't budge —not a step!” ‘Here comes Dad,” I said. ‘Don't disappoint Dad, Priscilla.”’ I'll make Dad pay for this! "’ she declared grimly. I’m ready now. I'll marry you, Billy Cartwright, but it’s only part of my revenge, mind, And I'll neve r forgive you — never! ‘Of course ingly. Of course you won't,” I said encourag- you won't. ‘I’m sorry | made such a fuss, Billy,” said Priscilla, as she nestled up to me on our way to Hoboken and the boat. ‘It was awfully nice of Dad to take Lady Maud with him, wasn’t it?”’ “Only you and me and Nipper,” I answered dreamily. ‘It’s too good to be true, Priscilla.” ‘Il do love you, “IT know you do, **And, Billy , ‘Yes, dear?” I hope you didn't think I was going to Sestend without you.” Not for a minute,” I replied. for a minute, Priscilla Cartwright.” Billy.” Priscilla.” ‘Not THE END July 14, 1906 “EXER-=KETCH” Parties nee” Are Quite the Rage MORE FUN THAN A BOX OF MONKEYS Pathe so new under th e sun! whole family house party chureh ard county fair pan resort everywhere TEN CENTS WoRTH OF FUN IN TEN MINUTES x inter- es MAKES STEADY NERVES AND KEEN EYES exer- cising eve e on e f the eye neck shonl- ders, armsend chest i Manufacturers ‘ Advertising Novelty Write us for quantity prices Let us send ‘Exer-Ketch"’ to some one for you pea ee > cts ‘ repent 12 cts. EXER-KETCH Your money back e, 10 Cts. at your DEALER'S r Church Fairs, County Fairs Stamps for an if you are not satisied Prix E h'' is a hit Amusement Resorts, Carnivals, Picnics SELLS ON SIGHT. SEND US '12 CTS. STAMPS AND WE WILL SEND you AN ‘EXER ps H"’ POSTPAID full par “EXE R KE TCH” NOvE! ry co. 907 State Life Bldg ndianapolis, Ind, YOUNG MAN oe RAILROADS WANT The Great you Good wages M rr R. R. Supts L,Y aT te! Free. | —s Valentine's School sien aphy Janesville, Wis (Est 34 years pene FRUIT BOOK 40 eegesern ciel nd digg dns oles COLORS and scril 216 hieager yp of r libera rms of distri- ately m to planters “STARK BROS. Satiamn, _ (, WHAT SCHOOL WE CAN HELP YOU DECIDE re AMERIC AN 8C sea ,& COL, LEGE AGENCY 50 Tribune Bldy., Chicago HOT AVE MENS AV ies CUT Dow CREDIT —a t, New Y¥« Learn iow to Press Your Own Clothes sles H.R. Schraeger, Jr., System Co., Kalamazoo, Mich , dthfeicer rH Pathfinder, Wash D.C = RE wont F ORW. ARDING CO. a agg i pet Do Pigeo Fer Ga. LLOYDT, Dept. D, Sayre, Pa.

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PLAYER FOLK ee Annie Russell in Bernard Shaw's Play, Major Barbara Which is Shakespeare? HIS authentic anecdote is recommended to those who think that it robs the plays of Shakespeare of their dramatic effect to produce them in the manner in which he wrote them to be produced. At one of Mr Ben Greet’s Elizabethan performances of Julius Cwsar, says Miss Annie Russell, a man in the audience was lately seen to fumble his program in great perplexity In imitation of the Elizabethan play-bill, the dramatis persona was there given with- out the names of the company. ‘I want to find out,’ remarked the wor- ried spectator, ‘‘which of the actors is Shakespeare. Clyde Fitch as Nature Lover S' IME are born loversof Nature, and some Ww) achieve the love of Nature Clyde Fitch has had it thrust upon him. The compelling forces have been two: his work and his collection of antiques. A cockney by instinct, he found that his writing re quired more leisure and quiet than he was able to achi ve in New York. He dis- covered a few acres of land in Greenwich, Connecticut, with a rough shack on the brow of a hill commanding a distant view of the blue and sail-flecked waters of Long Island Sound. His first idea was to use this shack as a week-end study, Quiet Cor- ner, taking with him at most his secretar) and his valet to cook their meals. All his life long, however, he has spent his summers in Europe, and even in his long years of poverty he never came back without some object of curiosity or beauty One of his stories is of landing on the docks with a steamer trunk and a huge carved beam from the roof of a medizval banquet hall. After furnishing his town house, in East Fortieth Street, he was obliged to keep quantities of such things in storage. So he decided to build a house on his Greenwich property large enough to con- tain them. As the work progressed, his ideas grew, and the result is that Quiet Corner is a solid and spacious mansion, with a fountain in front and terraces and parapet overlooking the Sound. Here the love of the country has grown upon him yearly, until last season his fixed residence was Quiet Corner, and his house in town his occasional abode. Meantime he has come to regret the smallness of his plot of land and the increasing population of the neighborhood. Lately he bought a much larger tract several miles back from the Sound, in Katonah, Westchester County, New York. Here, on a secluded hillside among the woods, he is planning to build a new house, larger than the first. What began as a quiet e« Manhattan is to become a villa i rner of retuge tror vilderness It is not unlikely that he will end by giving up his town house for bache lor apartments, which he threatens to call Noisy Corner George Ade'’s Company in Misery Wit N The Bad Samaritan was taker off the st age at the end of a week, and Just Out of ( “oll ege met with dubious suc cess, it is well known that George Ade mad: a wry face over his first draft of the waters of defeat, and quitted the Holland House for a resort on Third Avenue. But whe he came back from Europe lately he had recovered his smile plays, Josephine, a satire on Joseph Chan berlain and Balfour, and Punch, a dig at Bernard Shaw, had fallen flat, and Ace hi ud met Barrie only a few days later hy, he was like a child,” said the American. ‘At first he sneaked off into the country, and, when he got back to town, he still hung his head like a boy who has been lie ked If any one spoke about Josephine he looked under the table. Now, wouldn't you think a man who has had so many big successes woWdd be above that sort of thing?’ Barrie's two late Hing Dodo JVAYMOND HITCHCOCK is as remark- able for modesty and genial shrewd- ness in private life as he is on the stage. At a dinner at The Strollers the speakers began to whoop it up for the serious drama, and incidentally, to east what is sometimes called asparagus upon the public and the managers who care only for musical con edy. One speaker, an artist of great versa- tility and power, said that he looked forward to the time when actors would be men of education, and not recruited from the ranks of those whe begin life by carrying the spear Vith doubtful inspiration, the toast master next called upon Mr. Hi sprene When the creator of King Dodo and Abi Booze got to his feet he looked a trifle scared After much hesitation he stammered out that he appreciated the lofty aims of those who had just spoken, and all the more so because he had begun as a clerk ina count store, and when he got to the point of carr ing a spear thought that his fortune was made. He said that personally he was glad that he was permitted to live before the millennium of his friends on the other side of the table. Then he became more em barrassed than ever possit ly realizing tha he appeared to be answering back Rhee the middle of a sentence he sat down, abashed, and, of course, he was k dls applauded Mr. Hit cheock as now aban aoned mu- sical comedy for eon sameaaian with | usual success in Richard Harding Davi The Galloper. At almost every perform- ance the audience calls him out, and his speeches are apparently as impromptu ar d as embarrassed as at The Strollers’ dinner He usually ends them by sliding behind the proscenium arch in the middle of a sentence. But he gets his audience as surely in the theatre as he didatthedinner. A good edu cation is seldom amiss; but the fact of the matter is that actors, like poets, are bort and not made The Pretty Sister N' ITHING is harder to foresee than the IN elements in a play which make for success or failure; but after the first pro- duction they are usually as plain as the lettering ona bill-board. The Pretty Sister of José, in which Miss Maude Adams re- turned to the stage, was written by the author of Little Lord Fauntleroy, and had several scenes which, in advance of the production, may have seemed strongly dramatic; but if it had not been for the personal charm of the actress it is doubt- ful whether it would have had even t least success. The American public is not in sympathy with the willful and passion ate moods of Spanish beauty. One of Mis Adams’ friends, who happened to be in the gallery, overheard one boy say to another ‘If I had a pretty sister who cut up lik that, do you know what I'd do to her! switch her over the legs!’ When a character makes that sort of an impression upon the public, no art of the playwright or actor can save the day THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Any Boy can open a Bank Account MANY BOYS by working for several weeks on Friday afterno DO SO THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Phousands of OVS MAKES Hyaonye ever We t Live Sanit plan You ea lo the ime We will furnish ten copi the fi t wee} Iree al ¢ ( to be Ot at I e cent each \tte that whate ( Vo ( lire at the wholesale price lf You Will Try It we wi end the copies ana everythl Nece all Lhe 1K A DOOKTECT tle $250 in CASH as prizes to boys who do good work Each Month reserved tor boys who start this weel The Curtis Publishing Company, 3825 Arch St., Philadelphia, Pennsy!vania — GIVEN AWAY Big $1.00 Book of Plans You Pay l4c (170 Designs Postage Only Daverm an’s ; eo of aaa | 4c f | t \ to-day r i Send $1.00 fora Ye s Su ription to Our Mc y Magazine Art im Ar ecture Devoted t Artistic Homes and Home Fe shine . DAVERMAN & SON, Architects Established 1882 717 Porter Block (irand Rapids, Mich. 0 thi; SG HP CY OB ‘ 0 ($141.22 ) . 0 0 GO WRO ENGINE ONLY eh); R 3 D ejelele AUTO-MAR e AR OF UJ 2 ¢ f en 0 D 0 « 5 *

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ic) th 7 = ee But the o!d servant may have misunder- stood, for he only bowed and ambled off downstairs with the decanter. For a while Siward sat there, scowling into vacancy; then the listless, careworn expression returned, I ‘amp light brought out sharply the physicai change in him—the angular shadows flat under the cheek-bones, the hard, slightly swollen flesh in the bluish shadows around the The mark of the master-vice was there; its stamp in the swollen, worn-out hollows; its imprint in the fine lines at the corners of his mouth; its sign manual in the faintest relaxation of the under lip For the last of the Siwards had at length stepped into the highway which his doomed forebears had traveled before him. ‘Gumble!”’ he called irritably. A quavering voice, an unste ady step, and the old man entered again. ‘Mr. Stephen, sir eyes fixed, old, eves Bring that decanter back. Didn’t you hear me tell you just now? There was a silence. ” ‘“Gumble! ‘Sir! ‘‘Are you going to bring that decanter?”’ The old butler bowed, and ambled from the room, and for a long while Siward sat sullenly listening and scoring the edges of a newspaper with his trembling pencil. Wands came this time, a lank, sandy, silent man, grown gray as a rat in the service of the Siwards. He received his master’s orders, and withdrew; and again Siward waited, biting his under lip and tearing bits from the edges of the newspaper with fingers never still; but nobody came with the decanter, and aftera while his tense muscles relaxed; something in his very soul seemed to snap and he sank back in his chair, the hot tears blinding him. He had got as far as that; the moments of self-pity were becoming almost as fre- quent as the scorching intervals of self- contempt. So they all knew what was the matter with him~ they all knew—the doctor, the servants, his frends! He lay very still in his chair; his hearing had ,become abnormally acute, but he could not make out what they were saying; and as the dull, intestinal aching grew harper, parching, searing every strained

muscle in throat and chest, he struck the table beside him, and clenched his teeth in the fierce rush of agony that swept him

from head to foot, crying out an inarticulate menace on his household. And Doctor Grisby came into the room from the outer shadows of the hall. He was very small, very meagre, very bald and clean-shaven, with a face like a nutcracker; and the brown wig he wore was atrocious, and curled forward over his olorless ears. He wore steel-rimmed tacle spee- s, each glass divided into two lenses; and he stood on tiptoe to look out through the upper lenses on the world, and always bent almost double to use the lower or reading ler Vhat's all this racket?" said the littl

le old doctor hars} (,0t col Got the toothache I'm ashamed of otepne utting caper and px aing tf ful it re! Lax p! La at me! ¢ W ! te Tit at ' W 1 ne vt 4 t a i the troubi You now muttered Siward, aban- doning his wrist to the little man, who seated himself beside t DoctorG t carcel | ‘ elicate pre re had T i ‘ hat ti How d at’sther h you Hey ow, don’t try to explain Steve n't fly off the handle! All nght; grant know what's bothering you; I e that ankle first. Here, some- Aight that gas Why the mischief

on't you have the house wired for electric- ity, Stephen? It’s wholesome Lamps are worse, sir Do as And he went on | and muttering, and never ceasing | while Siward, wincing as the dressing removed, lay back and closed his Half an hour later Gumble appeared, to announce dinner. ‘| don’t want any,” said Siward *‘Eat!”’ said Doctor Grisby harshly.

Gas isnt I tell you! grumbling s talk, was quaciou sly eyes. nl don’t care to.” Eat, I tell | you! mean what I s se Do you think I don’t THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 1 So he ate his broth and toast, the doctor curtly declining to join him. He ate hurriedly, closing his eyes in aversion. Even the iced tea was flat and distasteful to him. And at last he lay back, white and un- strung, the momentarily deadened despera- tion glimmering under his half-closed eyes. And for a long while Doctor Grisby Sat, doubled almost in two, cuddling his bony little knees and studying the patterns in the faded carpet ‘I guess you'd better go, Stephen,” he said at length. Up the river—to Mulqueen’s?” ‘Yes. Let’s try it, Steve. You'll be on your feet in two weeks. Then you’d better go -up the river—to Mulqueen’s.”’ “T—I'll go, if you say so. But I can't go now.” ‘*T didn’t say go now. I said in two weeks.”’ ‘Perhaps.” “Will you give me your word?” de- manded the doctor sharply. ‘“*No, Doctor.” “Why not?” ‘‘Because [| may have to be here on business. There seems to be some sort of crisis coming which | don’t understand.” ‘There's a crisis right here, Steve, which J understand!” ar Doctor Grisby. Face it like a man! Face it like a man! You’re sick to your bones, boy sick! sick! Fight the fight, Steve! Fight a good fight. There’s a fighting chance; on my soul of honor, there is, Steve, a fighting chanceforyou! Now! now,boy! Buckle up tight! Tuck up your sword-sleeve! At ’em, Steve! Oh, my boy, my boy, I know; ‘ know!” The little man’s voice broke, but he steadied it instantly with a snap of his nuteracker jaws, and scowled on his patient and shook his little wi ‘thered fist at him. His patient lay very still in the shadow. want you to go,” said the doctor harshly, ‘‘before your self-control go« Do you understand? I want you to g before your decision is undermined; before you begin to do devious things, sly things cheating things, slinking things — anything and everything to get at the thing you I've given you something to fight with, and you won’t take it faithfully. I've given you free rein in tobacco and tea and coffee. I’ve helped you as much as | tare to weather the nights. Now, he Ip me—do you hear?” ‘Yes; I will.” “You say so; nowdoit. Dosome thing for yourself. Do anything! If you're sick of reading —and [I don’t blame you, considering the stuff you read — get people down here you; get lots of people. Telephone you've a telephone there crave. you to see , em; haven't vest There it is, by your elbow. Use it! Call up people. Talk all the time.”’ **Yes, I will.” ‘ Good! Now, Steve, we know what’s the matter, physically, don’t we? Of course we do! Now, then, what's the matter Mentally? * repeated Siward under his breath Yes, mentall What’ Stocks? Bonds? Lawsuits ( ghtest paus and a t behi ie he lenses. , arshly. “Wi sich said Simard

obliged to ade ‘ par repeated the aoctor, matter with busines par don't know There are rumor Het herington is pounding us-- apparently. That Inter-County crowd is acting om- inously, toc There’ omething under- ad and

hand, some here.”” He bent his he fell to plucking at the faded brocade on the arm of his chair, muttering to himself ‘Somewhere, somehow, something under- hand I don't know what I really don't All right all right,’’ said the doctor testily let it goat that! There's treach- ery, eh? You suspect it? You're sure of it as reasonably sure as a gentleman can be of something he is not fashioned to understand? That's it, is it? All right, sir—all right! Very well—ver-y_ well. Now, sir, look at me! Business symptoms admitted, what about the‘ partly,’ Stephen? What about it, eh? What about it?” FIGHTING CHANCE But Siward fell silent again. “Eh? Did you say something? Oh, very well, ver-y well, sir. . . Perfectly correct, Stephen. You have not earned the right to admit furthersymptoms. No, sir, you have not earned the right to admit them to anybody, not even to your- self. Nor to—her! ‘Doctor!’ “Sir?” ‘| have—admitted them.” “To yourself, Steve? I’m sorry. have no right to—yet. I’m sorry —— *‘T have admitted them —admitted them —to her.”’ ‘That settles it,”’ ‘that clinches it! No? You ” said the doctor grimly; That locks you to the wheel! That pledges you. The squabble is on now. It’s your honor that’s en- raged now, not your nerves, not your in- testines. It’s a good fight—a very good fight, with no chance of losing anything but life. You go up the river to Mulqueen’s.” His harsh, dry, crackling laughter broke out like the distant rattle of musketry. The ghost of a smile glimmered in Si- ward’s haunted eyes, then faded as he leaned forward. “She has refused me,” he said simply. » little doctor, after an incredulous stare, be gan chattering with wrath. ‘ Re- fused you! Pah! Pooh! That’s nothing! That signifies absolutely nothing! It’s meaningless! It’s a detail. You get well do you hear? You go and get well; then try it again! Then you'll see!’ And after a long while Siward said; ad I shoul« 1 ever marry —and —and——’ ‘Had children, eh? Is that it? Oh, ,eh? Well, I say, marry! I say, have children! If you’re a man you'll breed men. The chances are they may not inherit what you have. It skips some generations some, now and then. But if they do, I say it’s better to be born and have a chance to fight than never to come into the arena at all! By winning out the world learns; by failure, the world is no The important thing is birth. ‘I’m talking too much,”’ he said fretfully ‘I’m talking a great deal—all the time continually. I’ve other patients —- several less wise. plenty! Do you think you're the only man I know who's trying to disfigure his liver and make spots come out all over inside him? Do you?’ Siward smiled again, a worn, pallid smile. can stand it while you are here, Doctor, but when I’m alone it’s—hard. One of those crises is close now. I've a bad night ahead. Couldn't you——” “No!” “Just enough to——”’ “No Stephen. ‘—Enough to dull it—just a little? I don’t ask for enough to make me sleep not even to make me doze. You have your needle; haven't you, Doctor?” “ves” ‘Then, just this once —for the last time.”’ ‘*] dare not help you any more that way.” i There was a dead silence, broken at last by the doctor with a violent gesture toward the telephone ‘Talk to the girl! Why don't you talk to the girl! If she’s worth a hill o’ beans she'll help you to hang on What’sshe for, ifsheisn’tforsi ich moments ? Tell her you need her voice; tell her you 1 mn vou. Hang Central! h! Don't make men

her, and can’t, will do that! The nincom- poop can always be counted on to deif) commonplace. And ghe is commonplac no good! Commend me to commonplace. I take of I honor it. God bless it If she isn’t she’ sanity and the my hat to it! Good-night! Siward lay still for a long while after the doctor had gone. More than an hour had passed before he slowly sat up and groped for the telephone-book, opened it, and searched in a blind, hesitating way until he found the number he was looking for. He had never telephoned to her; he had never written her except once, in reply to her letter in regard to his mother’s death —that strange, timid, formal] letter, in which, grief-stunned as he was, he saw only the formality, and had answered it more formally still. And that was all that had come of the days and nights by that northern sea a letter and its answer, and silence

(TO BE CONTINUED)

July 14, 1906

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Page 25

A SUPREME COURT LEAK (oneluded fre Perhaps the personal demand was of as great weight as the hint of the terrors of the Court. The broker squirmed uneasily in his chair; looked appealingly at th Senator. ‘Of course, I’m no lawyer,” he said, ‘‘and you gentlemen are supposed to know all about the law. Still, it me if I’ve got a valuable trade secret i of pipe line, you might say, that I’ve worked up myself and that’s likely to bring me a t it seems to , a kine lot of money —why, it seems to me it ain hardly constitutional to make me give away.” Justice Mortimer gazed at the the door and passed his hand over his ¢ “If such a question should come up in con tempt proceedings,”’ he observed, ‘* where the ‘pipe line’ carried foreknowledge of the Court's decisions, I have no doubt, per- sonally, as to what the opinion of the Court would be.” ‘You're bright enough to comprehend the situation, Brock, if you'll stop a minute and think it over,”’ the Senator remarked. “You can see that, if this thing of the Street’s getting foreknowledge of the Court’s decisions keeps up, it will surely involve the Court in a frightful scandal. You can see that the Court is simply bound to protect itself. It simply must protect itself —using every bit of its vast power if necessary. Why, Great Scott, it would summon all Wall Street, it would summon all Congress, it would summon the President himself, if that were necessary to discover and stop a leak which, if not stopped, is sure to lower the prestige of the Court! Why, man, you forget what the Supreme Court of the United States is—the third part of our Government, above Congress above the President!”’ ‘Iknow. I knowit’s all —all-powerfui.” He saved himself in time from saying ‘‘all”’ something else. ‘‘Of course,’ he en squirming again, ‘‘if you’re bound to find out, I suppose you can doit. All the same by gracious, gentlemen!--it’s pretty tough on me!” He glanced dubiously < the Senator. ‘I suppose it’s out of the question asking conditions and so on.”’ The Senator shook his head; but Justice Pettigrew's conscience pricked him. ‘‘I’m bound to say, Mr. Brock, that you cannot be compelled to give testimony which incriminates yourself,”’ he said. ‘Well, that wouldn't help me none,’ said the broker unhappily. ‘I just want to put it before you fairly and squarely, as man to man. The house sent me here to take charge of this office, on salary and commission. Of course, they expected me to make good. Do you see? Expected me to work up a good local trade here, and at the same time to do something by way of givin’ ’em a straight steer on im- ortant things that were going to happen amin Next to New York, you know, Washington is the most important city in the country—that is, more things that send stocks up or down happen here.”’ Justice Mortimer was watching; but he could not see the slightest trace of sarcasm in this view of the importance of the national capital. ‘Now the things that Congress is going to do are pretty easy,” said the broker. ‘The newspaper boys "most always have a good line on that. Then, they develop slow, you know, so there’s plenty of tims to hedge. The President you have to guess at a good deal; but it ain’t very d guessing, for ’most everything he does sends stocksdown. But here’s the Supreme Court—-the lollapaloozer of the whol bunch! What you gentlemen do comes biff, bang! —right hot out of the box, don’t vou see? And in a lot of the big cases it affects stocks like the mischief. Why that Pipe Lines decision knocked off Pipe Lines common eighteen eyes in y! Don’t you see? There’s the run for your money! There’s where you get actior Why, gentlemen, for my business I'd rather have a right line on your work than to own the whole House of Representatives and half the Senate!”’ It appeared that he meant this in a com- plimentary way; but no modest blushes suffused the judicial cheeks lintel of hi ni

n Page 2 So when I came here I sat down to study the Su me Court * he continued. “Of course, I don’t claim ’ that I've got a dead cinch on it. I may slip up, I suppose any time. But out of four times that I've tried, l’ve sent out the ght tip three times, and old man Wells says being right two times out of three is a plenty. He ap- preciates the work I’ve done here, gentle- men--and I really feel that in helping the Court out of this hole I'm making a personal sacrifice. Maybe,” he adde« modestly, ‘it ain’t everybody that woul do it. And so, I think you ought to do al you can to protect me.” Justice Pettigrew soft ly cleared his thr “oat The representatives of the Court were very red in the face. ‘‘Go ahead,” the the broker palpably reluct ance to proceed Vell,”’ said Brock, *

— oe eG penator poee pted as struggled with | the big cases, from our point of view, are all Government cases, you understand, where the Government brings suit to bust something or other. noticed right away that in those cases four justices usually decided one wa} and five decided the other way, which went cases

So it looked like what you might call a gamble, and with a gamble all you need is a hunch. Now, I know Justice O’Brien.’ In his reluctant absorption he did not see the startled glance which the justices ex- changed. ‘I know Justice O’Brien,” ‘slightly. In fact, I live When the old boy i Goes off can tell he’s feeling ri grouch he uses his carriage and again cast an appealing Senator. ‘Justice O'Brien,” said Mortimer ver ively, ‘‘is deemed one of the most learned and scrupulous members of the Court “Oh, sure!”’ Brock returned, heart enough, but as though he didn't see what that had todo withit. “ He ‘sa Democrat through and through, you know he repeated op posite him. og wage” he walk swinging his cane See You When he has a * He stopped glance at the

lrish--very much. It came to me like an inspiration back in that Freight Bureau case. The old boy was walking, chipy as a lark, and | says to myself decision is against the Government! ure enough it was So when the folks w

Lines decision was duc I had my and telephone me. The carriage--gloomy. ‘T the Government,’ s: ; he walks again. Now, of

Seaboard cast course, gentle-

men,”’ he went on earnestly, ‘‘I don’t claim a dead cinch. But when it’s a gamble, a hunch, you know Then he perc« d that nothing further was required of hit That afternoon when Justice Pettigres enteres Sis Soowanbone trem id was al o address his portly person to the alr ~ heard, behind the portiéres, a st unsteady voice calling Papa! Something odd happened to his heart The voice seemed of long ago treble tear-washed, the cry of a sorely wounded child. He went in wondering) H daughter took his hand, and he saw at once where the tears had come fron A pal abjectly miserable young man arose whet he stepped i into the room Wondering the Justice sat down, and Betty told him the story — quite stead only Rca g now and then to bite he trembling lip, and twisting her slim finger toget aa It was wrong, Betty, of course.”’ he was ving presently, as he oked her bowed heac ‘but | can understand the impulse en which you acted. It’s worth while that vou could come and tell ur father \

it happened, no harm came of what you We hav quarter. In really onl a wa right. You will be more ghter; so let it pass os fter a moment’s hesitation, he added it only chanced, after all, that you were right about the decision. What I wrot: Friday was meant to be merely a minority opinion; but Mortimer changed his min Saturday.”

located the leak in quite anot fact, there wasn’t ar bler hay ppened to guess

careful hereafter,

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

ustice took a

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Page 26

24 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Quest of the Colonial (Coneluded from Page 9) ‘*No, suh; gran’ma’s a pow’ful han’ at makin’ pickles; they ain’t nobedy makes ‘em as green!’ she “An said proudly. she greens ’em by keepin’ the « can'lestick in among ‘em, suh!”’ Delaware, it would almost seem, small a State to consider very specially; but it is temptingly easy of access from some of the large cities, and the very smallness has preserved it from too close an examination by collectors. Not every one, however, can hope to be so fortunate there as a friend, a astern man, who went into Delaware distinctly on a search for the old, and picked up a set of eight Sheraton chairs, two of them arm- chairs, for a dollar and a quarter each! This friend, a professional man in active practice in a Western city, has an admirable method of procedure. He takes a trip every year or so into some old-furniture region, carefully choosing the most promis- ing place. Some little time be vd, goes he has a newspaper of that neighborhood, usually the principal newspaper of a county seat, insert a notice that ‘ wishes to pur- chase an old table, a chest of drawers, a sideboard, or whatever he most desires. Answers to his advertisement are to be addressed to his initials, in care of the newspaper, so that those who reply will is too have no idea that he is a man out of orn West, for that would materially increas the prices, human nature being what it is. He goes to the town; he inquires for his letters at the newspaper office. The (foneluded suspicious that each new law is the device of some Jegislative adventurer to disturb its calm and repose. The about the President is," said a venerable public man who was much troubled by being com velled to give attention to the mighty sokinens which our young President has insistently thrust upon the attention of Congress and the Nation The trouble about the President is that he is always in a state of mind. He is brave and honest, and, | am willing to admit, able and is at one with the people; but he alway is in a state of mind!” The whole point Was that the clear trumpet-voice of the Nation's Chief Execu- tivec alling the servants of the; peop le to gs , which, for the peopl s good, is their duty now to perform — the

trouble

new task command-

ing voice of Roosevelt proclaiming duty to be discharged and rk to be done irritated the frayed nerves and weary brain of the tired man who uttered this criticism. And so, although the Housé would injure the people by its impetuous and almost frightened desire to serve them, the Senate on the other hand, might — i ss (J Tof employment, I had answered many advertisements, without even the en- couragement of a reply. Then a ‘want’ appeared offering a position which I deter- mined to secure The address given was a box number in a newspaper office. I wrote my answer carefully and placed it ina blue en larger and longer than the so-called ‘‘foolscap”’ size. Taking the enve lope to the newspaper office, 1 waited and watched while the clerk placed it in a certain pigeonhole. It was so long that it rojected beyond all the many others in the ig letter-rack, so that it was visible from any part of the office lobby. I waited around from 0:30 a. w. until after two o'clock, and succeeded in avoiding eject- ment as asuspicious character. At 2: lian office-boy called for the letters from my particular box, and no sleuth trailed a sus ve lope pect more closely than I followed that youth. He led me to the offices of a well- snown concern, and I walked inon the man- ager just as he was opening my big blue envelope, the first of a large pile destined never to be unsealed. I applied for the vacancy to his amazement, which was I informed him that he held ferences in his hand. He said he guessed | would do—and I did Some years afterward « careful letter, but principally a large red envelope, secured increased when mv letter and ref editor is almost always glad to ong with | him about furniture in the vicinity, feeling that he has been taken into his confidence. He goes to see those whose answers promise well; and, with all this as a foundation, he is likely to find precisely what he is looking for. Throughout much of the South it is possible to pursue a line of collecting which admirably supplements that of old furni- ture; in a broad sense, it is really furniture. In many a little village, and in many an isolated mountain home, the old-time art of making patchwork coverlets is remem- bered and practiced. Some may be found that are generations old; others are new, but made in precisely the old-time way, and after the same patterns. At a little inn at King’s Mountain, not far from the famous battlefield, the bed of state had upon it precisely nineteen cover- lets! There was no thought that any mortal could or would sleep beneath suc *h a padded mountain. But it was the most natural method of display, and an admira- ble talent and an admirable display it was. Each quilt had its name. There were the Western Star, the Rose of the Carolinas, the Log Cabin, the Virginia Gentleman, the Fruit Basket, the Lily of the Valley—in short, there were just as many special names as there were designs. Editor’ s Note — This is the seventh in a series of papers of instruction and advice, by Mr. and Mrs. Shackleton, written out of their own experience in the guest of old-time furniture. re wR A TT S n Pade emis work too slowly and too cum- yrously, were it not for the strident cries of four hundred Congressmen clamoring in its corridors and beating at its doors, demanding action on their bills. ‘I have been here thirty years,”’ said one of the keenest men in the Capitol, ‘and although at one time or another I have thought the House too impulsive, or the Senate too slow, or this President too imperious and that one too weak, these changing conclusions have at last grown into one settled conviction with me— that it is a mighty good thing that the House cannot have its way all of the time, or the Senate have its way all of the time, or the President have his way all of the time. Although striking and historic legislation is only possible during the presidency of primal man like Roosevelt, whose character, mind and will are so vast and r asterful that they attract the attention of the whole world and are not to be denied, yet, after all, we must admit that such legislation is only needed once in a genera- tion; and once in a generation such a man as Roosevelt appears.” FEREN T” me a coveted position in a big Eastern city over nearly two hundred other applicants. It must be presumed that I possessed the qualifications for the place. The adver- tisement appeared ina Ke w York technical paper and offered ihe position of manager of an important department in a manufactur- ing house at a fairly large salary. I was employed in a Western city, and did not see the advertisement for over a week after publication. It seemed like waste of time to answer it at so late a date, but I was young and extremely anxious to get East. So | wrote my application and sent it away. I had a printer make an envelope about som three inches wide and eight long, of rough red paper. This I sealed with the coarse blue wax used by express com- panies, and then addressed it in a heavy roarking-brush style The effect was, of course, striking and bold, but the contents of the letter were sane enough, and I calcu- lated that something was necessary to get a belated attention. The letter finally reached the advertiser, who had already de- cided on his man, when my somewhat sen- sational plication revived the matter In it | apologiaed for my method, explain- ing my reason, aod arguing that, as he was at that moment considering my applica- tion, | had in a measure succeeded. | secured the position. i Fs Bs

July 14, 1906

Here’s Health and Pleasure For Your Boys and Girls. .

N° ‘Irish Mail” will make and seep them we that it 1S Seale ne 1 the oniy form of exercise for childre mplex that perfectly combine Ve Alance velopm “ t with the of enjoyment tha at turns work mto p ies rhe arents, iS move than a mer toy a evice, bu to outlast al/ . t ‘ ted cars that go to pieces / extra hod of getting plenty of pure, The Irish Mail is rub tire smooth and the ngs of your Little Fo notsel: p the vudy, reddens the od othes \ car that can be easily handle by a littl the nerves, and strengthens, without over stimula * Tot of 4, or a big boy of 12, wit ut t usua fing the heart action, clatter and “racket so tr 2 the uerves in In a few short weeks it will do more for pale the cheap, poorly constructed ca faced, undeveloped children than all the medi- * ‘ * * < gm 5 ind ‘‘ nostrum on earth, e Sister nd th nk of tl ie Fun they can have! "Mail a just as , sh leans st a ; you may search the world over and you . 8 Brotl not find anything that will e the youngst f; ese ise. and a fraction of the real unadulterated enjoyment es fr hi zit that they will get from the “ Irish Ma oe tatsiend te * * * * ‘ “ . is |} y steer the As vou s w the illustration, the “Irish double car Mail” brings the muscles of the entire body So,—get an Irish Mail f into play. i our ft sand Gir to-day n The little arms, hands Py sta r road to h e ankles, t k and cl and regularly developed rosv ¢ eks 1i¢ rowir movem g S, we elop s sary to proy ‘ ‘ st rew: No possibility of strata upon ry substitut B ny part, as in the ise of the eure , t t tricy which over es : . | it the expen ‘ esr ah 0 f ol = s é afer arms and back IRISH MAIL . ad r . sat s an 1 ngster (the ** Geared *’ Car ‘ F { al cannot be myure yover deve yi ment in the Irish M becau ; It is designed and built on scientific p ai We have tt and ett f M endorsed by eminent physicians physical « Fathe ' aus, Ph ote Experts, and ture autho ol t oft sonderft his lit r . 4 } } So Mo ers vou can trust ‘Ars car implicit! » elopl . : Wha : m . as it " , ve you one mo S WorTy or f 6: y uneasine A . - , Most good dealers sell the Irish Mail cars. lf he Irish M c yours doesn't, let us know, and we will ship } me r 7 . ; Jos . - santana you a car direct from the factory. I na er spee . than any other car, —others are mighty tame affairs Write to-day for catalog describing and illustra- compared to the Irish Mail! ting irish Ma entire line, in n gle et, it absolutely sa/e, because built with low and double cars for boys and git It IS FREE.

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succeed at anything but failure if you go about your work in a hang-dog, apologetic way

If you think our work is | Eventna Posr and THe ‘canvassing in the old book- | Lat Home Journat, why, agent, life-insurance joke style | then, we want you for our sales we want nothing to do with | representative in your town, you. We wouldn't touch you | The work is pleasant. You with a ten-foot pole. can make money at it. Hun- But if you can enter a home, | dreds of others are already office, store, shop, or work- | doing so. We will see that room with as much respect for | you da if you really want to, yourself and beliefin the worth | and will offer you some extra of your work as we have in our | incentives next month. That's

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Page 27

Educations Earned During Vacation Last September forty-one young people entered the fore- most colleges and conservatories in the country for educa- tional courses, the expenses of which were defrayed by the publishers of | | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST se , ov a | hese scholarships were given in return for work dong IN spare hours du ne the summer. Fhe student paid nothing. Every item of expense was borne by us. Probably onc-halt of these wall ’ : } ] 17 } | re-cater Rex September through the same plan and Many new names will be added to the tist. ( « One Young Man of the Number Writes: “THE WORK WHICH I AM DOING THIS SUMMER WILL ENABLE ME TO FINISH THE LAST YEAR OF MY COURSE HERE AT THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN—ALL RECEIVED THROUGH YOUR GENEROUS OFFER AND WITH OUT ONE CENT OF EXPENSE. MY FUTURE SUCCESS IS NOW ASSURED” @ Nearly one thousand young people have done the 204 voung people who do the be vol 1e1 same thing. ‘Their success can be duplicated by any will be given EX’TRA CASH PRIZES ranging trom young man or young woman with the ordinary amount 36 down. of energy and real desire for success. . Witens: cs a _ Q Any vou ( ) desi t @ Courses of instruction will be turnished by Tut : He pI} ; ‘ : é s 2 mn CoOlleyve ( ) t l ¢ Posr in any educational institution in the country in : : 3 : : ; ld prete N ¢ ¢ C ise ¢ return for work done for the Magazine, should write t Vy P. | t | ' @ There is nothing competitive in the plan and no tailed information. You select t time limit in which the work must be done, but the pav the bill The Curtis Publishing Company, Philadelphia, Pa.

Page 28

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