The Saturday Evening Post 1911-04-22: Vol 183 Iss 43

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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RS eT TRADE MARK A oo EEEeererer w VrwoRoucmy BEING SEALED IN THIS BOX PoP eee CGR ERE Of att See he TOOTH BRUSH ™#?A0eacr , & Stop eating bristles—quit picking them out of your teeth—avoid the dangers of loose bristles lodging in your throat or intestines—get a Rubberset— the safety tooth brush. The brush that can never shed a bristle from its hard rubber base, with tufts and handle and making scientifically right. Every Rubberset Tooth Brush is guaranteed sold in an individual box. Every size and style 35c each, at druggists or department stores everywhere. Berset Dental Cream is the improved dentifrice in the improved tube. Note the hinged cap -always attached opens instantly, closes instantly by a touch of the finger. No fumbling with screw caps that get misplaced. Berset gives to the teeth that pearly whiteness -leaving a cooling, delicious after-effect. Its use in combination with the Rubberset Tooth Brush is an essential combination to perfect care of the teeth. 25c the tube; all druggists or department stores. RUBBERSET COMPANY BR. &c. 0. r. ¢ Factories and RENAE 2g ‘Seiusk, N. J. QUBBERSET “y TRADE MARK IBBERSEy REC. U.S. PAT. OFF. BRISTLES HELD IN Sent aaaes

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Pianola Piano Makes Muste an Intimate Part of Your Home 1 The World Has Outgrown Silent Pianos S THE PIANO in your Aome a musical instrument; and do you use it as such?) = Or is it like so many others, merely an article of furniture—a costly ornament? The piano is meant to be played. Actually no other such superb musical instrument exists. Its presence in the home should mean entertainment without measure, culture, education. — It influence should be constantly apparent, brightening and enlivening the home atmosphere lt your piano is not providing you w ith music —if you and the members of your tamily ca play it—then you have not got the piano you should have. You are losing more than you can estimate by not replacing it at once With the plano of the present day, the PIANOLA PIANO Ihe Pianola Piano can be played in either of two way It you do not 5 t play a little eve t By Hand —With a Pianola music-ro Piano is th tlogical, most sat For hand-playing it is a superb piano with fone and action ot the very highest qualit There Is But One Genuine Pianola Played with a music-roll, the Pianola Piano ves a performance as artist iid It Built Into But Five Pia col t as the pla of the best pianist . » . Pa ee ge ae, er ee The Steinway — Weber Steck — Wheelock — Stuyvesant Anyone Can Play the Pianola Piano he Pianola Piano é t ft No previous knowle m2 of u ¢ is necessary to play the Piar a Pia T he nent of its type tes of a composition are played by the music-r 1 he | pia The expression, you put i . . . eT torte In the matter of expression, the Pianola Piano stands on a different plane f | . P " j } , re ol other player-piano E . ‘ ‘ Its exclusive device Phe Themodist, Graduated Accompaniment and Susta t of the cultured classes of trie Pedal Device atlord the means for reproducing et pression clement of hand-play “= , ~ , , ) e ‘ evicea ’ | ne é = ye im: r é / U pris Pia i Pia $550. upwa (ira Pia ! $1500 And the wonderful Metrostvle the inola crowning teature lurnishe Pp htly ( the P. t Co Int t ‘ the performer with a musical wdierstanding, that enables even the ovice to | with true musicianly eftect Pianola Piano Boole A 2% + ie, bene Sched cient ma oo ianola Piano Boo whe ee ee ee ee nay now be studied with the aid of the best compose tua at ) elbow ™ t tpa est The Aeolian Company Maintains Its Oven Est mer the ft ( CHICAGO, ILL ST. LOUIS, MO. CINCINNATI, O INDIANAPOLIS, IND DAYTON, O 202 Michigan Boulevard 1004 Olive Street 124 East 4th Street 237 N. Pennsylvania Street P31 W. 3d Street Representatives in all the Pr pal Citte f the United & Ven THE AEOLIAN COMPANY, pear Hall, 362 F ifth Satin, near 34th St., N.Y. The Largest Manufacturers of Musical Instruments in the World

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2 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST First Week Your Of course the ‘‘Holeproof” way is easier. You don’t realize how much easier because you have not been brought to the buying point. Try them today. Buy, at the same time, six pairs for your husband. Have the hose come back from the washtub next wash day without any holes —see how that feels. **Holeproof”’ are the finest hose in existence. More than 24,000 pairs must be produced every day to supply the demand. Softer—More Pliable They are made from Egyptian and Sea Island Cotton, costing an average of 70 cents per pound—the most that anyone pays for cotton yarn. ‘This yarn is three ply in- stead of two. Our three strands are no heavier than others’ two ply; and one can see readily why they're more pliable. It is with this phable yarn that we make hose softer and lighter, vet stronger than any amateur brand. Brands made the cheap way may last six months, but must be coarse and unsightly in order to be of sufficient strength. In the silk hose we use,only pure gauze silk. $55,000 a Year We spend $55,000 a year simply to see that each pair of ‘‘Holeproof’’ is perfection. Hose never were made with better care or material. Never were hose put on the market that had better stvle than this excellent brand. Second Week ~ Aoleproo FOR MEN WOMEN a The Widest Assortment There are twelve colors, ten weights and five grades among which men may choose; seven colors, three weights and three grades for women, and two colors, two weights and three grades for children. ‘‘Holeproof’’ are now made also in pure gauze silk for men and women. No matter your preference—suit it at once; in any store that sells ‘* Holeproof.”’ But you must be careful in buying if you want the hose that are advertised here. Imitations are offered in many stores. The original guaranteed hose are “Holeproof.’’ They represent 38 years of experience. ‘They're what you want if you want the best hose ever made. Get This Signature Coa Yih Cree Carl Freschl, who made the first pair, now puts his signature AND CHILDREN on every genuine “Holeproof”’ stocking and sock. He does this to protect you and ‘‘ Holeproot”’ as well, so look for that mark: on the toe—every time you buy hose. The genuine ‘‘ Holeproof”’ are sold in your town. We'll tell you the dealers’ names on request, or ship direct where we have no dealer, charges prepaid on receipt of remittance. Prices of plain and mercerized cetton hose range trom $1.50 to $3.00, according to weight and finish. Six pairs guaranteed six months. The silk goods cost $2 for three pairs of men’s, and $3 for three pairs of women’s. Both are guaranteed three months. Always look for this trade-mark on the toe and for the signature, Cart Hackl Cres Write for free book, “How to Make Your Feet Happy ’”’ HOLEPROOF HOSIERY COMPANY, 841 Fourth Street, Milwaukee, Wis. for Mexican Republic (14) Oe Your Kode Insured ? April 22,1911 Fourth Fifth and Sixth Month Fourth Week Fifth Week Sixth Week Seventh Week Eighth Week Ninth Week WOMEN— What is the use of slav- ing away disagreeable hours at the darning basket when you can banish darning for- ever by getting your folks to wear hose that don’t need it Everyone in the country would wear Holeproof Hose if we could get everyone to try it. We spend thousanus each year to get people to do this. But those we convince need no further convinc- ing You need only get your family to try but six pairs ot Holeproof Hose and that will forever end _ all of your darning. To get them to try it is easier work than to do the darning pf one batch of sox Sc show everybody this advertisement and get them to go to the stores for **Holeproof.’’ floleproof TRADE MARK. . Hosiery,

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! Published Weekly The Curtis Publishing Company London: Hastings House | 10 Norfolk Street, Strand,W.C. L a —_ Volume i183 THE SATURDAY wmetnamn EVENING POST Founded A°D' 1728 Sy Benj. Franklin ee Se PHILADELPHIA, APRIL 22, i9ii Copyright,1911 by The Curtis Publishing Company in the United Stotes and Great Britain Entered at the Philadelphia Post Office as Second-Class Matte. Entered as Second Class Matter at the | i Number 43 Where Roosevelt Stands Today fim Interview With the Colonel, Who Has Nothing to Ask of the People, but Wants “Just to Say ‘Howdy’ and ‘Thank You’ *” By HENRY BEACH NEEDHAM OLONE Why di his? Why did you say any- #) thing? you not keep your mouth , hermetically sealed? Why did you “butt in” to man of virility, of unbounded energy—a masterful! man-—comes to the front Roosevelt is one of these.”’ And then the roar from the Battery to Central Park! And then the private dinner-—and here this man this party row and that political fight? Why did you not rest on your farfiung laurels and chop wood at Oyster Bay? I did not ask all the questions at once, and the form, perhaps, was a little different from what I have given you; but the Colonel saw what I was driving at in a minute. We were sitting in his compartment in the Pullman on the way East from Grand Rapids, where he nad made a Lincoln Birthday address “Do you remember,” asked the Colonel, “‘something I said about popularity at that dinner they gave me in New York last June?” Did I remember! His cinematographic tour of Europe was over. Dr. T. Roosevelt, private citizen, was back among his own people. A few days after his bipartisan, radical-reactionary welcome to New York he was speaking to friends at a private dinner. ‘‘ Marse Henry” Watterson, who sat on his right, had been jol'ied about his editorial warning, “* Beware of this modern Cesar, the man on horseback’; and the brilliant Southerner had taken the fun with the smiles and blushes of a boy caught in the jam closet. Then it was that the Colonel turned from pleasant banter to quiet but conclusive seriousness “Popularity is a transitory thing,” he said. ‘‘One day a man is on the crest of the wave; the next day he is in the trough of the sea. But this I will say, that when I am no longer on the crest of the wave you will find me swimming just as strong and having a mighty good time.” This sounded odd—then part icularly so to one of the correspondents who had been of the Khartum-to-Guildhall journalistic safari. The safari had seen trouble break loose wherever this stormy petrel had chanced to alight—notably in Khartum, Cairo, Rome and London. They had witnessed a riot of enthusiasm in Hungary; had been told of the grand military review at Doeberitz—a private view —at which the Kaiser, addressing “* Mein Freund Roosevelt,”’ had reminded the Colonel that he was “the first citizen to review German troops.” The safari had also heard, down the backstairs of Buckingham Palace, how the seven kings, at the funeral pageant arranged by King George, had made a mad scramble for the Private Citizen, with the German Emperor making the introductions and overlooking nary a kink. The safari had been an eye-and-ear witness to the Old Cambridge greeting —minus the rah-rahs—to the tune of seriously, Teddy, we’re proud to have you here; Your speeches may be out of date, your methods may be queer ; But you've done some pretty decent things without delay or fuss, And you're full of grit inside you—and that’s what appeals to us. And the American correspondents had sailed away from the Savoy bar with this final judgment of Theodore Roosevelt pronounced by Hamilton Fife, of the London Daily Mail—who was of the safari: ‘“‘The Colonel [he was his Colonel] is not at all like our public men—a decided improvement on them. His personality is now better known throughout the world than any other save that of the German Emperor, and his in some ways is the more strongly marked of the two. Once or twice in a generation a Roosevelt was talking of popularity as a transitory thing. How odd it sounded; about as odd as if John D. Rockefeller had spoken thus: ‘*Wealth at best is an evanescent thing. One day a man is as rich as Kings Midas and Croesus. The next day he is as poor as an unendowed-church mouse. But this I will say, that when I am no longer as rich as Messrs. Croesus and Midas, or either of them, you will find me playing golf just as hard and having an almighty profitable time.” Necessarily T. R. had it on John D. For while the Colonel's popularity will certainly survive his obituaries the Oil King’s loose billions must be shaken off when he tries to get through the eye of a needle. The correspondent didn't think—then of what Dewey “‘done’’—and what we did to the Hero of Manila. Well, things began to happen as soon as the first breakfast was eaten at Sagamore Hill; it’s a habit things have when the Colonel is not in bed. He eouldn’t be the “Sage of Oyster Bay,” as the “reform” editors asked, simply because God and the Republican party had not intended him for a segregated sage. On every hand he was importuned: to denounce Taft, to back up his own successor, to give aid and comfort to the Insurgents, to tell the Radicals that they had gone too far, to point cut the iniquities of the Payne-Aldrich tariff law, to insist that the tariff question wa settled and that it was time to have industrial tranquillity, to demand that Ballinger be kicked out of office, to tell Pinchot gently that he was fast becoming a fanatic, to rise up and smite corruption in his native state, to advocate party peace and a solid front in the face of the common enemy. Indeed, there was not a moot question of policy concerning which he was not asked to take sides; there was note a party fight in which his help was not sought by both the Progressives and the Reactionaries. Particularly urgent was the demand made by “‘all friends of good government that he take a hand in the fight for direct nominations in the state of New Yor} Somewhat reluctantly, and only after Governor Hughes had appealed to him, he lined up as requested. What happened? A small minority of Republicans —the Old Guard combined with Tammany Hall and defeated the direct primary bill. Whereupon “friendly critics’? began to say: “* Well, Roosevelt got his! He isn't so much after all Notwithstanding this setback the call from insurgent Macedonia was clamorous and insistent. Progressives in the New York legislature begged the Colonel for help in their fight to drive the “‘ Black Horse Cavalry "’ out of politics. As he would rather fight than eat, he jumped into the fray; and he won out at Saratoga. With no organization he scored a victory that is without parallel in American politics—why, even London talked about it; lor, you see, Roosevelt had discovered America for the Englanders For a brief time the Colonel was applauded at home, and then the “friendly crities”’ began anew. Singularly, this “knocking” started in the Middle West, which is the battle-ground of the progressive movement. Because the Saratoga platform did not square with his Osawatomie speech he was accused of preaching one kind of political doctrine in the West and of playing politics of a decidedly different brand in the East But the Colonel kept on fighting Somehow he never know vhen he’s licked if he ever is licked He urged Stimson's electior And the electorate of hi tate told

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4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Mr. Dix he could take up his residence at Albany. ‘ Roose- velt repudiated!” chanted the “‘intellectual’’ press; the echo reached the West, and real progressive folk wondered if their militant leader was down and out. Also wondered a certain member of the Khartum-to-Guildhall safari wondered if T. R. was no longer “‘on the crest of the wave.’ 4 conspicuous business man of Chicago said he was not. ‘I admire Roosevelt,’”’ said this man—call him Hood- -inkie, which isn’t his right name; he shuns being quoted. ‘| like him—why, Llove Teddy. But he has gone too far. He believes that a majority of the business men of the country are dishonest. Now that’s dead wrong. A vast majority of business men are honest and ethical. We're law-abiding and, what’s more, we backed up Roosevelt, when he was President, in his fight to kill railroad rebating and to wipe out crookedness in business as well as corrup- tion in politics. In his zeal to attack the wrongdoing of crooked business men he has failed to discriminate between the crooks and the honest business men. As a result, all of us have been put in the same boat, more or less, by unthinking people. Why, even I am beginning to think that Roosevelt is.a menace to prosperity. Teddy is no longer on the crest of the wave.” Taking these remarks literally, it was what Roosevelt had said after his return from Europe that had brought uneasiness to Mr. Hoodwinkle —or what he thought the Colonel had said. Had Mr. Hoodwinkle heard Roosevelt speak in the campaign? No, he had not. Had he read the Colonel’s speeches? No. And then Mr. Hoodwinkle continued in a manner nonchalant: “I was in Europe during most of the campaign; didn’t get back until just before election. For my information as to political affairs at home I had to rely mainly on the Paris edition of the New York Herald.” Mr. Hoodwinkle is an intelligent man. Moreover, as president of a ten-million-dollar corporation he has ac- cepted no railroad rebates since the Elkins law went into effect. And he has been growing more and more progres- ive. Today he is a good and able citizen. ’ A Reply to Mr. Hoodwinkle R. HOCDWINKLE had “ backed up” Roosevelt when he was in the White House; but he was opposed to the Colonel now. Mr. Hoodwinkle had not changed, save to become more progressive. Then, had Roosevelt changed? Was he more of a “‘communist agitator” than Wall Street thought him when he was the head of the nation? The Insurgents in Washington said not. Speaking privately, they said he was not radical enough; that the Colonel had “toned down.”’ Obviously, Mr. Hoodwinkle and the Insurgents could not both be right unless a compromise was effected on a paradoxical basis. Possibly this could be done along the lines that Roosevelt, the philosopher, has been forced to accept in regard to his participation in the battle of San Juan. “After the Cuban War,” said the Colonel, “the charge was made that 1 was not at the battle of San Juan. At about the same time it was also charged that at the battle of San Juan I shot a Spaniard in the back. My enemies finally compromised by believing both stories.” Here was a mystery, then-—the dual personality of President Roosevelt and of Colonel Roosevelt—and a reporter dearly loves a mystery. So I went straight to the Colonel and put it up to him. He was the advertised attraction at the Lincoln Birthday banquet in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Sixteen hundred makers, sellers and users of furniture were crowded into the Coliseum. As the Colonel entered the hall they stood on their own make of kitchen chairs and howled. A reunion of Rough Riders in New Mexico could have done no more without shooting- irons. And when the dollar dinner had been eaten and the last Lincoln story digested, business men of the Furniture City said to one another: ‘“ Why, there was nothing in Teddy’s speech that any man could take exception to. I can indorse it from beginning to end.” On Colonel Roosevelt's homeward journey to New York I had a frank talk with him. Parenthetically, what public man invites such free discussion of matters pertaining to himself as does Roosevelt? The reporter, after a long Washington:experience, knows of no man like him in this respect. You see, curious reader, explanations were asked of the man who “is better known throughout the world than any other.” What reply would he make to Mr. Hoodwinkle? What rejoinder to the Insurgents? Was he still “ton the crest of the wave” or was he verily “in the trough of the sea"? But one thing was certain. The Colonel was going strong and having a mighty good time. Today Colonel Roosevelt is burdened with a corre- spondence fully as large as his daily White House mail. A considerable part is in the nature of requests or thinly veiled demands — that he explain some statement he is repurted to have made or some act with which he has been credited by rumor. Explanations are required concerning his career from the present day back to and war with Spain. Smiling like a boy, the Colonel neluding the said “You have no idea of the number of things I am called on to explain, and of the queer subjects brought to my attention. For instance, aman wrote me: ‘I have always been one of your staunchest supporters. I have talked for you and voted for you on every occasion. But I want to know, sir, if it istruethat you spent the Government’s money to put a five-thousand-dollar bathtub in the Mayflower?’ “T answered the letter,” continued the Colonel. “I wrote him the facts. The Mayflower was originally a luxurious private yacht. It was sold to the Government in the Spanish War—purchased by McKinley. Originally there were two bathtubs in the yacht. One was taken out and used as a horse-trough in the Brooklyn Navy Yard; the other remained. It isa very fine bathtub. But as lam not an expert appraiser of plumbing fixtures I am unable to say whether it cost five hundred dollars, one thousand dollars, or twenty-five hundred. But why, can you tell me, is this charge of the criminal misuse of wealth laid at my door? How did such a story ever originate?” I came back with a story about President Harrison. Certain well-meaning women of the country charged that Mr. Harrison was running a bar in the basement of the White House. The story was so extraordinary that inquis- itive reporters endeavored to trace it to its source. This was as near as they ever got to a solution: Vice-President Morton, who was President Harrison’s associate in office, owned the ground in Washington on which the Shoreham Hotel had been built. The Shoreham Hotel maintained a bar. A priori, President Harrison was running a “blind pig” in the White House. I told the Colonel, word for word, what his admirer, Mr. Hoodwinkle, had said about him. The charge that he is a “*menace to prosperity’ has been brought so often against Colonel Roosevelt that he has come to regard it philo- sophically. Pointing to a policeman on duty at the station where our train was standing, the Colonel said: “I’m an enemy of prosperity in just the same sense that that officer out there is a menace to prosperity when he gets his grip on a burglar who is running off with some- body’s spoons. Necessarily he interferes with the pros- perity of the burglar; if he ever runs for office he won’t get the burglar vote. Nevertheless, he is a friend of the honest man. In denouncing crookedness in business I have always drawn a clear distinction between the dishonest man in business—the man who accepts rebates, bribes levislators and defrauds the Government—and the man who, asking no favors of any one, is honestly engaged in the upbuilding of some commercial undertaking. I have always believed that the great majority of American business men are honest and that their ethics are as high as the ethics in any other calling. “In the Sudan, a year ago, I witnessed a curious example of the trust imposed in our business men. I was coming down the Nile—a most interesting journey, where I came out of an absolutely immemorial past, out of a perfectly wild and naked savagery, degree by degree, until I got down to the complete civilization at the mouth of the Nile. Stopping at a mission station, still within the domains of savagery, I was greatly interested to find that the people there fitted themselves out with whatever they needed from a catalog sent them by a Chicago business house. Right out where, excepting the missionary, no one had on a rag of clothing, I came across this catalog; and the two things that struck me most about the incident were—the enterprise of the business house that sent it there; and the fact that they made goods so honestly in accord with the catalog that the missionary could buy with the cer- tainty that he would receive precisely what he expected to get. That to me was an admirable tribute to the square dealing of American business men.” April 22,1911 “Then you have often drawn the distinction between honesty and dishonesty in business, Colonel?” I was thinking of Mr. Hoodwinkle. “Of course I have!” he answered, smiling. ‘“‘ You know iteration is one of my failings. “Tf the honest business man thinks I am against him,” the Colonel continued with marked seriousness, ‘‘that I have attacked him when denouncing wrongdoing in crooked business, either he is ignorant of the facts or else he has been willfully misled by those who have a sinister purpose in deceiving him. I regret that I have been used as the instrument to bring about this unfortunate con- dition of affairs; but it is not my fault. I have denounced dishonest business; and the men who call this an assault on all business are themselves responsible for confounding honesty and dishonesty. I have tried at all times to square my public utterances with three quotations from Abraham Lincoln, favorites of mine. The first is: *“**Labor is the superior of capital and deserves much the higher consideration.’ If that remark could be credited to me, think how much more I should be denounced as a communist agitator than I am now. I quote that to the capitalist. This I quote to the workingman:” Lincoln on Labor and Capital “*“(NAPITAL has its rights, which are as worthy of protection as any other rights. Nor should this lead to a war upon the owners of property. Property is the fruit of labor; property is desirable; is a positive good in the world.’ “And with that I couple a thoroughly Lincoln-like sentiment: ‘Let not him who is houseless pull down the house of another, but let him work diligently and build one for himself, thus by example assuring that his own shall be safe from violence when built.’”’ If Mr. Hoodwinkle remains of the same opinion still, he may be interested in the remarks of the owner and editor of a progressive Michigan newspaper, who said to me on the train: “T’m absolutely certain that most of the criticism of Colonel Roosevelt starts in Wall Street and finally gets to the small business man,” said this editor. “If you will take some canard that you can obtain first hand from a business man—say, in a Michigan town—and if you will follow the trail, you will first visit the local banker who hands out the ‘dope’; you will then trace the story up through the banking system to the New York banks that provide money for Wall Street specula- tion; and finally you will bring up in Wall Street itself in the offices of those high financiers whose criminal opera- tions have been seriously interfered with by Roosevelt’s activities.” One cannot talk long with Colonel Roosevelt without stumbling on the science of government and the art of gov- erning. Politics is second nature to him. I referred to his progressive speech at Osawatomie, Kansas, coupling with it a criticism of the tariff plank in the Saratoga platform. Incidentally I reminded him of the charge made in the West, that he was guilty of inconsistency. “Inconsistency!”’ said the Colonel with a snap of his jaw. “Did you read the excerpts from my speeches which I printed in parallel columns in the Outlook? Do those speeches show inconsistency? Now, it’s just as ridiculous to attribute to me the tariff plank adopted at Saratoga as to hold me responsible for the judiciary plank put into the Kansas platform after my speech at Osawatomie. Of the ten hundred and fifteen delegates at the Saratoga conven- tion, perhaps not more than fifteen, certainly less than one hundred, were real supporters of mine. My selection as chairman of the convention was brought about by a com- bination of the New York and Buffalo delegations— both of which were heart and soul for Taft-—and with the aid of Senator Root, who had voted for the tariff bill, and of Sereno Payne, one of the authors of the Payne-Aldrich law. Do you suppose for one moment that this com- bination would have adopted a tariff plank repudiating, even by indirection, the Payne-Aldrich law? “Most of the delegates did not agree with me on the tariff question and distrusted me as being too radical in other matters; but they wished to fight for honesty and popular government, and against boss rule. They knew that they could win only under my leadership, but they made no secret that they were against me personally. Take the committee on resolutions. In their first draft of the platform there was a mild tribute to me, which wel- comed me back to public life as the exponent of honesty; but the committee finally struck this out—a majority wouldn’t stand for it. They were determined to keep out of the platform any allusion to me personally. This by itself shows the utter absurdity of thinking I could influ- ence them on the tariff. I hadn’t it in my power, as they knew, to reward a human being or to punish a human being. Not one man who voted against me at Saratoga had anything to fear from me for so doing; not one man who voted for me at Saratoga had anything to expect from me for his support. Continued on Page 44 | aemeiinemnnincenilifins

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i i ' / | WHERE IT WAS HEN Scipio had brought to an end the edifying anecdote, he lay in his hospital bed, silent and a little tired after so sustained a recital. “Why not write,”’ I inquired, ‘‘a book, and call it Tales From My Past?” He looked at me suspiciously, but suspicion melted into what immediately sparkled in the tones of his reply. “In spite of my ancestors, I don’t know French.” For an instant I was stupid —I have many such instants. “You've often told me,” he had to explain, “that in France y’u can print anything.” “Oh, well!” I laughed, “quite a number of yours are harmless enough—even for our magazines. This one, for instance.” But his thoughts had gone on; he was gazing through the open window with a craving eye. All out-of-doors was his true home, his hearth and bed, his natural workshop and playground; indoors had been merely his occasional resort —a place where a man went for a brief visit when he felt like spending his money. “I’m goin’ to get well,” he said, still watching the far-off golden hills. ‘I am getting well. And wunst I’m on my legs I'll start makin’ a lot more Past.” “Do!” Lexclaimed. ‘‘Do! It isn’t everybody who can, even when they try.” He grunted. “Huh! I ain’t never tried much. Didn’t have to. Things just kind 0’ seem to happen when I’m around.” “Did you lie just now?” I asked. Lie? When?” “Didn't you fix up the ending?” “Fix up nothin’! That’s what them two old junipers actually did.”’ “You'll remember,” I persisted, ‘‘you forbade me the other day to ‘monkey with the facts,’ when I told you I didn’t like the ending of Bellyful’s adventure in Repose Valley.” “Sure! Us Western men don’t care about fixed-up things when we know how things a:e—when we've been the things ourselves. And will you tell me’’—Scipio grew earnest —‘‘what’s the point of a book lyin’ about life the way more’n half of °em do? The way I wouldn’t let y’u do about Bellyful?”’ “Oh, our sincere and pious public is determined that virtue shall triumph in print, anyhow—and that nothing naked is true until draped.” “Not me. I don’t want any of them bib-and-tucker and safety-pin stories they hand you out. What made y’u think I'd lied?” “Well, it all seemed too guod, too virtuous, too right.” He grinned, and I perceived this to be at my expense— he had caught me taking divergent postures toward life and toward print. “T surrender!’ I laughed. ‘I’m a liar too!” His grin now faded. ‘‘ Now and then, y’u know, people do act decent. I’ve met several besides them two old men. Even along the Rio Grande. Why, I’ve acted decent myself at times.”” He seemed to review his recent anec- dote. ‘“‘The point was,” he said next, “they always thought they were madder than they were. Now I’m just THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By OWEN WISTER ILLUSTRATE DO BY H. T. DUNN Oh, but I Liked the Methow Valley's Looks That First Sight! the other way. I’m that good-natured that I’m frequently madder than I feel—and it’s the other man finds that out “Get out of here!’’ said the post doctor, entering “‘Look at your victim’s eyes!’ So I went out, ashamed of myself at having led poor Scipio to talk so much. many as I recollect in his anecdote. His impression of the Methow \ alley as it had been in those earlier days — before apples, before the Great Northern, before anything hall not be “tixed up”’ by me I needn't change a syllabie of a I'd been seein’ a lot of country, clear up from Mazatlan to the Big. Bend—driftin’ through Old Mexico and Cali fornia and Awregon, and over for a little while to Bois¢ and up through the Palouse where the dust puffed up from the plows and trailed like a freight-train’s smoke does on the Southern Pacific for a half-hour after she’s went by; and I’d crossed the God-awful Big Bend—but I'll skip that —and I'd crossed the stinkin’, vicious Columbia on a chain ferry—but I'll skip that—and I was kind o’ tired Didn’t want no mines either. There was mines up there and folks crowdin’ to ’em, thick from everywheres. But I was tired. Figured I'd put in the balance of the fall —and the winter, too, maybe—in some pleasant place, if they could direct me to such a thing. So they told me there was women — wives, I mean—and children and homes and neighbors over on the Methow. So I headed for there. Went in with a Siwash over the Chillowisp trail. Him and me couldn’t talk much, but we could nod and point and grunt when his English and my Chinook gave out. He carried the mail in wunst a week, except when the snow wouldn’t let him. That proved to be often. Oh, but I liked the Methow Valley’s looks that first sight! And it stayed pleasant tome. Why did I leave it? Don’t know. Just got curious to see some more country. There wasn’t any homes to see as the Injun and me rode down the hill. But trees that could shade you, and gras a horse could eat, and water not runnin’ like it wanted to kill you, but friendly water, And the mountains ail around was pleasant too—timber on ‘em. Snow not on ‘em yet, except a dozen or so high-up, far-back patches, lyin’ around white like washday. So we rode along up the val- ley and camped, and next day struck a cabin and corral and haystacks. Sure enough! Married man with wife and kids. Kids had regular Texas-colored hair. But the most homes was farther up the river, they said, near the Forks and store; and so I went along with the Siwash, who was bound for the store with his mailsack. The store was the post-office, of course—Beekman was its name. We passed by a tent ’side of the road, and voices was screechin’ inside the tent, and the Siwash he started to laugh. So I asked him what he knowed about it. Let me see. What did he say? I don’t have use any more for the Chinook I learned up there. Oh, yes! He said ** Klaska tenas man, Klaska hyas pilton.” So I didn’t know what that meant, and there wasn’t much good mentioning this to him; but I didn’t have to for they came a-rushin’ out of the tent, no hats on “How does a coyote walk?” screeched out the littlest one, aimin’ his finger at me Well, I felt huffy never d saw him belore or his part neither didn’t catch the jORe but he wasn t joh in The big one arrive d he ye ‘Don’t he walk separate He walks together, don't he? vells the little one Little one had scrambled hair, white, and it hadn't been cut lately. Big partner had left his hair behind him some wheres along life journey They was glarin’ up at me ior an answer So I said Tell me lmea So they did hey was trapper One claimed you could alway s tell a coyote’s tracks by the way he put hi right foot and his left foot down in different place Ss, so you could tell he was a four-footed animal; and the other he iid that was the way the bobcat and the link and the mountain hon walked And then the first one he yelled out that they stuck one foot right in the other foot’s track, © it looked like a two-tooted animal had been walkin’ there ‘That's all easy,”’ I said; for I've trapped some myself, So I set ’em straight as to the facts. Thing was, they quieted down right off and took my say-so. But that was their way, I found—get up a regular state-of-things that would mean trouble, you’d suppose, and drop it as i nobody *d said a word “Come and finish dinner,” says the little one to the big one “Dinner!” says the big one Quit your dining You've eet enough to wake the dead.” SO they starts back to their tent like twit l« cpect l aon t know nh W long they'd lasted in this world and one had boots, and the other had his feet tied in gunnysack, and both looked like two-bits’ worth of God help-us But they didn’t get to their tent that time. Down the road comes a nice-lookin’ girl on they were sixty, or seventy, or eighty a calico horse with on blue eye the horse had and the little one he sees her and he whirls around and aims his finger at her, same as he done to me. P ‘No, you don't '’ says he, loud up in the air *T’ve Told you I won't.” ‘I had no intention of speaking about it again,’ say she, rather quiet, but smili: “But when you tind tha there’s no coal really there fo Well, what d’y’u think? It set ‘em wild Soth of “er went plumb wild. I couldn't hear for a while what the trouble wes, because they scrambled their words just like the little one’s hair, talkin’ to the girl and me and the Siwash and each other. But the Siwash he gave anothe laugh and rode away — he had his mail. I stayed. I hadn't got used to em yet. Thought maybe she’d better have a man around. But they was absolutely harmles And then I began to understand The girl she sat there indulgin’ ‘em Told ‘em she wasn’t goin’ to worry ‘em about it any mors They toid her there was coal there and they was goin’ to supply the whole valley, and it was better than a gold mine She might just as well have worried ’em instead of sittin’ su peaceful on the calico horse, because they uid hever have noticed any worryir he yuld d they was that

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6 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST busy with the worry they were keepin’ up ail by them- She was a school-teacher and up to now she’d kept school in a tent. But the valley was going to build a choolhouse and the best location for it happened to be on sume land they’d filed on. Any other place would be too far for somebody ’s kids, or for everybody s, or else hadn’t But it seemed they wouldn't hear of it. | suppose whoever put it to ’em first had put it wrong, and now all y’u had to do was say “‘schoolhouse’ in their hearing, and have a circus prompt. “Mr. Edmund,” says that if their idea of other minerals is like their idea of coal it’s no wonder they found trapping more profitable. But no one can persuade them, and it’s truly a pity about the Mr. Edmund kept the store at Beekman. selves, water convenient. says she to me, “ have schoolhouse.” f it’s not coal,” says I, ‘what is it?’ “Oh, slate, or graphite, or something ledge, and tco far from transportation.” “Well, then, it don’t burn.” “You can’t re with them,” says she. And smiles down at them two quarrelin’, fussin’ old men. It would have brought me to reason, her smile would, but she never gave it tc me. Yes, she indulged ’em. The valley indulged ’em right along. They was so old and so harmless. Kuitus Jake and Frisco Baidy was their names—all the names I ever heard for ‘em-—and they’d been most everywheres before other people had. Been acrost the Isthmus and round the Horn, they claimed — not together, y’u know, but they had met when they was young. Their trails had crossed some- Then they’d met again on the Santa Fe trail, when they was still young. And so now and then they’d kep’ ameetin’ and agrowin’ less young. Been through the gold excitement of ’49. Drifted up to Port- land. Got separated at Klamath about the time of the Modoc War. Didn't see each other again till both come face to face over in the Okanogan country— and then they They remembered former days, and it tied "em together. They was goin’ to Africa next time they felt like they needed a change of air. Kultus Jake’s hair was all the moss he’d ever gathered, and Frisco Baldy he seemed to have gathered nothin’ whatever. But they packed around a big harvest of years— no one ever knowed the sum of it. W unst in a while they weuld speak of something they had dene together long ago. Then y’u knew the silent tie between ‘em. I don’t wish to live that long and have to look backward when I want to see anything of promise. It’s awful when everybody has to indulge y’u—time to then. But y’u needn't to pity Kultus Jake and Frisce Baldy, for they was just as set and cheerful about and just a tiny ason she wheres in Sonora was old quit “? Wace Goin’ te Say I Would Grubstake ‘Em for Nothin’”’ goin’ to Africa as young rich folks talkin’ over what waterin’ place they'll visit next summer. Liveliest old junipers that ever I see! Kultus, y’u know, is Chinook, and it’s used for most anything that don’t amount to nothin’. And while we're on Chinook, here's something funny. Potlatch means a gift. Now you'd suppose kultus potlatch would be a poor gift —counterfeit dollar or a dozen rotten eggs, for instance. Well, you’re wrong. Y’u give a mana bridle, or a hindquarter of venison, or anything y’u choose, and say nothin’ when y’u give it that’s just a plain common potlatch, and it means he’s expected by all the rules to give you some- thing pretty soon, something as good as your bridle or your deer. But you say “ Aultus potlatch”’ to him, and then he'll be genuinely grateful, for that means you're just makin’ him a real present out of the warmness of your heart, and don’t expect him to come back at y’u with a huckleberry for your per- simmon. Why, when a Siwash—the custom came from them—gave me somethin’ in silence it used to worry me 'most to death. What the mail-carrier said to me that first day, when the two old men was screechin inside their tent, was that they were children and fools. But he was an Injun and did not have indulgent feelings. I saw more of ‘em and didn’t mind ’em. I fell into a job at the Forks. Mr. Edmund wanted somebody else in the store, and I could write a plain hand and add figures fairly correct. He was kind of mad about the schoolhouse, havin’ the interests of the valley at heart, and he used to watch the days gettin’ shorter. Mr. Edmund had everything at heart—too much at heart-—other folks’ troubles as well as his own. He would lecture me about them in his deep-down voice. School wouldn’t do in a tent after snow came, and he saw that this would come down to havin’ school in his own cabin if the children was to get any teachin’ at all. He was the only one that didn’t leave "em alone about their coal mine. Offered to buy it off "em wunst, and they screeched for ten minutes. Threatened to write to Wash- ington and have him removed for takin’ advantage of his office. ““Why, you don’t know where Washington is,” with his voice down in the cellar. ““Washington, D. C.?” sereeches Kultus Jake. know? I been there!” “Washington, D. C.,”’ repeats Edmund slow, like Fate acomin’. “You don’t know where it is.” That was Edmund all over. His way o’ jckin’. “It’s in Maryland,” says Frisco Baldy. “Virginia, y’u singed porcupine!” yells Kultus Jake. “Don’t I tell y’u I been there?” And I seen they both meant it. And I seen this really grieved Edmund instead of pleasin’ him. He took it to heart. Well, sir, I just went acrost the store and lay down on the flour-sacks. Kicked up my heels. Guess I made nore noise than the old men did. After a minute I lifted up to see what Edmund was doin’, and he’d pushed his spectacles up high on his forehead and was lookin’ at the two serappin’ about Washington, D. C., out of his awful solemn eyes; so I laid down again flat. If Edmund had talked I couldn't have heard him, but as a matter of fact he just let em go it alone; and they, like they pretty much always done, got switched off on to somethin’ else—this time it was the traps. There was some number fours hanging there, and they both happened to agree it was number fours they would take when they started into the mountains to trap for the winter. So traps made ‘em for- get about Washington, D. C., and it had made ’em forget about exposin’ Edmund, which had made ’em forget the coal mine and the schoolhouse, and so they departed entirely peaceful out of the store and over the Methow tent, which they had moved up to the Forks. Then I looks up from the sacks again. There stands Edmund behind his desk, same as ever, spectacles away up on his forehead, only now his solemn eyes was fixed on me. And I looks at him, not knowin’ what on earth he’s says he, “T don't “— goin’ to 3ay or whether he’s mad or ain’t mad—for y’u ‘ouldn’t often tell f his face. For a young 1—and couldn t often te Tom hss lace, Or a young man—and he was young—he was a lot growed up. I expect he knew sorrow early. Both of us was quite silent. ‘I didn’t know they didn’t know,” says Edmund, like he was breaking the news of a death to y’u. And { lays right down again on the sacks. “What ignorance,” says Edmund. “The capital of their country!” But I could only fight for my breath, and cry and cry. Next time I could see anything, there was Edmund sittin’ on the counter clost alongside of me, legs danglin’ against the sacks. But that time when I looked at him he laughed —laughed al] through fit to kill himself, same as I'd been doin’. “And it was at himself, y’u know, as well as at the whole thing; he included himself in the show. “You're quite right,”” says he. Chat was what made y’u love Edmund. Washington, D; C., When a thing came up he’d mest always get April 22,191 wrong first —see the bad side of it too big and the good side too small—he had a heap of misplaced seriousness in his system to conquer. But he’d sure conquer it every time if y’u gave himtime. It took me the whole first week I worked for him in the store to find this out. Edmund was the squarest man I have ever known. Too square. And about the finest. He was from an Eastern college and entirely wasted on the Methow Valley, where nobody but him had any education or understood honesty as he did. “But they’re obstacles to the public good here, all the same,” said he next; and I had to think back before I saw he meant the old men was obstructin’ the school- house and thereby with- holdin’ light from the young hope of the great empire of the Northwest. He came back to it too, several days after that, while the school-teacher was orderin’ sl “Oh, leave them alone,’’ says she Mr. Edmund, make ’em worse.” But he argument. He is regular May-God-} ave- ate-penc¢ ils. For a Young Man —and you'll jus He Was Young—He Was a Lot Growed Up was in for an settled those eyes f his on her with I} mercy-on-your-soul expression, and he told her she’d ought to know better. But she didn’t mind him any did. She liked him. **You know as well as I do,” should be an improvement on their parents, especially when those parents come from Texas. Texas is a large place,” “and I am willin’ to believe that it contains thousands of enlightened and refined persons but they don’t come here. If your scholars don’t learn to read and write, 5 more’n I says he, “that children he goes on, where’s any progress to come from? “Well, Mr. Edmund,” says she, “‘all I know is that you will never help me, or the schoolhouse, or progress, by ealling Kultus Jake and Frisco Baldy a pair of in and condemned mules to their faces.” I didn’t know he’d called ‘em that. Must have outside the store somewheres. Edmund could turn his tongue wrong side out when he felt like it. “‘That’s what they are,” says he, laughin’ at had forgotten. ‘But as for this valley, spected been his own words, which he was inhabited by better citizens when the wild animals lived here. I prefer a black-tailed deer to a Texan. Don’ te ye money on those chocolates, Miss Carey.” “Why, what’s wrong with them?” says she, with the box in her hand. “There’s no chocolate in ‘em,” says Edmund. “The wholesale house cheated me. I'd send ’em but I'd sold too much before I found out. This candy here,” says he, showin’ her some more, “ And then, olates, what do y’u suppose he sudden out of her hand, walks out to the river b throws the whole outfit plop into the water! “Isnt that just like him!” says she to me, very quiet, while he was out on the bank. And it was. Yes; Edmund is the only fool I ever loved. She kept starin’ out at him, the noise of a boat rowed Edmund he stands watchi minute up the bank comes K **No use your divin “it’s all melted by now.” , “ial ge aga or seems to De wha ciaims., seemed to hesitate ; 9 aoes. while she over the choc- Takes ank and and in a minute we heard the Methow. v. Next acrost bein’ whoever it was below. i us Jake. for that candy,” says But Jake didn’t know about the candy and he had somethin’ on his mind. His old blue eyes was led. “*Decided where Washington, D. C., is?” says Edmund, walkin’ ahead of him into the store. But that didn’t faze Jake; i he’d come to say I thought Washington, D. C., was a thing « a matter of fact it hadn’t scarcely begun; it was bic time for all of us, though none of us could ever s that. “Well, where’s your partner this aftern »” says Edmund. Kultus Jake he walks around the store various goods, and he touches a trap here and a blanke there and after a wi he er

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“Oh, he’s over to Pipestone Cajion.”” And he walks around and touches some more goods. “Figure you'll get into the mountains this season?” says Edmund. “Yes,” says Jake. ‘‘Next week.” Then he walks up close to Edmund. “‘Baldy’s over to Pipestone Cafion,” says he. ‘We're goin’ to start next week. Don’t want the snow to get ahead of us. Mink and marten reported plentiful up Robinson Creek. One man seen a silver-gray fox. Guess we'll do pretty well this winter. Live in Robinson Cabin—it ain’t fallen down like they claimed.” And he took another turn around by the door. Well, all this wasn’t much to tell people. We knowed all that ourselves—but Jake just then made up his mind quick to ay what he’d come to say. “Don’t you josh Baldy,” says he, comin’ back close up to Edmund. ‘Don’t you do it any more. I don’t mind joshin’, but Baldy—he’s old.” ° And out he goes. He went down the bank, and next y’u could hear the knockin’ of his oars as he rowed himself back over the Methow to their tent. Miss Carey she looked at the door where he’d gone out, smilin’ very pretty. It takes a woman to understand them feelin’s men has, but conceals. ““Well, I must be getting home for supper,” says she. She boarded a little ways up the North Fork with some folks that had quite a family. But when she’s outside, just startin’ to untie her horse, ‘‘Why, here comes Frisco Baldy!” says she, and waits for him. Frisco Baldy was comin’, sure enough, ridin’ up the river quite slow, and lookin’ acrost at where their tent was in the flat land this side o’ the blacksmith’s cabin. Then we knowed Jake had spied him and that was what made him speak out so quick. Baldy he arrives and gets down. “Been over to Pipe- stone Cafion,” says he. ‘* We'll be startin’ for the Robin- son Cabin next week, I guess. Snow’s not meltin’ on the mountaintops any more. She’s liable to come down here for keeps any day. Well—we’ll be needin’ a lot o’ truck off you. Beans and pork and coffee, and stuff in general me and Jake’ll be over to see you about it. Guess you'll have to let us pay you in furs when we come out in the spring. Old man Parrigin seen a silver-gray fox. Say!” And Baldy walks clost up to Edmund. ‘Don’t you josh Jake. He’s old.” And out he goes! I looks at Miss Carey —just in time to catch her whippin’ her handkerchief away from her eye. “Well,” begins Edmund—but she bursts right out on him. “Don’t you say anything! Don’t say a thing!” she cries. ‘‘They’re just two poor, quaint, dear, helpless old waifs.”” Oh, she looked at Edmund perfectly ragin’. I didn’t know what Edmund would do about that. had an awful quick temper. He near as lovely as hern had been, and his solemn brown eyes merely looked kind o’ surprised. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Didn't y’u see me tellin’ y’u to stay over there? “Yes, I seen y’u and I come,” says Jake, not yellin’, but in his nat’ral voice. And he starts past him. “Didn’t y’u see I’ve got the horse and can cross at the ford without y’u?”’ That starts Jake and he yells back: “I didn’t come for you; I came for a box of matches, y’u bawlin’ bobcat.” So there they was at it again, scrappin’ about nothin’ at all. And Jake he mad, and cleared out to his boat; and old Baldy he got on and cleared out to the ford; and I don’t know, wher they got to their tent, whether they went on with that partic’lar dissension or whether they'd forgot all about it and had to start up a new one to keep 'em from feelin’ lost. Oh, they'd contracted the habit o’ disagreement, I suppose, same as a man gets to depend on havin’ a quid of tobacco in his cheek. But while speakin’ to Edmund about his joshin’ the eyes of both of "em had given away the store they set by each other. Miss Carey she went home with her slate-pencils ordered and some candy Edmund's conscience was willin’ for him to recommend, and me and Edmund was left alone in the store. I wanted to say somethin’ about Kultus Jake and Frisco Baldy’s latest unpleasantness, and somethin’ about the way each one had sneaked in to ask Edmund not to josh the other one any more; and I had things to say about the bad chocolates, and about Edmund's plan of grub- stakin’ the old junipers when they should start into the mountains for a winter’s trappin’—I was full of conversa- tion, but Edmund wasn’t. He was loaded plumb to the gills with silence. I could tell that from his looks. I had come to know by hard experience that there was spells when Edmund not only didn’t want to say a word himself, but didn’t want you to either. And if y’u happened to say anythin’—don’t care what—he’d fly at y’u. I said wunst it was goin’ to rain, and just merely this started Edmund roundin’ me up for the inattentive way I had of lettin’ my mind wander from my business. It did rain too. So now I wondered for a while what he’d say when he felt like speakin’ once more. It was generally some very peculiar remark y’u couldn’t foresee. Of course Edmund college-raised, but it wasn’t no college-raisin’ made him Edmund. I've saw heaps of graduates and undergraduates and they’re just like other people when y’u come to know ‘em. But I'd forgot wonderin’ by the time Edmund did speak. He made me jump. “I am the oldest man in this valley.” That is what he said in the store long after dark with two lamps. He was makin’ out an order to send to Seattle by the mail next day—a big order, because it was likely to be the last lot of goods we could send for that year. Freight teams couldn’t get into the valley after the heavy snow came. Well, I didn’t say anythin’, for I wasn’t full of conversa- bought his matches, his horse, mad, was lookin’ at me so y’u'd have thought I'd committed -- well most anythin’ “Very much the oldest man in this valley says Edmund, lookin’ more serious—if possible. “All right,” says I. ‘I will be twenty-five,” says Edmund, “next fourteenth of July. I'm going to bed. So he marched out with his lamp and left me the store with all the shadows and tl gs, and the sound of the North Fork rapids under t bridge One lamp made awful little light in that store. D’y’u think I laughed at Edmund then, like I so often did? Not a bit I sat down on the counter and thought him over. And for the first time I expect I saw him clear alone in that valle unlike anybody or anytl was there, or likel lo come there. And him with his college-mates and all mer and women who set store by hit niles and miles and miles away in the East and lonesome It made me feel oid * those chocolates into the in the valley, for nto childhood he Siwash had ind no one had it was dark So Edmund myself! And then—throwin river! Maybe he was the mat Jake and Baldy had crossed the line But I laughed at him started down the oldest next mornin’ valley with the mail come to the store yet that early had nothin’ to do, and he was weighin’ himself on the scales, “I don’t gain,”’ says he, disgusted ‘Not a pound ina year.” ; “Y'u don’t think the thoughts that make a man fat says I. **A hundred and forty,” says he, and jumps down Well, I did weigh a hundred and sixty, stripped, right along—and we was pretty near of a height. Maybe I had half an inch the better of him * But,” I tells him for con solation, “‘it’s your great age. You'll be twenty-five next July and I was only twenty-four last June.’ It wa November we was in, y’'u know. So I laughs “Yes!"" he says. “You twenty-four! You stopped maturing at six."” And he laughs too The Siwash was late comin’ back with the mail over the Chillowisp. Snow must have been mountains and it lay for quite a while in the valley, so we thought Kultus Jake and Frisco Baldy had waited too jate They but I'll come to school indoors. three foot deep in the and would lose their chance to get to their tr appin’ did lose it, too, but not exactly that way that point when | get there. Snow druy Miss Carey she had to «uit vhe tent turned out like I told y’u. Edmund's sittin’-room was filled up with Texan kids— Edmund's private room, which he had so nicely fixed up with all his college things: mugs, flags, an oar, pictures of his friends, a whole heap of stuff. It had to be used for the place, or school had to stop till spring come round and the tent could serve again. Well, Edmund wasn't willin’ to and sure enough it school, bein’ the only possible ‘Why,’ says he, “IT was goin’ to say I would grubstake em for nothin’. They needn’t give me any furs.” It pulled her right up short and I don’t know what she would have said, for there was Frisco Baldy onthe bank, hollerin’ and throwin’ his arms up and down. | runout. I thought somebody Was in trouble. Just in the bend there below where the North Fork comes in there’s a big deep hole. Well, nobody was in no trouble. Jake was rowin’ himself over to our side again, and Baldy ap- peared not to wanit him over on our side. So he kept a-bellerin’ throwin’ his arms, and Jake he came along over, not mindin’ about Baldy. He landed and clumb up the bank right past Baldy who yells out: and “How Does a Coyote Waik? Screeched Out the Littiest One, Aimin His Finger at Me But he gives a smile pretty tion any more. Edmund he stands back of his desk and _ cut off the hope of the empire of the Northwest for five shoves his spectacles up on his forehead, and his eyes was whole months. Of course they wasn’t there Saturdays and Sundays, or at nignt, or at hour when he really needed his room he was in the store durin’ schoolt im but every day ifter the kids had yore home pour Edmund he had to open all the win adow ol his pet room He caught M ( arey sweep- in’ it of their eavin’s and scolded her savage tor that Insisted on sweep it him ii Would have hi My ke but he was acro man Vel a weepin’! Then the kids they brucl one or t hi uvenirs chin ind meddlin’ with them, and Mis Carey wa wild Edmund didn mind half as much he spoke to mea ¢ is takin’ a ride tovether one unday, when the snow had melted most off again (,uess it Was early Continued on Page oi

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8 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST DOCTOR April 22,1911 Ai Simple Home Remedy Open to All=By A.W. Rolker O THE president of a wholesale drug concern came a I “ersese a former classmate in a school of pharmacy. He had come on the bitter errand of confessing his inability to meet payments and to make arrangements of some sort for a settlement. For old times’ sake the presi- dent took him out to lunch and gave advice, but it seemed as if this were too late. “It’s no use,” said the hard-luck man. “It’s a bitter pill to swallow at my time of life, but the best thing I can do is to quit my store and go back to clerking. I’m a failure as a business man.” The president took a long pull at his cigar. ‘“D’you drink or gamble?"’ he asked. ‘‘What makes you think you're a failure as a business man?” “I’m hoodooed. For twenty years I’ve been in the drug business. Four times I went to a section of the city that was rapidly building up, and was first on the spot and built up a paying business. Goodness knows I didn’t ask much. I didn’t expect any marble counters and crystal shelves. I was perfectly willing to pull along on the old black-walnut counters I got at a sheriff’s sale the time I first started in business. And I didn’t expect to wear a broadcloth frock coat with a white ascot when behind the counter. A linen duster was good enough for me. Bless you, all I asked was to be let alone. But no sooner had I saved so that I had seven or eight hundred dollars in the bank when along comes some fellow, rents the big store at the next corner, puts in green-marble soda fountains and plate-glass showcases, and inside* of six months every customer I had is in the new shop, and I draw a balance out of my bank just big enough to let me move and start again. Can you beat that for hard luck?” Defeated by a Linen Duster OX THE face of the listener there sat an expression part amusement, part impatience. The druggist had not appealed to him for financial aid, but he had quite decided to offer this. Just once, however, for the good of a quaking soul, he had made up his mind to voice a few things. **Do you mean to tell me you call that hard luck?” he asked. ‘‘I call that stupidity! For twenty years you've been tripping over your own shoestrings, and each time you picked yourself up you hadn't sense enough to tie them. For twenty years you've played sucker to the brotherhood of druggists. You blazed a trail and said, ‘Here, you fellows, is a good place for your shops. I grew up with this trade, but you can come right in and take it from me-—everything is ready and the bed is warmed.’ Why, a man like you has no excuse for being in business. You ought to be a professor or a church tenor. What right had you to seven or eight hundred dollars in a bank when your shop is dark and dingy and ancient and behind the times? With that same money properly invested in your shop you would have had a store so big and bright and up to date that no man would have dared locate within ten blocks of you. You would have built up a big trade ££ sO: 2°. 8 82 .F 8: ® at your first stand, and by this time would have been proprietor of a small fortune and a little gold mine. “T’ll tell you what I’ll do. When it comes to retail drug work I don’t know the difference between a rub- ber nipple and a castor-oil pill, but I’m going into partnership with you. We're going to open a drug-store that is a drug-store. Not the kind run by the missionaries in the Fiji Islands, but a real one with mahog- any counters and fixtures, and a two-thousand-dollar soda fountain, and showcases with glass clear as crystal and tough enough to dance a jig on. And when we have these things we’ll send that duster of yours to the Society for Orphaned Chinese Children, and we'll tog you up in a business suit, with a crease down the front of your breeches and a coat snuggling as close as it should at the collar. It may take us six or twelve months to come out even as to expenses—maybe longer. That’s all right. But for a hundred years no one’ll have nerve to open a pill- shop within a quarter-mile radius of a drug-shop like ours.” All of this happened more than ten years ago. The chronie failure has long since bought out the silent partner who showed him the mistake that was keeping his nose to the grindstone. He owns one of the best-paying drug businesses in one of the biggest cities in the East. The story of the druggist illustrates how an expert can take a business that is sick and doctor it into health and vigor. It is immaterial whether the business is a compara- tively new one that never has been put properly on its feet or whether it is an old and successful establishment that in the course of time has developed symptoms of a serious disease. He assumes that a business built along legitimate lines, but not drawing properly, is like a human that is ailing and needs a physician; and he proceeds like a physician, first diagnosing and then applying the remedies to cure the trouble. Few business stories are more interesting than those that show how the modern mer- chant studies the faults that are crippling his business, and how he remedies these until he triumphs over his defeats. If he finds upon analysis that enough customers do not come into his place he sends advertisements into the highways and byways and leads people into his place by the ears, so to speak. If he finds that his sales are ample, but that he has too many outstanding accounts, this tells him he must bolster up his collection methods or, perhaps, must cease extending credit. If he notices he is being crowded off the face of the earth by competition he may find he has not been putting enough money back into his business. Or he may find that he does not know how to buy; or that his sales methods are at fault or objectionable; or that he is failing to keep up to date on business methods. Any one of a thousand-and-one reasons, he may find, is his stumbling-block—from the elementary one of talking too much to the opposite extreme of saying too little. When for years a man has dabbled, trying to push a business that never did more than barely make both ends meet, the task of putting it on a sound footing often seems almost hopeless to him. Yet for a man that is wide awake nothing is simpler, for he needs only to study the methods of merchants that are successful, and then copy them. In one of our big Eastern cities there is a man who keeps what we shall call The Persian Art Shop. For seven years he had done a very fair business selling Persian rugs, Persian tapestries and Oriental beadwork and brasses and bronzes. But, just as he began to look forward to flourishing properly, trade gradually began to fall off. Before long he was not making expenses. He did not have to figure where the trouble lay. He could see this with half an eye. People ‘There's No Use Sitting Here and Wasting Time Figuring How Soon I'm Going to Blow Up" | om sé HENRY RAiae_ tc a were not coming into his store as they used to. The prob- lem facing him was, Why had customers deserted him? He knew it was not owing to faulty business methods. His show windows were arranged with the same scrupulous care as during the time his business was successful. The wares he displayed were more attractive than. ever, and just as reasonable. He himself, he knew, had not abated in the courtesy with which he waited on customers. He was beginning to fear his slump had occurred because a number of department stores in the vicinity had invaded his line, when a neighboring merchant shed light on the subject. ‘‘Have you noticed how this street has been running down?” he asked. ‘‘Two or three years ago any number of well-to-do people traveled through this street, but now nobody thinks of Thirteenth Street. All the carriage and automobile people go through the next block.” The Little Shop Around the Corner HE Art Shop man spent much of the next few days standing in front of his own store observing, and what he saw convinced him that the criticism his neighbor had made was right. The fault was that, owing to the coming of a pair of big department stores, trade on the neighboring street had been stimulated and his own street had lost traffic. For a week the man sat, broken in spirit, staring ruin in the face; then his nerve returned and he began to plan how to meet the situation. “Tt’s this way,” he argued to himself. ‘‘There’s no use sitting here and wasting time figuring how soon I’m going to blow up. If customers don’t happen to come this way it’s up to me to bring them here. The department stores in the next street are bringing people from all quarters of the city, and if they do that why can’t 1? Besides, here are hundreds of thousands of people concentrated through- out eight hours every day by those two shops; why can’t I butt into that crowd and reap some of the benefits of their advertising? I'll just have some handbills printed and I'll stationa ——_ No, I won’t; I'll get some fellow to write me up a clever sign and I’ll send a sandwichman to No, now I’ve got it! I'll get my sign and I'll pick out some swarthy, picturesque old Italian that looks like a Persian, and I'll tog him out in Persian costume and get him to parade up and down the street through that department-store crowd.” Three days later, in a morning, the Art Shop man departed for business with a beating heart. For six dollars a week he had hired his Persian, for nine dollars he had had a plenty-good-enough Persian costume made, and for four dollars he had had a canvas sign painted-—a total of only nineteen dollars; but in that simple nineteen-dollar experiment was locked his future, whether he would succeed or fail. About 9:30 o’clock in the morning four customers were in the store, which was unusual for that hour. Before the four left three others arrived, and the slim but steady procession continued and increased. At times the proprietor was literally swamped with business, for he could not wait on customers quickly enough to prevent them from growing impatient and leaving without buying. Whereas formerly he counted forty or fifty customers a mighty fair day’s work, now there were frequently as many as fifteen in his place at one time. By the night of that first day he estimated that he had done more busi- ness than he had done in any week barring holiday seasons —for a year. This happened in August, in fly- season, when trade should have been For Six Dollars a Week He slow. In less than a week the Art Had Hired His Persian Shop man had to have two salesmen helping him. When the holiday trade began he added seven salespeople, making a total of ten persons where formerly he had been able to do all his own selling, with the assistance of one young woman. Today the Art Shop man does not send a Persian to carry signs. He has got too high up in the world for that. His customers would not like it.- Once interested in ——=-—- — SS = | |

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en = Se re — 7 ae a Se } , hi } } | advertising he studied the subject, and he decided on a plan that in his particular case works even better. Now he buys lists of names from jewelry firms, grocers, druggists and other tradesmen who cater to the most wealthy trade. Every three months he circularizes these people with a striking and artistic folder of hand-made Persian paper ornamented with Persian hieroglyphics in an Oriental color scheme. All of this costs him much money but pays him fabulously, for his wares jumped in price from a hundred to a hundred and fifty per cent! Not much is left today of the original Art Shop. This store now comprises two numbers on the coveted Four- teenth Street. A footman in livery is on hand at the curb to attend to customers who come in carriages and in automobiles—all of which is the result of the experiment of a clever mer- chant who opened his eyes and looked and saw methods used by other merchants, and then adapted these to his own business. It makes no difference what line a business man is in whether he keeps an art shop, a stationery store, a grocery or any other retail store; or whether he runs a steam laundry or kas a milk route; or whether he is a wholesale merchant or a manufacturer whose annual output amounts to several hundred thousand dollars—in every case when a business begins to sicken, to the expert the principle of diagnosing the trouble and applying the remedy is simply a matter of comparing his own methods with those used by concerns that are successful. How'a Young House Set the Pace WENTY-FIVE years ago a certain firm —which we will say was in the wholesale florist-supply business —had gobbled for itself all the trade that was worth gobbling in this line throughout the country. Those were the good old days when the merchants wrote letters by hand, and when it was enough to print on your sign the year your grand- father established your business. Later an unscrupulous wretch—who had no grandfather—painted on a sign the year his “grandfather” established his business, hung it over his door and got caught at it. This revolutionized the business methods of the country at a stroke; but the florist-supply fellows .did not awaken te the change. In their show window was a mangy pillow of white immortelles with “Only Asleep’? worked across it in faded purple. Often the office cats made themselves comfortable on it. Whenever the dust on the windows got so thick that the monthly gas-bill ran up unreasonably a light-weight porter was set to work with a dust-pan and a broom. And this was enough; for didn’t the sign state that the firm was “Established in 1816”? About the time when this firm was at the height of prosperity an Absurdity —in the person of an insignificant rival who had raised some capital —leased a store with a plate-glass front on one of the main thoroughfares of the city. Almost before his fixtures were in place he was at work building up his show windows. The 1816 firm saw this, and in their charity felt sorry and never mentioned the rival’s name except in a whisper, as is proper when speaking of the dying. For a year they were ready with plug hats ironed, waiting to go to the funeral, when the Absurdity broke further traditions with a gorgeous catalog with colored inserts. “ That’s the last gasp,” the 1816 men said. “*Now he’s desperate.” By this time any number of little rivals had taken a leaf out of the book of the Absurd- ity and were following him up with fine show windows and costly catalogs. Before long half a dozen or more of these were advertising in big weekly and monthly publications, reaping a tremendous _har- vest. Inside of two years the profits of the 1816 firm fell off more than fifty per cent. They said: ‘Barnum is right: the peo- ple want to be humbugged. What’s the use trying to sell absolutely straight fresh seeds when all people want is to look into show windows?” Another year or two and the tirm would have gone under had not a progressive young- ster aged thirty-two happened along with money. “You gentlemen have an invaluable reputation for reliability and fair dealing, but I don’t think you know much about running a modern THE SATURDAY EVENING POST business. I do. I’ve got ten thousand dollars to lose. Give me a quarter interest with a guaranty to give me a free hand at managing this business, and I'll show you something.” For weeks the deal hung fire. The idea of trusting the good name of the firm into the hands of a fly-by-night youngster who spoke of typewriting and of adding machines and of trolley cash-cars seemed dangerous; but there was precious little choice. “We'll stay where we are, providing the landlord’ll let us knock the front out of this building and put in show windows. The street is good enough for us,”’ the young- ster said. Then, following a dinner, he talked turkey to his three partners, each almost old enough to be his father Many things of which the partners had not dreamed the youngster told them: told them about the value of advertising and of up-to-date catalog-making; told them how to play up leading seeds, how to offer prizes and premiums to win over the attention and interest of the customers. *“Where in the world did you learn to run a seed busi- ness?" one of the partners asked the junior member of the firm one day, when it was assured that the business was forging back to its old place near the top. ‘*Where did I get it?) Where you yourself might have got it. I studied how other seedsmen were making it go; and when there was something I didn’t know I went to their stores and bought seeds, and chatted as customers will, until I got all I wanted to know.” A merchant’s place of business may be up to date, his advertising and his sales methods may be perfect, but there is one branch more than any other one in which he has got to be up to the times in order to thrive, and that’s his collection department. In the case of the manufacturer and the wholesaler this detail is comparatively a simple matter, for the trans- actions are apt to amount to such sums and are on such a cold business basis that customers expect to prove their trustworthiness when asking credit, and expect to be held accountable in case they fail to come to time. In the case of the retailer, especially the man doing business in smaller towns where everybody knows every- body else, the conditions are different. The personal element enters here. Customers would resent having to give references in order to get the credit for having a few initial purchases, and first thing a dealer knows bills have been run up and he is in a quandary to know whether he ought to lose a customer by cutting off credit and resort- ing to hard measures—which in the end may be futile—or whether he had better extend a little more credit and take chances on being paid in the end. The collection department of these merchants may not exist, excepting under their hats; but here, too, all the merchant whose business is sickening needs to do is to copy the methods of some fellow tradesman that has the trick of collecting what is due him. Among the most difficult towns to deal with in respect to bad accounts are the mushroom towns that spring up on the outskirts of our big cities —the own-your-own-home type of town—where half the people are bent double try- ing to pay off mortgages on five-thousand or six-thousand dollar cottages bought on the thousand-dollars-down plan “You Never Bought That Kind for Lest Than Five Cents —I'm Going to Seli it for a Cent! Put All That Into the Ad”’ “Inside of Six Months Every Customer I Had is in the New Shop"' In one of these towns, which had a population of only six thousand, three groceries, one splendidly equipped seatood market, one drug-store and one tailoring establish ment failed during the recent panic in a single year. In this town was a shoe dealer who had done a splendid business but who was on the ragged edge of despair. He had more than four thousand dollars outstanding on his books, with customers coming in to ask credit day after day. And the only thing he had to look forward to was some notes that he knew he would be unable to meet. The Grocer Advises the Shoe Man NTO this town, not so many years before, there had come a young man who had some original ideas on how to run a grocery. He bought out a grocer who was about to fail, picked out the good accounts for himself and handed the bad ones to a lawyer to collect. He bought himself the handsomest delivery wagons he could afford and put them in charge of clerks in uniform, and made a vow to stop customers’ credits at the end of the second month’s non-payment — unles there were weighty reason why he should do otherwise I'm not here to feed thi town, I’m here to make a li ing,”” he said to himself; and he did. Since he had started in business five grocers in the town had failed; and each time he had hired the star deliverymen of the defunct and gone hot-foot after the promp paying customers, leaving the rest to his competitors To this man went the di tracted shoe dealer for advice “That crowd up on the hill in the ten-thousand-dollar houses is the worst,”’ he con plained. ‘*One man up ther owes me nearly four hundred dollars, and he had the nerve to come into my shop t! morning to charge anoth« twenty dollars’ worth of shu: for the family “Did you give them to him? “Sure I did. When a man owes you that much you can't afford to get him down on you He’s slow, that’s all iil gel my money in the end. But for two years he’s been run ning up that bill, and I need Concluded on Page 41

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10 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ILLUSTRATED Br J. J. April 22,1901 By Montague Glass GOULD SHOWING THAT SOMETIMES THEY BITE BOTH WAYS LL right, Max,” cried Samuel Gembitz, senior mem- ber of S. Gembitz & Sons; “if you think you know more about it as I do, Max, go ahead and make up that style in all them fancy shades. But listen to what I’m telling you, Max: black, navy blue, brown and smoke is plenty enough; and all them copenhoogens, wisterias and tchampanyers we would get stuck with, just as sure as little apples.” “That's what you think, pop,”” Max Gembitz replied. “Well, I got a right to think, ain’t I?’’ Samuel Gembitz retorted. “Sure,” Max said—‘‘and so have I. “After me,”’ Samuel corrected. ‘I think first and then you think, Max; and I think we wouldn’t plunge so heavy on them 1040's. Make up a few of ’em in blacks, navies, browns and smokes, Max, and afterward we would see about making up the others.” He rose from his old-fashioned Windsor chair in the firm’s private office and put on his hat—a silk hat of a style long obsolete. “T am going to my lunch, Max,” he said firmly, “and when I come back I will be here. Another thing, Max: you got an idee them 1040's is a brand-new style which is so original, understand me, we are bound to make a big hit with it at seven-fifty apiece —ain’t it?” Max nodded. “Well, good styles travels fast, Max,” the old man said; “and you could take it from me, Max, in two weeks’ time Henry Schrimm and all them other fellers would be falling over themselves to sell the selfsame garment at seven dollars.”’ He seized a gold-mounted, ebony cane, the gift of Harmony Lodge, 100, I. O. M. A., and started for the stairway, but as he reached the door he turned suddenly. “Max,” he shouted, “tell them boys to straighten up the sample racks. The place looks like a pigsty already.” As the door closed behind his father Max aimed a kick at the old-fashioned walnut desk and the old-fashioned Windsor chair; and then, lighting a cigarette, he walked hurriedly to the cutting room. “Lester,” he said to his younger brother, who was poring over a book of sample swatches, “what do you think now?” “Huh?” Lester grunted. “The old man says we shouldn’t make up them 1040’s in nothing but black, navy, brown and smoke!” Lester closed the book of sample swatches and sat down suddenly. “Wouldn’t that make you sick?” he said in tones of profound disgust. ‘I tell you what it is, Max, if it wouldn’t be that the old man can’t run the business for- ever, I'd quit right now. We've got a killing in sight and he Jonahs the whole thing.’’ “I told you what it would be,” Max said. “I seen Falk- statter in Sarahcuse last week; and so sure as I’m standing here, Lester, I could sold that feller a two-thousand-dollar ” order if it wouldn’t be for the old man’s back-number ideas. Didn’t have a single pastel shade in my trunks!” ““Where is he now?”’ Lester asked. “‘Gone to lunch,”’ Max replied. Lester took up the sample swatches again and his eyes rested lovingly on a delicate shade of pink. “T hope he chokes,” he said; but even though at that very moment Samuel Gembitz sat in Hammer- smith’s restaurant, his cheeks distended to the bursting point with gefiillte Rinderbrust, Lester’s prayer went unanswered. Indeed, Samuel Gembitz had the bolting capacity of a boa-constrictor and, with the aid of a gulp of coffee, he could have swallowed a grapefruit whole. ‘*‘Ain’t you scared that you would sometimes hurt your di-gestion, Mr. Gembitz?” asked Henry Schrimm, who sat at the next table. Now this was a sore point with Sam Gembitz, for during the past year he had succumbed to more than a dozen bilious attacks as a result of his voracious appetite; and three of them were directly traceable to gefiillte Rinderbrust. “T ain’t so delicate like some people, Henry,” he said rather sharply. ‘I don’t got to consider every bit of meat which I am putting in my mouth. And even if I would, Henry, what is doctors for? If a feller would got to deny himself plain food, Henry, he might as well jump off a dock and fertig.” Henry Schrimm was an active member of as many fraternal orders as there are evenings in the week, and he possessed a ready sympathy that made him invalu- able as chairman of a sick-visiting or funeral committee; for at seven P. M. Henry could bring himself to the verge of tears over the bedside of a lodge brother, without unduly affecting his ability to relish a game of auction pinocle at half past eight, sharp. ‘Jumping off a dock is all right, too, Mr. Gembitz,”’ he commented, “‘but you got your family to consider.” “You shouldn’t worry about my family, Henry,” Gembitz retorted. ‘I am carrying good insurance; and, furthermore, I got my business in such shape that it would go on just the same supposing I should die tomorrow.” ‘Gott soll hiiten, Mr. Gembitz,’’ Henry added piously as the old man disposed of a dishful of gravy through the capillary attraction of a hunk of spongy rye bread. “Yes, Henry,” Gembitz continued, after he had licked his fingers and submitted his bicuspids to a process of vacuum cleaning, ‘I got my business down to such a fine point which you could really say was systematic.” “That’s a good thing, Mr. Gembitz,’’ Henry said, “because, presuming for the sake of argument, I am only saying you would be called away, Mr. Gembitz, them boys of yours would run it into the ground in no time.” “What d'ye mean, run it into the ground?” Gembitz demanded indignantly. ‘If you would got the gumption which my boys got it, Schrimm, you wouldn’t be doing a business which the most you are making is a couple thousand a year.” “Sure, I know,” Henry replied. “If I would got Lester’s gumption I would be sitting around the Harlem Winter Garden till all hours of the morning; and if I would got Sidney’s gumption I would be playing Kelly pool from two to four every afternoon. And as for Max, Mr. Gembitz, if I would got his gumption I would make a present of it to my worst enemy. A boy which he is going on forty and couldn't do nothing without asking his popper’s permission first, Mr. Gembitz, he could better do general housework for a living as sell goods.” Gembitz rose from his table and strug- gled into his overcoat speechless with indignation. It was not until he had buttoned the very last button that he was able to enunciate. “Listen here to me, Schrimm!” he said. “If Lester goes once in a while on a restaurant in the evening, that’s his business; and, anyhow, so far what I could see, Schrimm, it don’t interfere none with his designing garments which you are stealing on us just as soon as we get ‘em on the market. Furthermore, ““Geod Looks to Some People is Red Cheeks and Black Hair, Henrietta: But With Me it is Different” Schrimm, if Sidney plays Kelly pool every afternoon, you could bet your life he also sells him a big bill of goods also, newer: He Negotiated the Opening of the Ice:-Box Door With the Skill of an Experienced Burgiar You got to entertain a customer oncet in a while if you want to sell him goods, Schrimm; and, anyhow, Schrimm, if it would be you would be trying to sell goods to this here Kelly, you wouldn’t got sense enough to play pool with him. You would waste your time trying to learn him auction pinocle.”’ “But, Mr. Gembitz,’ plays Kelly pool —”" “And as for Max,” Gembitz interrupted, “if you would be so good a boy as Max is, Schrimm, might your father would be alive today yet.” “What d’ye mean?” Schrimm cried. ‘‘ My father died when I was two years old already.” “Sure, I know,’’ Gembitz concluded; “‘and one thing I am only sorry, Schrimm: your father was a decent, respectable man, Schrimm, but he ought to got to die three years sooner. That’s all.” Schrimm began, “‘when a feller i O SOONER had Mr. Gembitz left Hammersmith’s restaurant than the gefiillte Rinderbrust commenced to assert itself; and by the time he arrived at his place of business he was experiencing all the preliminary symptoms of a severe bilious attack. Nevertheless, he pulled himseli together and as he sat down at his desk he called loudly for Sidney. “He ain’t in,” Max said. “Oh, he ain’t, ain’t he?’’ Mr. Gembitz retorted. “Well, where is he?”’ “He went out with a feller from the New Idea Store, Bridgetown,” Max answered, drawing on his imagination in the defense of his brother. *“New Idea Store!"’ Gembitz repeated. feller’s name?” Max shrugged. “T forgot his name,” he answered. “Well, I ain’t forgot his name,’ Gembitz continued. “His name is Kelly; and every afternoon Schrimm tells me Sidney is playing this here Kelly pool.” For a brief interval Max stared at his father; then he broke into an unrestrained laugh. “Nu!” Gembitz cried. ‘ What’s the joke?” “Why,” Max explained, “you're all twisted. Kelly ain’t a feller at all. Kelly pool’s a game, like you would say straight pinocle and auction pinocle—there’s straight pool and Kelly pool.” Gembitz drummed on his desk with his fingers. ““What’s the

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“De you mean to told me there ain’t no such person, which he is buying goods for a concern, called Kelly?” he demanded. Max nodded. “Then that loafer just fools away his time every after- noon,”’ Gembitz said in choking tones; ‘‘and, after all I done for him, he ——”’ “*What’s the matter, popper?’ Max cried, for Gembitz’ lips had suddenly grown purple, and, even as Max reached forward to aid him, he lurched from his chair on to the floor. Half an hour later Samuel Gembitz was undergoing the entirely novel experience of riding uptown in a taxi- cab, accompanied by a young physician who had been procured from the medical department of an insurance company across the street. “Say, lookyhere,”’ Sam protested as they assisted him into the cab, “this ain’t necessary at all!” “No, I know it isn’t,’”’ the doctor agreed, in his best imitation of an old practitioner’s jocular manner. He was, in fact, a very young practitioner and was genuinely alarmed at Samuel’s condition, which he attributed to arteriosclerosis and not to gefiillte Rinderbrust. ‘But, just the same,” he concluded, “it is just as well to keep as quiet as possible for the present.” Sam nodded and lay back wearily in the leather seat of the taxicab while it threaded its way through the traffic of lower Fifth Avenue. Only once did he appear to take an interest in his surroundings and that was when the taxicab halted at the end of a long line of traffic opposite the débris of a new building. “What's going on here?”’ he asked faintly. “It’s pretty nearly finished,” the doctor replied. ‘‘ Wel- don, Jones & Company, of Minneapolis, are going to open a New York store.” Sam nodded again and once more closed his eyes. He grew more uncomfortable as the end of the journey approached, for he dreaded the reception that awaited him. Max had telephoned the news of his father’s illness to his sister, Miss Babette Gembitz, Sam’s only daughter, who upon her mother’s death had assumed not only the duties but the manner and bearing of that tyrannical person; and Sam knew she would make a searching investigation of the cause of his ailment. ‘**Doctor, what do you think is the matter with me?”’ he asked, by way of a feeler. “At your age, it’s impossible to say,’’ the doctor replied; ‘‘but nothing very serious.” “No?” Sam said. “Well, you don’t think it’s indi- gestion, do you?” “Decidedly not,” the doctor said. “Well, then, you shouldn’t forget and tell my daughter that,”” Sam declared as the cab stopped opposite his house, “otherwise she will swear I am eating something which disagrees with me.” He clambered feebly to the sidewalk, where stood Miss Babette Gembitz with Dr. Sigmund Eichendorfer. “*Wie gehts, Mr. Gembitz?’’ Doctor Eichendorfer cried cheerfully as he took Sam’s arm. **Unpasslich, doctor,”” Sam re- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST old-timers goes under there’s a history of a rich, unbalanced diet behind it; and Bright’s Disease it is. Also, you shouldn’t forget to send in your bill—not a cent less than ten dollars.” He shook his confrére warmly by the hand; and three hours later the melancholy circumstance of Sam's Bright's Disease was known to every member of the cloak and suit trade, with one exception —to wit, as the lawyers sa himself. He knew that he had had gefiilite Rinderbrust but by seven o’clock this knowledge became only a torm« as the savory odor of the family dinner ascended to his bedroom. **Babette,” he called faintly, as becomes a convalescent ‘ain’t I going to have no dinner at all tonight?” For answer Babette brought in a covered tray, on whicl were arranged two pieces of dry toast and a glass of buttermilk. “What's this?” Sam cried. ‘“*That’s your dinner,”’ Babette replied, ‘‘and you should thank Gawd you are able to eat it.” “You don’t got to told me who I should thank for such slops which you are bringing me,” he said, with every trace of convalescence gone from his tones. ‘“‘Take that damn thing away and give me something to eat. Ain't that gediimpftes Kalbfleisch I smell?” Babette made no reply, but gazed sadly at her father as she placed the tray on a chair beside his bed. “You don’t know yourself how sick you are,” she said. “Doctor Eichendorfer says you should be very quiet.” This admonition produced no effect on Sam, who imme- diateiy started on an abusive criticism of physicians in general and Dr. Sigmund Eichendorfer in particular. ““What does that dummer Esel know?” he demanded. “TI bet yer that the least he tells you is I got Bright’s Disease !”’ Babette shook her head slowly. “*So you know it yourself all the time,”’ she commented bitterly; ‘‘and yet you want to eat gediimpftes Kalbfleisch, when you know as well as I do it would pretty near kill you.” “Kill me!’ Sam shouted. ‘“‘What d’ye mean, kill me I eat some Rinderbrust for my lunch yet; and that’s all what ails me. I ain’t got no more Bright’s Disease as you got it.” “If you think that lying is going to help you, you're mistaken,’’ Babette replied calmly. ‘To a man in your condition geddimpftes Kalbfleisch is poison.” “IT ain’t lying to you,” Sam insisted. “‘I am eating too much lunch, I am telling you.” “And you're not going to eat too much dinner!” Babette said as she tiptoed from the room. Thus Sam drank a glass of buttermilk and ate some dry toast for his supper; and, in consequence, he slept so soundly that he did not waken until Dr. Sigmund Eichen- dorfer entered his room at eight o’clock the following morning. Under the bullying frown of his daughter Sam submitted to a physical examination that lasted for more than an hour; and when Doctor Eichendorfer departed he

‘ 9 >

left behind him four varieties of tablets and a gener terdiction against eating solid food, getting up, going downtown, or any of the other dozen things t insisted upon doing It was only under the combined persuasion ol Max, Babette and Lester that he consented to stay

re and when lunchtime arrived he was so we ene t i ve y-four-nhou fast and Doctor Eich dorfer’s tablets tt he was g ito remain undisturbed I he ren ler of e di At length, after one bearidade week accompanied by i juid diet and more blets, Sam was allowed to sit up in a chair and to partake of a slice of chich . Well, popper, how do you feel today?” asked Max who had just arrived from the office ‘I feel pretty sick, Max,”’ Sam replied; “‘but I guess | could get downtown tomorrow, all right Babette sat near by and nodded her head slowly. *“Cruess some more, popper he said ‘Before you would go downtown yet, you are going to Lakewood.” Lakewood!” Sam exclaimed W hat d've mean, Lake wood? If you want to go to Lakewood, go ahead I am going downtown tomorrow What, d’ve think a business could run itself!” “So far as business is concerned,”” Max said, “you at all We are hustling like ady sold over three thousand dollars’ worth of them 1040's shouldn't trouble yoursel

crazy downtown and we alr sam sat up sudder “1 see my finish,”’ he said, “‘with you boys selling goods left and right to a lot of fakers like the New Idea Store “New Idea Store nothing!"" Max retorted We are selling over two thousand dollars to Falkstatter, Fein & Company —and I guess they're fakers— what! Sam leaned back in his chair ‘“*Falkstatter, Fein & Company is all right,” he admitted “And, furthermore,”” Max continued, “‘we sold ‘em faney colors like wistaria, copenhagen and champagne and them navy blues and browns they wouldn’t touch *“No?” Sam said weakly “So you see, popper, if you would been downtown we wouldn't got that order at all,"" Max continued what’s the use worrying yourself?” * He's right, popper,”” Babette added You're gettir too old to be going downtown every day he boys could look after the business. It’s time you took a rest At this juncture Doctor Eichendorfer entered. “Hello!” he said ‘What are you doing sitting up here You must get right back to bed.” “What are you talking nonsense?’’ Sam cried. “I am feeling pretty good already “You look it,’” Eichendorfer said. “If you could see the way you are run down this last week yet you wouldn't talk so fresh.” He seized Sam by the arm as he spoke and lifted hin out of the chat ‘You ain't so heavy like you used to be Mr. Gembi

plied. ‘I guess I’m a pretty sick man.” He glanced at his daughter for some trace of tears, but she met his gaze unmoved “You've been making a hog of yourself again, popper!"’ she said severely “Oser!’’ Sam protested. ““Crackers and milk I am eating for my lunch. The doctor could tell you the same.” Ten minutes afterward Sam was tucked up in his bed, while in an adjoining room the young physi- cian communicated his diagnosis to Doctor Eichendorfer. * Arteriosclerosis, I should say,”’ he murmured—and Doctor EFichendorfer sniffed audibly. ‘You mean Bright’s Disease ain't it?”’ he said. ‘That feller’s arteries is as sound as plumbing.”’ Doctor Eichendorfer had re- ceived his medical training in Vienna and he considered it to be a solemn duty never to agree with the diagnosis of a native M.D. “TI thought of Bright’s Dis- ease,” the young physician replied, speaking a little less than the naked truth; for in diagnosing Sam’s ailment he had thought of nearly every disease he could remember. ‘ ‘ « “Well, you could take it from -

I i eee — +o

me, doctor,’ Eichendorfer cen- L cluded, ‘‘when one of these

he went on as he helped Sam to his bed ‘Another weel and you could sit up, but not before =< ] Sam groaned as they tucked the covers around him NOW ou see how weal ure Kichendorfer cned trun phantly. “Don't get uy unless | would tell you first After leaving some more table Doctor Eichendortfer took li le ‘ nd hail an hour later Sa } t uv het I aii hy dor tha per ded hi bedroom that t family dined on wed chickel h Kartoffei Kk For the re mainder of the evening Sam | with his eyes closed ima \ he ever Babette approached his bed ide with a imbler of water and the box of tablets he snored ostet tiously Thus he managed evade the appetite-dispellir medicine until nearly midnight when Babette coughed loudly Popper he said, “I’m going to bed and | want you to ta our il) Leave ‘em on the chair hers he replied ind I'll take ’em u lew minutes,” He watched her place the tablet on the chair and as soon as her back was turned he seized then eagerly and thrust them into the pocket of his nightshirt ‘Where's the water?” he mum bled; and when Babette handed him the tumbler he gulped down

mien the water with noise sufficient to “7 Ain't So Oid and i Ain't So Sick but What I Could Take Care of Myseif, Max sceount for a boxful of tablet

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RB 12 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “‘Now, leave me alone,” he said; and Babette kissed him coldly on the left ear. “TI hope you'll feel better in the morning,” she said dutifully. “Don’t worry,” Sam said. ‘I’m going to.” He listened carefully until he heard the door close and then he threw back the coverlet. Very gingerly he slid to the carpet and planted himself squarely on his feet. A sharp attack of ‘‘pins and needles” prevented any further movement for some minutes; but at length it subsided and he began to search for his slippers. His bathrobe hung on the back of the door, and, after he had struggled into it, he opened the door stealthily and, clinging to the balustrade, crept downstairs to the basement. He negotiated the opening of the ice-box door with the skill of an experienced burglar; and immediately there- after he sat down at the kitchen table in front of a dishful of stewed chicken, four cold boiled potatoes, the heel of a rye loaf and a bottle of beer. Twenty minutes later he laid away the empty dish on top of the kitchen sink, with the empty beer bottle beneath it; then, after supplying himself with a box of matches, he crept upstairs to his room. When Babette opened the door the following morning she raised her chin and sniffed suspiciously. “Ain't it funny?” she murmured -‘“I could almost swear I smell stale cigar smoke here.”” Sam turned his face to the wall. ‘You're crazy!” he said. ui URING the ensuing week Sam Gembitz became an adept in the art of legerdemain; and the skill with which he palmed tablets under the very nose of his daughter was only equaled by the ingenuity he displayed in finally disposing of them. At least three dozen dis- appeared through a crack in the wainscoting behind Sam’s bed, while as many more were poked through a hole in the mattress; and thus Sam became gradually stronger, until Doctor Eichendorfer himself could not ignore the improvement in his patient’s condition. “All right; you can sit up,” he said to Sam; “‘but, remember, the least indiscretion and back to bed you go.” Sam nodded, for Babette was in the room at the time; and, albeit Sam had gained new courage through his nightly raids on the ice-box, he lacked the boldness that three square meals a day engender. “I would take good care of myself, doctor,”’ he said, “and the day after tomorrow might I could go downtown, maybe?’ “The day after tomorrow!’’ Doctor Eichendorfer exclaimed. ‘“‘Why, you wouldn't be downtown for a month yet.” “The idea!” Babette cried indignantly. “As if the boys couldn’t look after the place without you! What d’ye Want to go downtown for at all?” “What d’ye mean, what do I want to go downtown for at all?’’ Sam demanded sharply, and Miss Babette Gembitz blushed; whereupon Sam rose from his chair and stood unsteadily on his feet. ** Ain’t it awful!’’ she said to Sam one Sunday morning as they paced slowly along Lenox Avenue. “I am so tied down.” “You ain’t tied down,” Sam replied ungraciously. ‘“‘For my part, I would as lief Hang around this here place by myself.’ “It’s all very well for you to talk,’ Babette rejoined; “but you know very well that in your condition you could drop in the street at any time yet.” **Schmooes!’’ Sam cried. ‘I am walking by myself for sixty-five years yet and I guess I could continue to do it.” ““But Doctor Eichendorfer says ” Babette began. ““What do I care what Doctor Eichendorfer says!’’ Sam interrupted. ‘And, furthermore, supposing I would drop in the street —which anybody could slip oncet in a while on a banana peel, understand me—ain’t I got cards in my pocket?” Babette remained silent for a moment, whereat Sam plucked up new courage. “Why should you bother yourself to schlepp me along like this?” he said. ‘‘There’s lots of people I could go out with. Ain’t it? Take old man Herz oder Mrs. Krakauer they would be glad to go out walking with me; and oncet in a while I could go and call on Mrs. Schrimm maybe.” “Mrs. Schrimm!” Babette exclaimed. ‘I’m surprised to hear you talk that way. Mrs. Schrimm for years goes around telling everybody that mommer selig leads you a dawg’s life.” “Everybody’s got a right to their opinion, Babette,” Sam said; ‘‘but, anyhow, that ain’t here nor there. If you wouldn’t want me to go around and see Mrs, Schrimm I wouldn’t.” Babette snorted. “Tn the first place,”’ she said, ‘‘you couldn’t go unless I go with you; and, in the second place, you couldn’t get me to go there for a hundred dollars.” Beyond suggesting that a hundred dollars was a lot of money, Sam made no further attempt to secure his liberty that morning; but on the following day he discreetly called his daughter’s attention to a full-page advertisement in the morning paper. “‘Ain’t you was telling me the other evening you need to got some table napkins, Babette?” he asked. Babette nodded. “Well, here it is in the paper that new concern, Weldon, Jones & Company, is selling today napkins at three dollars a dozen —the best damask napkins,” he concluded. Babette seized the paper and five minutes later she was poking hatpins into her scalp with an energy that made Sam’s eyes water. ““Where are you going, Babette?”’ he said. “I’m going downtown to that sale of linens,’ she said, “and I'll be back to take you out at one o’clock.”’ “Don’t hurry on my account,” Sam said. “I’ve got enough here in the paper to keep me busy until tonight yet.” Five minutes later the basement door banged and Sam jumped to his feet. With the agility of a man half his age April 22,1911 he ran upstairs to the parlor floor and put on his hat and coat; and by the time Babette had turned the corner of Lenox Avenue Sam walked out of the areaway of his old- fashioned, three-story-and-basement, high-stoop residence on One Hundred and Eighteenth Street en route for Mrs. Schrimm’s equally old-fashioned residence on One Hun- dred and Twenty-seventh Street. There he descended the area steps; and finding the door ajar he walked into the basement dining room. “*Wie gehts, Mrs. Schrimm!”’ he cried cheerfully. “Qo-ee! What a Schreck you are giving me!” Mrs. Schrimm exclaimed. ‘This is Sam Gembitz, ain’t it?’ “Sure it is,” Sam replied. ‘‘Ain’t you afraid somebody is going to come in and steal something on you?” “That’s that girl again!’’ Mrs. Schrimm said as she bustled out to the areaway and slammed the door. ‘ That’s one of them Ungarischer girls, Mr. Gembitz, which all they could do is to eat up your whole ice-box empty and go out dancing on Bauern balls till all hours of the morning. Housework is something they don’t know nothing about at all. Well, Mr. Gembitz, | am hearing such tales about you—you are dying, and so on.” ““Warum Mister Gembitz?”’ Sam said. ‘“‘Ain’t you always called me Sam, Henrietta?” Mrs. Schrimm blushed. In the lifetime of the late Mrs. Gembitz she had béen a constant visitor at the Gembitz house, but under Babette’s chilling influence the friendship had withered until it was only a memory. “Why not?” she said. “I certainly know you long enough, Sam.” **Going on thirty-five years, Henrietta,’’ Sam said, “‘when you and me and Regina come over here together. Things is very different nowadays, Henrietta. Me, I am an old man already.” “What do you mean, old?”’ Mrs. Schrimm cried. “When my Grossvater selig was sixty-eight he gets married for the third time yet.” “Them old-timers was a different proposition entirely, Henrietta,’ Sam said. “If I would be talking about get- ting married, Henrietta, the least that happens to me is my children would put me in a lunatic asylum yet.” “Yow!” Mrs. Schrimm murmured skeptically. ““Wouldn’t they?”’ Sam continued. ‘“ Well, you could just bet your life they would. Why, I am sick only a couple weeks or so, Henrietta, and what do them boys do? They practically throw me out of my business yet and tell me I am retired.”’ “*And you let ’em?”’ Mrs. Schrimm asked. “What could I do?”’ Sam said. “I’m a sick man, Henrietta. Doctor Eichendorfer says I wouldn’t live a year yet.” “Doctor Eichendorfer says that!’’ Mrs. Schrimm rejoined. ‘And do you told me that you are taking Doctor Eichendorfer’s word for it?” “Doctor Eichendorfer is a Rosher, I admit,”’ Sam answered; ‘‘but he’s a pretty good doctor, Henrietta.” “For the gesund, yes,” Mrs. Schrimm admitted. ‘But if my cat would be sick, Sam, and Doctor Eichendorfer charges two cents a call yet, I wouldn’t have him in my house at all. I got too much respect “You are up to some monkey business here all of you!”’ he declared. ‘‘ What is it about?” Babette exchanged glances with Doctor Eichen- dorfer, who shrugged his shoulders in reply. “Well, if you want to know what it is, popper,” she said, “I'll tell you. You're a very sick man and the chances are you'll never go downtown again.”” Doctor Eichendorfer nodded his approval and Sam sat down again. “So we may as well tell you right out plain,” Babette continued; “the boys have given out to the trade that you've retired on account of sickness —and here it is in the paper and all.” She handed Sam a copy of the Daily Cloak and Suit Record and indicated with her finger an item headed “* Personals.”’ It read as follows: New Yorx.—-Samuel Gembitz, of 8S. Gembitz & Sons, whose serious illness was reported recently, has retired from the firm and the business will be carried on by Max wembitz, Lester Gembitz and Sidney Gembitz, under the style of Gembitz Brothers. As Sam gazed at the item the effect of one week's surreptitious feeding was set at naught, and once more Babette and Doctor Eichendorfer assisted him to his bed. That night he had neither the strength nor the inclination to make his accustomed:-raid on the ice-box, nor could he resist the administration of Doctor Eichendorfer’s tablets; so that the following day found him weaker than ever. It was not until another week had elapsed that his appetite began to assert itself; but when it did he convalesced rapidly. Indeed, at the end of the month, Doctor Eichen- dorfer permitted him to take short walks with Babetje. Gradually the length of these promen- ik for my cat,Sam. With that feller, as soon as he comes into the bedroom he says the patient is dying; because if the poor feller does die, under- stand me, then Eichendorfer is a good prophet, and if he gets better then Eichendorfer is a good doctor. He always fixes it so he gets the credit both ways. But you got to acknowledge one thing about that feller, Sam—he knows how to charge, Sam; and he’s a good collector. Every- body says so.” Sam nodded sadly. “T give you right about that,” he said. “‘And, furthermore,’’ Mrs. Schrimm began, “*he es Mrs. Schrimm proceeded no further, however, for the sound of a saucepan boiling over brought her suddenly to her feet and she dashed into the kitchen. Two minutes later a delicate, familiar odor assailed Sam’s nostrils and when Mrs. Schrimm returned she found him unconsciously licking his lips. “Yes, Sam,” she declared, ‘‘them Ungarischer girls is worser as nobody in the kitchen. Pretty near ruins my whole lunch and I got Mrs. Krakauer coming too. You know what a talker that woman is;. and if I would give her some- thing which it is a little burned, y’understand, the whole of New York hears about it.” **Well, Henrietta,’’ Sam said as he rose and seized his hat, ‘I must be going.” “Going!’’ Mrs. Schrimm cried. ‘‘ Why, you're only just coming. And besides, Sam, you are going to stop to lunch too.” “Lunch!” Sam exclaimed. ‘‘ Why, I don’t eat lunch no more, Henrietta. All the doctor allows me is crackers and milk.” ades increased until Babette found her entire forenoons monopolized by her father “Well,Popper, How De You Feel Today?" Continued on Page 46

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i J

I will not tell you where he lived; too much Already has been said: it would be spiteful Many unkind remarks are made by such

By Eugene Manlove Rhodes ‘niin:

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 NOW SHIBBOLETH

here; it is bitter. The wealthy and cul too many of them

As live in places far, far less delightful habitually spt — S _ en cis. Be this enough: it may be plainly stated, ILLUSTRATED BY GUSTAVUS Cc. WIDNEY terms of unqualified reproach and cor His mind was VERY highly cultivated. tempt; the wealthy and populous states of our wi song = spears = Uni are overgiven to referring to le favored HILE yet a very small boy I was persuaded 2 * id Populist states only by slur and slight. I to earnest and painstaking study of lan- | resented —deeply; let no one doubt it &Then tl! guage by hearing a report of a memorable ‘ original antagonizers become agonizers, go abou examination. Some of you may have seen it: , } wagging their heads and tearfully deploring the And the Gileadites took the passages of Jordan | ; tate of affairs brought about by their own tireles before the Ephraimites: and it was so, that when N effort ‘o sow Gragons’ teeth doubtless a those Ephraimites-which were escaped said, Let } ee pleasing occupation, but it may bring an ill harvest me go over; that the men of Gilead said unto 3 On my desk are three books. They are there b) him, Art thou an Ephraimite? If he said, Nay; - > | chance and not chosen to edge this feeble remo Then said they unto him, Say now Shibboleth: trance. On the contrary. a careful second read and he said Sibboleth: for he could not frame to 5 alt Chane etaniokadl tam Cas te Gan’ tole tine pronounce it right. Then they took him, and ' : iN ee Anerenipinacn ast eS ee ae ee — lew him at the passages of Jordan. . ome one rose >a point of order, like Abner De al . JUDGES 12 : 5, 6. oa of Angel's. For these books are typical of the Gil : ¥ eadite If there were no more of their kind they They were purists, I take it. be E would be charitably attributed to personal mis A , 5 ‘ A s \ t la il Forty-and-two thousand failed to pass. ‘ ihe - fortune, But there are thousands of the kind: and The Gileadites were a strong and vigorous stock. i a ’ ; the kind is recklessly mischievou Their spiritual descendants still keep sleepless ie Che three authors are scholars and gentlemen of watch at the passes of Jordan. True, they do not repute—one, at least, a name of nation-wide di now hold to the strict letter of the olden penalty t tinction. The books, one and all, are full of valu for lingual error, but they observe the spirit of it. . { | able and interesting matter, ably set forth; one and It is so. A ‘ 7 \ | *§ all, they are marred by unbelievable narrownes There will be need now for care to avoid miscon- FP ' ed < \ | by malignant rancor, by a haughty intolerance struction of the few and heartfelt ensuing remarks. a I b tan not only for verbal error, be it marked, but for Take the ‘‘shortened Italian a” for example—our NA 4 ~ iny usage differing from their own and for any old friend ‘“‘a.”” For my single self I like that . mode of life not conforming to their habits. One sound. One of my earliest ambitions was to have ™ baer y 6 6 Oh) book deals with English, severely; one with Words graven upon my tombstone this epitaph: ‘ Pass, ae Se and the third is a Life of Lincoln. Let us now take traveler, nor ask who lies beneath the grass”’ —per- ere a worm’s-eye view of the Essays on English, b: haps “sleeps beneath the grass’’ would be better. NOP , the chief among these three It improves the rhythm. PALIN i You are at once struck by the frequent recur- - an i rence of “this sort of person our sort and How to Detect Non-Bathers | y / “enlightened’’—his sort; in fact, he writes “En be ’ lightened” with a capital after he gets well warmed DO NOT foolishly dote upon either “‘a’’or its +—-}- —i—4- ; / to his worl ‘The Enlightened,” who have a variant ‘‘a,’’ you understand; but it seems to ‘ ; ’ ixth sense . . and that sublimated taste me that either of them is intrinsically a more | which makes of its possessors a very special class pleasing sound than the flat ““4”’—as in this same : ; f ‘This sort of person is almost as low as the word “flat.”” There are many who use this “Italian “\ Deeb . | , one , vith whom men and women are a’ sound naturally. Also properly. In such cases H. . a Vi always ladies and gentlemen He explains about it is good hearing. But when its use—or misuse— requires visible effort by the speaker and its de- livery leaves him with a startled air—makes him gasp, in fact the effect is spoiled. It has become a mincing affectation. And, in any case, I must and do hereby respectfully but firmly decline to consider that, if a man should ask me for a flask,* when he might say “flask,” he is thereby branded by either moral turpitude or social impossibility. Nor will the reverse hold true. Yet we have seen the statement that ‘‘when a man speaks of a bath it may properly be inferred that he seldom uses a bith.” And he said Sibboleth. And they slew him. You hear just such inferences every day, based on similar premises. It cannot be set forth too plainly, too early or too often, that the grievance which some of us hold against the Gil- eadite is not for what he says, but for the—objec- tionable—way he says it. He is frequently right in his contention. But wan- ton and offensive sneers do not precisely warm our heart to him or yet lead us to mend our ways. Just resentment for the preci- sian's contemptuous treat- ment of the erring but too often fosters a fond attach- ment fortheerror. I think these passwords will wither, L most of them; not because they deserve to perish, but because their proponents, with singular want of tact, urge them by heaping vitu- peration, abuse and insult upon the luckless tribes- 1 \ man. There is an old in- junction that we must ‘*hate the sin and not the sinner.” I fear we are in danger of reversing this by j hating the virtue as well as my the virtuous. Weare joined

“The Enlightened"’ Have a‘‘Sixth Sense . . mated Taste Which Makes of its Possessors a Very Special Class"

True, it is only a small minority of educated people that exhibits this Gileaditish spirit —else we uncultivated would grease the loud tumbrel and burn the colleges forthwith. But it is a voluble minority—a minority that loves to speak of itself as “‘cultured.”” The disdain of this paroxys- mal minority is not here exaggerated. It can hardly be exaggerated. Before we go on to consider some other test words, commonly propounded at the passes of Jordan, let me prove to you that this arrogance is past exaggeration For this is no slight matter. We hear much of “the menace of class consciousness, of sectional feeling.”’ It is

to our idols; let us alone. | . *Ammonia: for suakebite

He Was Raised a Pet and That Subli- pg ladies and gentlemen, then, adding naively that these are matters that “the unenlightened will not understand, even after everything has been ex plained,” heads over it. There is one phrase that seems pretty plain So there’s no need of puzzling our poor however ‘Whereas if a man sa that he was lunching with a ‘woman,’ there is a dangerous little implication which would not exist did he use the word ‘lady’ instead High Slang and Low HERE is another little iImpli« ition that might be made but let it pass. I must say, however, that some of u judge a man by his character as much as by his words; and when a man’s character cannot stand the strain of lunching itha ‘woman” heisina parlous state Any one who speaks of The Four Hundred is, by that very fact, to be ruled out of the ranks of those ho know anything at all.’ I 1) is a fool”’ would be ide Observe hovw udroitly he avoids it. He has tolerant pells, however “The slang of the clubs and of university rit j ilso quite consist ent with good taste.” It may be mentioned—but perhaps you have already ssed it —that he is nota bly a university man and a clubman. Just so. The metaphor- ical use of the phrases ‘‘to cro swords” and “to parry athrust”’ areelegant, reminiscent of the days when homicide was a fash ionable recreation. But the metaphorical use of De d-rock, : “rolling- hitch,” “cinch” and “‘ bal- ance earry with them low

Page 16

i4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST suggestions—of work. I do not wish to misrepresent our author or to garble his words. So I hasten to state that the distinctions made in this paragraph are quoted from another writer and that our own author may not approve of them. Judge for yourself. Here is a little extract in his happiest manner—and by this foot you may know this Hercules. “A slight provincial touch is given by the frequent use of ‘minister’ instead of ‘clergyman’; and when one refers to a clergyman as a ‘preacher,’ the case is hopeless.”” Noth- ing provincial about that, is there? Yet if one, hearing this single sentence and having no knowledge of the author save that sentence, could not go to the ten-acre map in Broad Street Station, Philadelphia, and put his unhesi- tating finger within one inch of that author’s home, one’s case would then be hopeless indeed. “There is another provincial usage out of which it is to be hoped the American people will, in the course of time, be educated.”’—-Did you get that? The usage of the American people is provincial: the usage of an insular or peninsular corner of America is not provincial. The part is greater than the whole.—‘*They’’—newspaper men “‘spoke of his wife, of course, as ‘Mrs. McKinley,’ but they always mentioned his aged mother as ‘Mother McKinley.’ This was provincial and disgusting to a degree; and it is surprising that no one ever reverted to the dignified New England usage, which would have mentioned the dowager as ‘Madam MckKinley.’”’ A Promise for Gileadites HERE! He told you himself! I was afraid he would. Anyhow, I didn’t tell. And we have gained one advan- tage. After this, we can have no doubt as to the exact meaning of the word “provincial.’’ Anything is “‘provincial’’ that does not conform to New England usage. We have it from his own mouth. We are on firm ground now. “T should hardly have thought it necessary to recall this detestable bit of social ignorance,”’ he proceeds, “had not President McKinley himself been guilty of it during a journey of his through the South. . . . Now this form of speech is not only crude and wholly alien to the little touches which give distinction, but its mental sug- gestions are unpleasant, since it is a form of speech that suggests Mother Goose and Mother Bunch, and brings to mind some wrinkled, blear-eyed beldam—a wizened crone, a raucous hag.” These are wild and whirling words, my masters! It doesn’t matter so much about us. You and I are no better than we should be and our shoulders are broad. But Uncle John, and Aunt Mary, and Mother Anderson, who helped us when little Jimmie died —to have them and their speech held up to contempt and derision!—it hurts, I tell you! It rankles. They were kind and good and loving; they are not “disgusting” to our memories. Nor is Mother Goose, for that matter. “But the low men hold to English, and to their kindred speech yet: I ween there be net men in world-countries none, that hold not to their kindred speech.” So says Robert of Gloucester, and so say I— and despise not the kindred who use that kindly speech. If it is not long since clear that I, now remon- strating, am but a rude, crude, rough, low and brootal person, unmistakably plebeian—just a plain, provincial American of no sublimated, very special caste the fact is now expressly declared. I will also here state and proclaim that, if any healthy and sane he-Gileadite, between the ages of twenty and fifty, not more than ten pounds lighter or over forty pounds heavier than myself, shall, in my presence, ven- ture to direct his insolence at these kindly, dim- eyed Ephraimite kindred of mine, I’m going to hit him once, “in Holyrood or Courts of Heaven.” That’s the sort of person Iam. If I subsequently have to say ‘“‘Good mawnin’, judge!” or ‘ Doctor, kow long do you s’pose it'll be before I can get around again?’’— why, I'll try to say it cheerfully. Yes, sir. Not going to make any litt'e decla- mation before I rebuke him, either. For all these insults thou hast offered here, Receive my answer —'tis my flying spear! Folks that use that kind of wit should expect fitting repartee. He may strut and swell all he wants to, he may abuse me as long as it amuses him; but those “blear eyes” are faded with tears, those wrinkles are scars of Armageddon fight: he must teach his tongue to speak respect- fully of them, or teach his hands to keep his head. It doesn’t matter about the rest of us. Curiously enough, however much a person of this sort looks down on us, we never look up to him; it doesn’t occur to us. | “Mother” called out all his rancor. Here is some more about it. Mr. McKinley said *‘mother” himself ‘‘ Mother’ Hobson. “And when Mr. McKinley adopted it, it was so out of keep- ing . . . astoresemble the speech of one whose evenings in early youth were spent in some small, backwoods coun- try ‘store,’ in the society of those who pendulously dangle their loutish legs over the sides of an empty cracker barrel.” Let us get back to earth. It may be well to remember that in just such a small country store Abraham Lincoln was wont to pendulously dangle his loutish legs; and that the work well done for their country and for all humanity by those who, in their early youth, so dangled — pendulously dangled —their loutish legs in just such detestable places, so far outweighs anything done by dilettanti, pendulously dangling their loutish legs from easy chairs in any club or any university, that no one—not even themselves — has ever felt the necessity of comparison. By-the-way, how could one dangle his or her loutish legs except pendulously? I have pendulously dangled my loutish legs frequently, both from easy chairs and cracker barrels, empty or full—full cracker barrels, I mean—in large stores and in small; but never, to my knowledge, have I dangled my loutish legs like a steeple, for instance, or a yardarm, or a nebular hypothesis. I must try it, sometime. Always to dangle one’s loutish legs pendulously shows deplorable lack of initiative. This saddens one. It is enough to sadden a dozen. If the net result of a college education is to have erected, by the toil of years, and possibly by the self-denial of one’s father and mother—of one’s paternal and maternal ancestors—a tall, giddy and tolerably useless pedestal, whereon one is to sit for the remainder of one’s life in close observation of one’s personal pulchritude, like a bronze Buddha contemplating—like an introspective bronze Buddha, then—let it go at that—why, then—er— ah! Let’s see. This statement seems a bit mixed. Oh, yes! Then, if sending our boys to college leads to such self-loving attitude, in Heaven’s name, let’s not send ’em! No—that would be a cowardly evasion. Foolish too, remembering the millions of kindly folks who remain kindly, fair-minded, considerate and just, though educated. Rather let us club together, we rough men, to endow in every school Chairs of Common Sense and of The Relative Proportion of Things—and get the best men to fill them. The junior editor, reading this MS. as he dangles his loutish legs from the windowseat, says that I am all wrong; that the critic doesn’t object to the word “‘mother,” save as applied to dowagers, in lieu of “madam.” But I maintain that there is not and never can be anything ‘“‘disgusting’’ in any use of the word “‘mother”’; that it is the noblest and sweetest word in the language. ‘‘ Mother is growing old,” a man says of his wife; or, to her, “Mother, how long since Charley Hilman went West?” So misused, the word is the final endearment. It is even conceivable that a general—a general who pro- tected his soldiers against embalmed meats and pasteboard “This is the Sort of Person Also Who . . . Wears a Celluloid Coliar and Eats Peas With a Knife*’ April 22,1911 shoes and their own weakness, for example—might be called “‘mother” by campfires: just as certain fellows of the baser sort, who stood with Thomas at Chicka- mauga, spoke of that gallant soldier as ‘“‘Pap’’ Thomas. You would infer, in such a case, that ‘‘mother”’ was a symbol of trust and affection—not of disgust or belittle- ment. But, if the general werecalled Madam ... ? “‘A person who addresses a physician affably as ‘Doc,’ and who . . .. will speak of him as being ‘raised’ in such-and-such a place—this is the sort of person also who . . . wears a celluloid collar and eats peas with a knife.” Missed me that time! I never eat peas. But, if a man who wears celluloid collars addresses a physician affably as “Doe,” what would a man who wears a flannel shirt be affably apt to call him? Sawbones, maybe. Yet the best- loved man of this generation said, as he lay dying: “Pull up the curtain, Doc; I’m afraid to go home in the dark.” “The unenlightened’”—and uncapitalized —‘‘ person .- « «+ may use the expression ‘Between you and I,’ just as he may, if he is very benighted, say ‘You was.’ These slips are to be expected from those who describe a housemaid as ‘the girl,’ which is, of course, not quite so bad as to speak of her as ‘the help,’ but is, nevertheless, the linguistic earmark of a class—the class that splits its infinitives and thinks that Fonetik Refawm is scholarly.” This is respectfully referred to the Fonetik Refawmers, with the query whether a “help” is really a housemaid unless she wears a cap as a sort of badge of servility. “The enlightened person may, however, speak of ‘those sort of things.’’”’ Here follows a list of things that an enlightened person may say, ending with: ‘‘when very colloquial indeed, ‘It is me!’”’ I judge that he does these permissible things himself, maybe. “A vulgarism,’”’—h-ia-ouse —‘‘which, when they use it in the presence of a cultivated Englishman, ranks them at once in his mind with the caddish and the ignorant.” Caddishness and ignorance are one and inseparable, it seems. We had not known this. ‘Persons of this sort present as pathetic a spectacle to the Enlightened as do those who, in employing the broad ‘a’ because it is so English, introduce it ignorantly into words where the English never use it; saying, for example, ‘fawncey’ for ‘fancy,’ in which the educated Englishman always sounds the ‘a’ as flatly as any Philadelphian.”’ Philadelphia is provincial, you see. Pretty much all the United States is provincial south and west of a given point. As you now note, that point is north of Philadelphia. My own idea. is that the given point lies somewhere between Stapleton and St. George—or at the Statue of Liberty, maybe. That would be a good place to fix it. Even so, there would be many unrefined people within the pale. “To receive a letter containing such words as ‘ Xmas,’ ‘tho’,’ ‘photo.’ and ‘rec’d’ affects one’’—It affects one very badly indeed. I spare you the unpleasant details. Such letters ‘are usually written by the sort of men who sign their names in such abbre- viated forms as ‘Geo.,’ ‘Wm.,’ ‘Chas.,’ ‘Jas.’ and ‘Jno.’” This is the method of Lady Grove, to quote Mr. Chesterton: ‘To terrify people from doing quite harmless things by telling them that if they do they are the kind of people who would do other things, equally harmless.” Go., Benja. and Dan't ET us look into this. I find, from the volume nearest at hand—and I mean by that the first and only work consulted —that of the fifty- five who pledged their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor to the Declaration of Inde- pendence, no less than thirty signed with just such atrocious and detestable contractions. That is the sort of persons they were. Jefferson signed ‘Th.’ Franklin wrote it “‘Benja.’’ Of the Con- stitution framers, the immortal Geo. did not even stop at Geo. Hesigned it ‘‘Go.”’—just like that! Seventeen of the thirty-nine followed his noxious example by other low abbreviations. One even stooped to “ Dan’l.” We are reminded of the devil demanding cre- dentials from Tomlinson—and that is another pathetie spectacle: ““*You have read, you have heard, you have thought,’ quoth he. ‘God’s mercy! what ha’ y’ done?’” You see plainly, Jas., that our author was trying to impose upon us merely his personal preference about ‘‘Wm.” and “‘Chas.”’ It is not a matter of good taste or poor taste; it is only a } | matter of his taste or your taste. It is not always Y i so easy to see that such is the case as in this | instance; but that is about what he aims at all F 4 along. Even when he is right, his ferocity defeats coal his purpose —if his purpose were indeed to better our speech, which is hereby doubted. Take this paper, for instance — which might have been the i atlantis

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— noone | 1) | | ) ; | most limpid Addisonian English, had it not heen—were it not —only he got me all riled up! Another little footprint. He says: “I have always felt a genuine admiration for those among my correspondents who write out everything in full: as, for example, ‘January the twenty-eighth,’ ‘Seven hundred and sixty-three, Albemarle Avenue,’ and soon. There is a certain aristocratic suggestion of leisure about this sort of thing that appeals to me and that is thoroughly consistent.” You see? Nobility and gentry—that sort of thing. People of leisure, uncontaminated by work. Yet there is such a thing as having leisure for too much letter-writing. I don’t think I am unfair to this man. This book of his—which might otherwise have been valuable —is stained throughout by like narrowness and intolerance. Here is a bit of unconscious autobiography: “But who of us would not be willing to spend three hours a day in dining properly chez Voisin, rather than to save two hours and fifty-five minutes of that time by furtively gobbling a plate of corned-beef hash in a John Street beanery?”’ He spells it out in full, you notice—even John Street. There is a certain air of aristocratic leisure about this sort of thing that appeals to one. Doesn’t it? John Street, I gather, is a very low place indeed. Folk work there, possibly. Don’t turn away, Wm. Look me in the eye. I trust you have never furtively gobbled a plate of corned-beef hash in a Jno. St. beanery. I never have But I will. If ever I find out where Jno. St. is—and information is hereby requested—I will hie me to a beanery, pendulously dangle my loutish legs from a stool and furtively gobble a plate of corned-beef hash. Just to preserve my self-respect. I do not like corned-beef hash “Very likely there are members of the American Philological Association who habitually eat peas with their knives and perhaps drink out of fingerbowls; but their example will hardly result in the establishment of a new social canon.” You mustn’t cross him; he was raiseda pet. Hedoes not wait to find out your name, yourstation, your dwelling place or your destination—or even if HEN Flambeau took his month’s holi- day from his office in Westminster he took it in a small sailing boat, so small that it passed much of its time as a rowing boat. He took it, moreover, in little rivers in the eastern counties—rivers so small that the boat looked like a magic boat sailing on land through meadows and corn- fields. The vessel was just comfortable for two people. There was room only for necessities and Flambeau had stocked it with such things as his special philosophy con- sidered necessary. They reduced themselves apparently to four essentials: tins of salmon, if he should want to eat; loaded revolvers, if he should want to fight; a bottle of brandy, presumably in case he should faint; and a priest, presumably in case he should die. With this light lug- gage he crawled down the little Norfolk rivers, intending to reach the Broads at last, but meanwhile delighting in the overhanging gardens and meadows, the mirrored mansions or villages; lingering to fish in the pools and corners, and in some sense hugging the shore. Like a true philosopher, Flambeau had no aim in his holiday; but, like a true philosopher, he had an excuse. He had a sort of half purpcse, which he took just so seri- ously that its success would crown the holiday, but just so lightly that its failure would not spoil it. Years ago, when he had been a king of thieves and the most famous figure in Paris, he had often received wild communications of approval, denunciation and even love; but one had somehow stuck in his memory. It consisted simply of a visiting-card, in an envelope with an English postmark. On the back of the card was written in French and in green ink: “If you ever retire, and become respectable, come and see me. I want to meet you, for I have met all the other great men of my time. That trick of yours, ef getting one detective to arrest the other, was the most splendid scene in French history.”’ On the front of the card was engraved, in the formal fashion: ‘Prince Saradine, Reed House, Reed Island, Norfolk.” He had not troubled much about the prince then, beyond ascertaining that he had been a brilliant and fashionable figure in southern Italy. In his youth, it was said, he had eloped with a married woman of high rank. ILLvuU you are areal person. A purely supposititious person who supposititiously fails to agree with his notions on any subject, however unimportant, is at once questioned as to motives, breeding, morals, family and color, and becomes the target for the cheap and easy satire that belittles its object less than it degrades the user; and that displays precisely so much wit as is shown withal by pressing the tip of one’s thumb to the tip of one’s nose and wiggling one’s derisive fingers with a certain aristocratic suggestion of leisure. He doesn’t like this Philological Association. On ques- tions of taste, he says, it is “‘entitled to speak with no more weight than the Ancient Order of Hibernians or the Knights of Labor.”’ To prove it he tells this anecdote: **Some time ago one of our most distinguished classical professors was asked why he never attended any of the meetings of the American Philological Association; and he replied, with an air of unutterable boredom: ‘Oh because, if I go, I shall have to meet so many persons who wear black trousers!’”’ That is conclusive. We may now pass on to settle other vexed subjects. “*T used to open it and put it aside under the impression that it was a publication in the Magyar or Polish or We are Justa Trifie Sheepish Over Our Own Biatant Vindictiveness 3°) ————- ©) UNABRIDGED b DICTIONARY STRATED Br WILt F. The escapade was scarcely startling in his social world, but it had clung to men’s minds because of an additional tragedy —the alleged suicide of the insulted husband, who appeared to have flung himself over a precipice in Sicily. The prince then lived in Vienna for a time, but his more recent years seemed to have been passed in perpetual and restless travel. When Flambeau, like the prince himself, had left European celebrity and settled in England it occurred to him that he might pay a surprise visit to this eminent exile in the Norfolk Broads. Whether he should find the place he had no idea; and, indeed, it was suffi- ciently small and forgotten. As things fell out, he found it much sooner than he expected. They had moored their boat one night under a bank veiled in high grasses and short pollarded trees. Sleep, after heavy sculling, had come to them early and by a cor- responding accident they awoke before it was light. To speak more strictly, they awoke before it was daylight, for a lemon moon was only just setting in the forest of high grass above their heads and the sky was of a vivid violet-blue, nocturnal but bright. Both men had simul- taneously a reminiscence of childhood, of the elfin and adventurous time when tall weeds close over us like wood. Standing up thus against the large, low moon, the daisies really seemed to be giant daisies, the dandelions to be giant dandelions. Somehow it reminded them of the dado of a nursery wall paper. The drop of the riverbed sufficed to sink them under the roots of all shrubs and flowers and make them gaze upward at the grass. “By Jove!” said Flambeau. “It’s like being in fairyland.” Father Brown sat bolt upright in the boat and crossed himself. His movement was so abrupt that his friend asked him, with a mild stare, what was the matter. “The people who wrote the medieval ballads,”’ answered the priest, “‘knew more about fairies than you do. It isn’t only nice things that happen in fairyland.” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 15 Czechish tongue, brought out for the benefit of those interesting aliens who inhabit that portion of the country and who, when they are not engaged in organizing strikes, amuse themselves by assassinating one another—a most laudable occupation, in which I am sure no judicious person would ever be anxious to discourage them.” It was not a publication in any of these tongues, mind you. That was merely his impression. He was not dis cussing Magyars, Poles or Czechs. But he was not one to let his light be hidden under a bushel. Accordingly he abandoned his discourse to give us his profound and well considered views on those aliens and upon the labor question, And yet, Thos., there are times when I realize how thi sort of person feels, and sympathize with him. There i a Spanish adjective, ‘“‘bronco,"’ meaning rough, coarse crusty, crabbed, rude—and also hoarse, harsh to the ear On the English tongue il becomes a noun meaning a horse; a rough, coarse, crusty, crabbed, rude and boisterou horse—a horse of no refinement And there is a sort of person who spells it “broncho.”” There are some ninety millions of such persons in this country alone. Probably the secondary meaning of the word, of hoarse or harsh deceived them. They seem to think that a bronco is a horse afflicted with bronchitis, hay fever or phth—asthma then It is very annoying to me that thi obstinate unreasonable ninety million will persist in this provincial and disgusting usage, instead of conforming to the New Mexican standard I do not hesitate to infer, believe and aftirm that this sort of person eats peas with his knife wears a celluloid collar and black trousers; is guilty of perjury, piracy on the high eas, bribery and corruption does not write out his name date and address in full; beats the hotels and his wife, or Wives; tips his glass, but not the waiter; gambles, wins quotes Mother Goose; pendu lously dangles his loutish legs and furtively gobbles a piate of corned-beef hash in a John Street beanery maybe and work t Continued on Page 28 ims of Prince Saradine By G. KK. CHESTERTON FOSTER “Oh, bosh!” said Flambeau. “Only nice things could happen under such an innocent moon. Iam for pushing on now and seeing what does really come. We may die and rot before we ever see again such a moon—or such a mood.’ **All right,”’ said Father Brown. “I never said it wa always wrong to enter fairyland I only said it wa always dangerous.” They pushed slowly up the brightening river. The glowing violet of the sky, the pale gold of the moon, grew fainter and fainter and faded into that vast colorles cosmos that precedes the colors of the dawn When the first faint stripes of red and gold and gray split the horizon from end to end they were broken by the black bulk of a town or village, which sat on the river just ahead of them. It was already an easy twilight, in which all things were visible, when they came under the hanging roofs and bridges of this riverside hamlet. The houses, with their long, low stooping roofs, seemed to come down to drink at the river like huge gray and red cattle. The broadening and whitening dawn had aiready turned to working daylight before they saw any living creature on the wharves and bridges of that silent town. Eventually they saw a very placid and prosperous man in his shirtsleeves, with a face as round as the recently sunken moon and rays of red whiskers around the low are of it, who was leaning on a post above the sluggish tide. By an impulse not to be analyzed, Flambeau rose to his full height in the swaying boat and shouted at the man to ask if he knew Reed Island or Reed House. The prosperous man’s smile grew slightly more expansive and he simply pointed up the river toward the next bend of it. Flambeau went ahead without further speech. The boat took many such grassy corners and followed many such reedy and silent reaches of river; but before the search had become monotonous they had swung round a specially sharp angle and had come into the silence of a sort of pool or lake, the sight of which instinctively arrested them; for in the middle of this wider piece of water, fringed on every side with rushes, lay a long, low islet, along which ran a long, low house or bungalow, built of bamboo or some kind of tough tropic cane. The

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16 THE SATURDAY EVENING upstanding rods of bamboo that made the walls were pale yellow, the sloping rods that made the roof were of darker red or brown; other- wise the long house was a thing of repetition and monotony. The early morning breeze rustled the reeds round the island and sang in the strange ribbed house as in a giant pan-pipe. “By George!" cried Flambeau; “here is the place after all. Here is Reed Island if ever there was one. Here is Reed House if it is anywhere. I believe that fat man with whiskers was a fairy.” “Perhaps,” remarked Father Brown impartially. “If he was he was a bad fairy.” Even as he spoke the impetuous Flambeau had run his boat ashore in the rattling reeds and they stood on the long, quaint islet, beside the odd and siient house. The house stood with its back as it were to the river and the only landing stage; the main entrance was on the other side and looked down the long island garden. The visitors approached it, therefore, by a small path running round nearly three sides of the house, close under the Through three different windows on three different sides they looked in on the same long, well-lit roem, paneled in light wood, with a large number of looking-glasses, and laid out as for an elegant lunch. The low eaves. front door, when they came round to it at last, was flanked by two turquoise- blue flower-pots. It was opened by a butler of the drearier type, long, lean, gray and listless, who murmured that Prince Saradine was away from home at present, but was expected hourly—the house being kept ready for him and his guests. The exhibition of the card with the scrawl of green ink awoke a flicker of life in the parchment face of this depressed retainer; and it was with a certain shaky courtesy that he suggested the strangers should remain. “His highness may be here any minute,” he said, “‘and would be distressed to have just missed any gentleman he had invited. We have orders always (oO keep a little cold lunch for him and his friends, and I am sure he would wish it to be offered.” Moved with curiosity to this minor adventure, Flambeau assented gracefully and followed the old man, who ushered him ceremoniously into the long, lightly paneled room. There was nothing notable about it except the rather unusual alternation of many long, low windows with many long, low oblongs of looking-glass, which gave a singular air of lightness and unsubstantialness to the room. It was somehow like lunching out of doors. One or two pictures of a quiet kind hung in the corners —one a large gray photograph of a very young man in uniform; another a Asked by Flambeau whether the soldierly person was the prince, he butler answered shortly in the negative. It was the prince’s younger brother, ( aptain Stephen Saradine, red chalk sketch of two long haired boys. he said; and with that the old man seemed to dry up uddenly and lose all taste for conversation. After lunch had tailed off with exquisite coffee and liqueurs, the guests were introduced to the garden, the library and the housekeeper —a dark, handsome lady, of no little majesty and rather like a Plutonic madonna. It appeared that she and the butler were the only survivors of the prince’s original foreign ménage, all the other servants now in the house being new and collected in Norfolk by the housekeeper. This lady went by the name Of Mrs. Anthony, but she spoke with a slight Italian accent and Flambeau did not doubt that Anthony was a Norfolk version of some more Latin name. Mr. Paul, the butler, also had a faintly foreign air, but he was in tongue and training English, as are many of the most polished menseryants of the cosmopolitan n-bility. Pretty and unique as it was, the place nad about it a Hours passed in it like days. The long, well-windowed rooms were full of daylight, but curious luminous sadness. it seemed a dead daylight; and through all other incidental noises —the sound of talk, the clink of glasses or the pass- ing feet of servants’ —they could hear on all sides of the house the melancholy. noise of the river. ‘We have taken a wrong turning and come to a wrong place,” said Father Brown, looking out of the window at the gray-green sedges and the silver flood. ‘*‘ Never mind. One can sometimes do good by being the right person in the wrong place.” Father Brown, though commonly silent, was an oddly ympathetic littlke man; and in those few but endless hours he unconsciously sank deeper into the secrets of He Had Little Mervous Tricks, Like a Man Shaken by Drink or Drugs teed House than his professional friend. He had that knack of friendly silence which is so.essential to gossip; and, saying scarcely a word, he probably obtained from his new acquaintances all that in any case they would have told. The butler, indeed, was naturally uncommunica- tive. He betrayed a sullen and almost animal affection for his master, who, he said, had been very badly treated. The chief offender seemed to be his highness’ brother, whose name alone would lengthen the old man’s lantern jaws and pucker his parrot nose into a sneer. Captain Stephen was a ne’er-do-well, apparently, and had drained his benevolent brother of hundreds and thousands, forced him to fly from fashionable life and live quietly in this retreat. That was all Paul the butler would say, and Paul was Obviously a partisan. The Italian housekeeper was somewhat more communi- cative, being —as Brown fancied —somewhat less content. Her tone about her master was faintly acid, though not without a certain awe. Flambeau and his friend were standing in the room of the looking-glasses, examining the red sketch of the two boys, when the housekéeper swept in swiftly on some domestic errand. It was a peculiarity of this glittering, glass-paneled place that any one entering was reflected in four or five mirrors at once. Father Brown, without turning round, stopped in the middle of a sentence of family criticism; but Flambeau, who had his face close up to the picture, was already saying in a loud voice: “*The brothers Saradine, I suppose. They both look innocent enough. It would be hard to say which is the good brother and which the bad.”” Then, realizing the lady’s presence, he turned the conversation with some triviality and strolled out into the garden; but Father Brown still gazed steadily at the red crayon sketch —and Mrs. Anthony still gazed steadily at Father Brown. She had large and tragic brown eyes, and her olive face glowed darkly with a curious and painful wonder, as of one doubtful of a stranger’s identity or purpose. Whether the little priest’s coat and creed touched some Southern memories of confession, or whether she fancied he knew more than he did, she said to him in a low voice, as to a fellow plotter: ‘He is right enough in one way—your friend. He says it would be hard to pick out the good and the bad brother. Oh, it would be hard —it would be mighty hard — to pick out the good one.” “] don’t understand you,” said Father Brown; and he began to move away. The woman took a step nearer to him, with thunderous brows and a sort of savage stoop, like a bull lowering his hort POST April 22,1911 “There isn’t a good one!”’ she hissed. “There was badness enough in the captain’s taking all that money; but I don’t think there was much good- ness in the prince’s giving it. The captain’s not the only one with some- thing against him.” A light dawned on the cleric’s averted face and his mouth formed soundlessly the word “blackmail.” Even as he did so the woman turned an abrupt white face over her shoulder and almost fell. The door had opened soundlessly and the pale Paul stood like a ghost in the doorway. By the weird trick of the reflecting walls it seemed as if five Pauls had entered by five doors simultaneously. “His highness has just arrived,” he said. In the same flash the figure of a man had passed outside the first window, crossing the sunlit pane like a lighted stage. An instant later he passed at the second window; that and the third window and the many mirrors repainted in successive frames the same eagle profile and marching figure. He was erect and alert, but his hair was white and his complexion of an odd ivory yellow. He had that short, curved Roman nose which generally goes with long, lean cheeks and chin, but these were partly masked by a mustache and imperial. The mustache was much darker than the beard, giving an effect slightly theatrical; and he was dressed up to the same dashing part, having a white top hat, an orchid in his coat, a yellow waistcoat, and yellow gloves which he flapped and swung as he walked. When he came round to the front door they heard the stiff Paul open it and heard the new arrival say cheerfully: ‘‘ Well, you see I have come.” ‘The stiff Mr. Paul bowed and answered in his inaudible manner; for a few minutes their conversation could not be heard. Then the butler said: “Everything is at your disposal’’; and the glove-flapping Prince Saradine came gayly into the room to greet them. They beheld once more that spectral scene—five princes entering a room with five doors. The prince put the white hat and yellow gloves on the table and offered his hand quite cordially. “Delighted to see you here, Mr. Flambeau,” he said. “Know you very well by reputation—if that’s not an indiscreet remark.” “Not at all,” answered Flambeau, laughing. “I am not sensitive. Few reputations are gained by unsullied virtue.” The prince flashed a sharp look at him to see if the retort had any personal point; then he laughed also and offered chairs to every one, including himself. “Pleasant little place, this, I think,” he said with a detached air. ‘* Not much to do, I fear; but the fishing is really good.” The priest, who was staring at him with the grave stare of a baby, was haunted by some fancy that escaped definition. He looked at the gray, carefully curled hair, yellow-white visage and slim, somewhat foppish figure These were not unnatural, though perhaps a shade prononcé, like the outfit of a figure behind the footlight The nameless interest lay in something else—in the very framework of the face. Brown was tormented with a half memory of having seen it somewhere before. The man looked like some old friend of his dressed up. Then he suddenly remembered the mirrors and put his fancy down to some psychological effect of that multiplication of human masks. Prince Saradine distributed his social attentions between his guests with great gayety and tact. Finding the detect- ive of a sporting turn and eager to employ his holiday, he guided Flambeau and Flambeau's boat down to the best fishing spot in the stream and was back in his own canoe in twenty minutes to join Father Brown in the library and plunge equally politely into the priest’s more philosophic pleasures. He seemed to know a great deal about both the fishing and the books, though of these not the most edify- ing; he spoke five or six languages, though chiefly the slang of each. He had evidently lived in many cities and very motley societies, for some of his cheerfulest stories were about gambling hells and opium dens, Australian bushrangers or Italian brigands. Father Brown knew that the once celebrated Saradine had spent his last few years in almost ceaseless travel, but he had not guessed that the travels were so disreputable or so amusing. Indeed, with all his dignity of a man of the world, Prince Saradine radiated—to such sensitive observers as the priest —a certain atmosphere of the restless and even the unreliable. His face was fastidious but his eye was mild. He had little nervous tricks, like a man shaken by drink or drugs; and he neither had nor professed to have his hand = és —— Te a ap at oat atop ares CP Re —

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on the helm of household affairs. All these were left to the two old servants, especially to the butler, who was plainly the central pillar of the house. Mr. Paul, indeed, was not so much a butler as a sort of steward or even chamberlain: he dined privately but with almost as much pomp as his master; he was feared by all the servants; and he con- sulted with the prince decorously but somewhat unbend- ingly —rather as if he were the prince’s solicitor. The somber housekeeper was a mere shadow in comparison. Indeed, she seemed to efface herself and wait only on the butler; and Brown heard no more of those voleanic whis- pers which had half told him of the younger brother who blackmailed the elder. Whether the prince was really being thus bled by the absent captain, he could not be cer- tain; but there was something insecure and secretive about Saradine that made the tale by no means incredible. When they went once more into the long hall with the windows and the mirrors, yellowing evening was dropping over the waters and the willowy banks; and a bittern sounded in the distance, like an elf upon his dwarfish drum. The same singular sentiment of some sad and evil fairy land crossed the priest’s mind again like a little gray cloud. ‘‘I wish Flambeau were back,” he muttered. ‘Do you believe in doom?” asked the restless Prince Saradine suddenly. “No,” answered his guest. ‘I believe in Doomsday.” The prince turned from the window and stared at him in a singular manner, his face in shadow against the sunset. **What do you mean?” he asked. ‘*T mean that here we are on the wrong side of the tap- estry,”’ answered Father Brown. ‘The things that happen here do not seem to mean anything; they mean some- thing somewhere else. Somewhere else retribution will come on the real offender. Here it often seems to fall on the wrong person.” The prince made an inexplicable noise like an animal's; in his shadowed face the eyes were shining queerly. A new and shrewd thought exploded silently in the other’s mind. Was there another meaning in Saradine’s blend of brilliancy and abruptness? Was the prince —was he per- fectly sane? He was repeating, ‘‘The wrong person—the wrong person!’ many more times than was natural in a social exclamation. Then Father Brown awoke tardily to a second truth. In the mirrors before him he could see the silent door standing open—and the silent Mr. Paul standing in it, with his usual pallid impassiveness. “TI thought it better to announce at once,”’ he said, with the same stiff respectfulness as of an old family lawyer; ‘*‘a boat rowed by six men has come to the landing stage and there’s a gentleman sitting in the stern.” “*A boat!’ repeated the prince --‘‘ A gentleman?” —and he rose to his feet. There was a startled silence, punctuated only by the odd noise of the bird in the sedge; then, before any one could speak again, a new face and figure passed in profile round the three sunlit windows, as the prince had passed an hour or two before; but, except for the accident that both out- lines were aquiline, they had little in common. Instead of the new white topper of Saradine there was a black one of antiquated or foreign shape; under it Was a young and very solemn face, clean shaven, blue about its resolute chin and carrying a faint suggestion oi the young Napoleon. The association was assisted by something old and odd about the whole getup—as of a man who had never troubled to change the fashions of his fathers. He had a shabby blue trock coat, a red soldierly looking waistcoat and a kind of coarse white trou- sers, common among the early Victorians but strangely incon- gruoustoday. From all this old-clothes shop his olive face stood out strangely young and mon- strously sincere. “The deuce!” said Prince Saradine; and clapping on his THE SATURDAY EVENING

white hat he went to the front door himself, flinging it open on the sunset garden. By that time the newcomer and his followers were drawn up on the lawn like a small stage army. The six boatmen had pulled the boat well up on the shore and were guarding it almost menacingly, holding their oars erect like spears. They were swarthy men and some of them wore earrings. One of them stood forward beside the olive-faced young man in the red waistcoat and carried a large black case of unfamiliar shape. “Your name,” said the young man, “is Saradine?” Saradine assented rather negligently. The newcomer had dull, doglike brown eyes, as different as possible from the restless and glittering gray eyes of the prince. Once again Father Brown was tortured with a sense of having seen somewhere a replica of the face and once again he remembered the repetitions ol the glas paneled room—and put down the coincidence to th **Confound this crystal palace!"’ he muttered One see everything too many times. It’s like a dream.” “Tf you are Saradine,” said the young man you that my name is Antonelli.”’ “Antonelli,” repeated the Prince languidly —‘‘some- how I remember the name.” **Permit me to present myself,” said the young Italian With his left hand he politely took off his old-fashioned top hat; with his right he caught Prince Saradine so ring- ing a crack across the face that the white top hat rolled down the steps and one of the blue flower-pots rocked upon its pedestal. The prince, whatever he was, was evidently not a cow- ard; he sprang at his enemy’s throat and almost bore him backward on the grass. But his enemy extricated himself with a singularly inappropriate air of hurried politeness. “That is all right,’ he said, panting and in halting English. “I have insulted. I will give satisfaction Marco, open the case.” The man beside him, with the « arrings and the big blach case, proceeded to unlock it. He took out of it Italian rapiers, with splendid steel hilts and blades, which he planted point downward in the lawn. The strange young man standing facing the entrance with his yellow and vindictive face, the two swords standing up in the turf like two crosses in a cemetery, and the line of the ranked rowers behind gave it all an odd appearance being some barbaric court of justice. Everything else was unchanged, so sudden had been the irruption. gold still glowed on the lawn and the bittern still boomed as announcing some small but dreadful destiny. **Prince Saradine,” said the man called Antonelli, ‘‘ when I was an infant in the cradle you killed my father and stole my mother; my father was the more fortunate. You did not kill him fairly, as I am going to kill you. You and my wicked mother took him driving to a lonely pass in Sicily, flung him down a cliff and went on your way. I could imitate you if I chose; but imitating you is too vile. I have followed you all over the world and you have always fled from me. But this is the end of the world —and of I may tell two long

POST you. I have you now ind I give you the chance you

never gave my father. Choose one of those swords!’ Prince Saradine, with contracted brows, seemed to hes tate a momen but his « were still singing with the blow and he sprang forward and snatched at once at the Father Brown had also sprung forward, striving to compose the dispute; but he soon found his perso resence made matters worse Saradine was i he law of contrane nor layman moved him at a Bonaparte lace sterner than a Puritan from the morning of the earth aman of stone One hope rem and Father Brown however, that all the under servants had been given a holiday ashore somber Mrs rooms. But the him he solved one of the riddles of the house of mirror The heavy brown eyes of Antonelli were the heavy brown eyes of Mrs. Anthony This was the wife that had fled with Saradine and left ar avenger in the cradle ‘Your son is outside,”” he said, without wasting words “Either he or the prince will be killed Paul?” “He is at the ‘He is—-he is river fishing. Your son's boat is guarded by your son’ men. There is only one 7 with it Santa Maria ill her length on the matted floor Father Brown lifted her to a sofa, flung a pot of water over her, shouted for help and then rushed down to the landing stage of the little island. The canoe was already in midstream and old Paul wa the river with an energy incredible at his year ‘T will save As he stood staring at the water, a wavering mirror of he heard from the other end of the island garden asmall but unmistakable sound—the cold concussion of steel He turned his head farthest cape or headland of the long islet on a strip of turf beyond the last rank of roses, the duelists sunset } Away on the he was beth too late < a too early tou Paul, Prince Saradine, ate to stop th trife a Vos Ordr under the shadow of he grim Sicilians

and the brown eyes was something far ained, the summoning of the household Anthonys signaling “Mrs. Anthony is no time for nonsense my master! he cried, his eye blazing maniacally “T will Father Brown as it struggled upstream and pray that the old man might waken the little town in time ‘A duel is bad enough,” he muttered, rubbing up his rough dust-colored i about this duel, even as a duel. I feel it in my bones. But what can it be?”

fierce atheist, and a priest moved him by As for the other man, neither pri , | This young man with the au pagan He was a simple slayer a man of the Stone Age He found 1 ran back into the house the autocrat Paul and that only the moved uneasily about the long moment she turned a ghastly face upon and in a flash he saw half the story Where is Mr landing stage,’ said the woman faintly or help ’ said Father Brown seriously, “there My friend has his boat down the canoe; what is Mr. Paul doing I do not know!” she said, and swooned pulling and pushing it up save him yet.” could do nothing but gaze after the boat ir, “but there’s something wrong ]

had already crossed words Evening ibove them was a dome of irgin gold

and, distant as tne were every Alet iil i piekxed ou The had ist off heir coat it the ellow teoat ol the prince and white Ltrouse ‘ Antonelli glittered in the lev lvl ke the colo of the dancing clo work dolls. The two ( parkled fron point to pommel lik 6 damond ? ] ere soOmet ny frightful in the two pearing little d so ga The hooked IK butterflis I t h othe ) rh ike a Wheel Wher ime to the feild of combat he lound

Continued on Page $5

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18 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 22,1911 CHTUZLE, im the Government 7 ay's | as - ‘ ve § ‘ ‘ HIEF among the advan- tages of the initiative and referendum is the unlim- ited field afforded for individual indcommunity development. Direct legislation establishes equal opportunity in government, for it places in the hands of every man the same machinery for accomplishment that every other man enjoys. It opens the way for men of good ideas and enables the whole community to secure the advantages arising from advanced thought. Suppression of the individual is one of the results of delegated government; development of the individual necessarily follows adoption of popular government, of which the initiative and referendum constitute the foun- dation. Suppression of the individual is seen in every convention and every legislative =body—city, state and national. The great masses of the people are always more advanced in thought and ideals than a majority of men who secure positions of power in conventions or legislative halls. This has been demonstrated in numerous instances, which will readily suggest themselves to the minds of readers of this assertion. For instance, throughout the United States there is overwhelming public opinion, carefully formed, in favor of popular election of United States That opinion has existed in the minds of the people for a decade or more; yet party conventions have failed to indorse the principle and Congress has failed to ubmit an amendment to the Constitution in accordance with the popular will. The people of the country realize that no man can be elected United States Senator by an uninstructed legislature unless he knows the individual members to whom he is primarily obligated for his elec- tion — and, what is still worse, in many instances, unless he knows the political boss, campaign contributor or special interest dominating a number of legislative members ifficient to prevent his election unless there is agreement, express or implied, to favor and protect with national legislation the dominant interest. The people of the coun- try desire to destroy this obligation to individuals and Senators. ibstitute therefor an obligat ion to the composite citizen; but a majority of members of the Senate have not yet advanced to this ideal of governmental accountability. How Legislators Hinder Progress ae AYS there are a few intellectual leaders who are in £4 advance of the masses of the people; but the practical workings of delegated government are such that the masses of the people are always in advance of those indi- viduals who secure political but not intellectual leadership. “Practical politics,” under a system of delegated govern- ment, brings into power men who are guided more by selfish interest than by general welfare. Popular govern- ment reverses this condition and gives power to intellec- tual leaders rather than to men whose success is due to skill as “‘practical politicians.” Occasionally there arises a man who is not only an intellectual leader but also a practical politician of such ‘ : ability as to secure adoptior } ideas, even under a By Senator Jonathan Bourne, Jr. system of delegated government; but these instances are rare. Though working with the old tools of government, an intellectual leader in Wisconsin was able to secure practical adoption of many of his ideas. Greater and earlier success would have attended his efforts if direct legislation had afforded him a means of appealing direct to the people of his state. The power of direct legislation under the initiative and referendum is the practical machinery of intellec- tual leadership. Without that machinery the. intellectual leader is in most cases powerless. How often have we seen this illustrated in conventions and legislatures. Occa- sionally a man with advanced ideas secures a seat in a party convention, though usually men of that kind are not wanted by the leaders who make slates of delegates; but when the man of originality and progress gets into a con- vention he finds himself powerless. If he wishes his party to incorporate in its platform a plank embodying an advanced principle in government he formulates a resolu- tion for that purpose; and, under the rules, that resolution goes to a committee without having been read to the con- vention. The committee have been carefully selected in advance after consultation among men who, because of their skill in “practical politics,” are able to manipulate conventions. Members of the committee know the men to whom they owe their selection and the interests back of the organization. Their action upon the resolution sub- mitted by the progressive delegate is, therefore, in accord- ance with the wishes of the interests they represent; and when the party platform is read it contains no indorse- ment of the new idea unless popular demand has forced its adoption. A convention is less progressive than the people; a committee on resolutions is less progressive than a convention; hence the strangulation of new ideas in a convention. Legislatures that, in theory, represent the people gen- erally prove to be less advanced in thought than the people themselves. Though legislators are elected by the people, they are in most states nominated by conventions con- trolled by “practical politicians” backed by campaign contributors. Hence members of a legislature feel an obligation to certain known individuals and their first act is to co}perate with those individuals in the organization of the legislature. This organization includes the appoint- ment of standing committees, which appointments are usually made after consultation with the same “ practical politicians” who controlled the nominating conventions, with the result that important committees are so consti- tuted as to make protection of special interests certain. Then, when the legislator with advanced ideas introduces a bill for promotion of the general welfare as against special interest, the bill goes to a committee representing special interest and there remains until the close of the session; or, if reported at all, comes to light too late for action or with amendments that change its character. This pro- cedure has been witnessed in every legislature in every “ state. Applying to a legislature the statement in the last pre- ceding paragraph — a legislature is less progressive than the people; a ‘graveyard committee” is less progressive than a legislature; hence the strangulation of new ideas in a legislative body. On the other hand, direct legislation encourages indi- vidual development. Under the initiative any man can secure the submission of his ideas to a vote of all the people provided eight per cent of the people sign a petition asking that the measure he proposes be so submitted. There is no opportunity for secret strangulation. In practical opera- tion eight per cent of the people join in introducing a bill before the legislative body composed of all the people. Under the Oregon system the bill is printed in full in a pamphlet, with a title exactly like the title that will appear upon the official ballot at the general election. The friends and opponents can insert in the pamphlet arguments sup- porting or opposing the measure, paying therefor the cost of paper and printing only. These pamphlets are printed by the state and a copy mailed to each registered voter fifty-five days before a general election or twenty days before a special election. The Initiative in Oregon N ORDER that readers of THE SATURDAY EVENING PosT may understand exactly how the people of Oregon vote upon measures submitted to them, I reproduce here a copy of that portion of one of our official ballots containing the title of one of the measures, with the place indicated for the voter to mark his ballot. If he wishes to vote for the bill he makes an X before the word “ Yes”’ and if he wishes to vote against it he makes an X before the word “No”: A bill for a law to amend the direct primary law by extend- ing its provisions to Presidential nominations, allowing voters to designate their choice for their party candi- dates for President and Vice-President; for direct nomi- nation of party candidates for Presidential electors; for election by party voters of delegates to their party national nominating conventions, each voter voting for one delegate; for payment of delegates’ actual travel- ing expenses, not exceeding two hundred dollars for each delegate, and extending the publicity rights of candidates in the state nominating and general election campaign books. Vote YES or NO. 356. Yes. 357. No. Since the voter has a full copy of the bill with the ballot title fifty-five days before election, he has ample opportu- nity to familiarize himself with the bill and title before he goes to the polls. Members of legislatures are frequently compelled to vote upon bills in which amendments have been inserted after the bills were printed and whose con- tents cannot, therefore, be thoroughly understood. It is (Concluded an Page £8 ! i f ) — ey ae ee eae = POET. PO. LE ST ore, BET ee APT ee ae

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Tee Te : iy 3 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 19 Billy Fortume and the Alble- Minded Lady am F I COULD have my way about it I wouldn't let anybody tell anybody any lies whatever. No, honest I wouldn't. I don’t see why a man that’s handy at inventin’ lies couldn’t just as well spend his time makin’ up the truth. Wouldn't it give you a fine, easy, comfort- uble feelin’ not to have any of your yesterday’s lies hangin’ on to your mind today or tomorrow when you wanted to tell a different one? Don’t that bother you? It does me. It would be a heap humdrum, though, wouldn’t it? Haven’t you knew some right capable liars that would’ve been plumb tedious tryin’ to tell the truth? And wouldn’t it be a pity to ruin a good man for the only thing he’s good for? Can’t a real live liar mostly find some way out of it besides turnin’ religious? I always could. No; I don't know as I'd change things from the way they are after all. I reckon I was a liar, wasn’t I? I'd said ‘“* Yes’m”’ to both of ’em, the Able-Minded Lady and the girl; and each of ’em had meant a different thing. And I'd meant both of "em when I said “em. Of course you might say each of ‘em was true when I said ’em; but one or the other was bound to turn out a lie after a bit. Ain’t that good arithmetic? And if one of ‘em was a lie wasn’t I a liar? That’s the way it would have struck me, mebbe, if I'd stopped to think about it. Never mind. You fix it up to suit yourself. I don't care. It didn’t worry me none then, that part of it. I was too busy. A careless liar is just the very busiest man in this busy little old world when his lies start to crossin’ each other’s trails. And the funny thing is that when you turn a brisk young lie loose it never seems to have any place to go te, so it just wobbles around; and if there’s two of ’em loose on the same subject they’re just bound to run up against each other pretty soon, like a couple of strange pups, and commence to frisk around together. Mine did. I took that Daphne girl’s letter and sent it off. Started it off, I mean. The mail stage run right past the end of our lane three times a week; but I knew if old Uncle Jacob was to pick such a lookin’ letter out of our box he’d scatter the news all over the country. So I packed it five miles across the range the first chance I got and give it to a nigger sheep-herder that couldn’t read, and paid him four bits to tote it over to that that ain’t what I told you to do at all. you now.” It was the middle of the afternoon when I got back home and the widow and Daphne Meadows was settin’ out on the back porch step, soakin’ in the warm sun right beside each other. From away down in the barn lot I could see *em while I was throwin’ off my saddle; but I had to take another look to make sure. ‘Well, now what?” I says to myself. It was the first time the girl had come out in plain sight when the Able-Minded Lady was around. There she was, just like I’d seen her the last time. But that wasn’t the trouble. The widow, she was the one to blame. She’d shucked her corduroys and her boots and her straight, tight wad of hair. I don’t know where she’d dug it up, but she had on a dress. I wish I could tell you about that dress. It was none of your pale blues. She knew too much to put pale blue on her bigness. I don’t know what color it was. If you're used to gettin’ up before day you've It’s up to noticed somethin’ like it along the edge of the sky, when the stars are just beginnin’ to blink out, warm and soft and quiet, before it’s started to turn pink and gorgeous It don’t look so bad, does it now? Well, that’s what she had on, and it suited her. I know it did, because when I'd turned out my pony I started up the path to the house without knowin’ what I was goin’ for, but just lookin’ at her. The closer I got the more I couldn't make it out. If she’d made that dress herself she must have had a real slick picture to go by. You can tell. The sleeves only come down to her elbows and there was considerable drop-stitch up in front so as to show her neck. The color of it wasn't like the girl’s neck, just pretty white and pink, but brown and warm and healthy-lookin’. Answer quick, now: Which color do you like the most in a woman’s neck? Yes, I reckoned it would make you stop and study. And she had on a real nice pair of shoes, the patent-leather kind, with a couple of shiny buckles on 'em. And her hair—I didn’t know she had so much—a big stack of it all fussed up on top of her head, with a red geranium stuck in it By WILLIAM R. LIGHTON TLLUS TRATED BY GAYLE P. #MWosreertins irom the box in front of the dinin’-room window and all full of warm, healt! in the sun. Nor I y-lookin’ shadows hadn't ever noticed she had such red lips, nor her straight teeth, nor the funny way her black eyebrows turned up at the corners, nor heaps of little things like that Shed certainly fixed herself up awful different And listen Right then, with the woman of her showin’ that way, I didn’t blame that bunch of husbands of hers, not a speck I didn’t know what I was walkin’ up to the house for but I couldn't think of anything to go back for, neither, so I just kept on. The widow, she was watchin’ me comin’, with her head leanin’ back against the post and a kind of a lazy shine in her eyes, like she knew I was noticin’ and it tickled her. Both of ‘em kept right still till I got up close It ain't often I feel bothered by a woman, but I did then, with my hair all roughed up by the wind, and the dust on my boot and my shirt tore where the wire had grabbed it and not a blessed thing in my mind to say 1 was real grateful when the Able-Minded Lady spoke first “Miss Meadow he saj “T want you to know Mr Billy Fortune He’s my foreman and everything else about the ranch just now. M Meadows is my niece she says to me, “‘and she’s come out here for her health She said it Just as if me and the girl was a couple of rank strangers and our knowin’ about each other was to star from right then. That helped some too. It let us start one of those nice, bright lines of talk about how glad we was to meet up with each other, and such a lovely day, and ne hopin’ her health would ge better right soon, and her guessin’ it would, thanks I hate, th at kind of conversa tions; I never seem able to get ‘em broke off after they're agoin’. This one seemed as if it was liable to run on for quite a spell, but the widow helped us to let loose of it “Billy,” she says in a minute, “while the weather holds so good I want Daphne to be outdoors all she can. It'll do her more good than anything You can take her horse back with you while you're ridin’ fences once in a while You won't mind that, will you? This afternoon we're going down the creek a ways and take our supper along We'll start as soon as you can hitch up the next stage-line on the other side of the hills and to keep his mouth shut. One of the best ways I know of to stop the talk is not to let it start. I thought I'd fixed it real well too. A nigger that spends his time herdin’ sheep out in the lonesome sagebrush didn’t seem to me as if he was liable to keep anything on his mind so very long anyway **See here,”’ I says to him: “‘it’s right particular that you hurry up and forget this Just as soon as you get her sent, because it’s to my girl down to Cheyenne and there’s another chap that’s fair frothin’ at the mouth with jealousness about it. See? And there’s likely to be more of ’em, every week or so, at four bits a clip, if you manage this one right. But if you don’t do the way I tell you the other lad’s goin’ to drop in on you some night and eut your throat all the way round, besides mine and the girl’s too. He's red-headed and awful rough in his habits. See?”’ I guess that was a sort of a foolish way to start out to make him forget about it, wasn’tit? But lL kind of wanted to impress it on him that he had it to do. That seemed the best way I could think of because I knew a nigger always hate to have his throat cut. How was | to know that this was a terrible dumb nigger? You'll notice that between my brightness and the nigger’s dumbnes: we got the business some balled up. He took the letter from me, settin’ on the tongueof his sheep-wagon and lookin’ at it a while. Then he tucked it down inside the front of his torn old blue- flannel shirt. “Ya-as, boss,” says he, “I'll sure remember.” “You will, will you?” says I. ‘Well, all right, Pink, so long as you remember **He’s Red:Headed and Awful Rough in His Habits. See?" to the mountain wagon. The chores can wait till we get back.’ It was a pretty place we went to a spring, and big pines, and a high pil of gray rock up One side with ne old lookin’ cedars growin’ out of ‘em, and lots of different things scattered around to interest you. I got the horses stake out, and then the widow made me come and set down with ‘em where she'd fixed up a snug little nest for the girl with yme Cushiol ind shawis in between tWo big rock It seemed to be ju the ve! place where she belonged, with the wind hut away trom her and the inshine all ove he and thin to do but just be comtortable While other folks took care ol tl r It ouldnt have seemed h ymmeho »See her Dustin round y ive knew that kind, haven't yo And mebbe ou've knew the other kind tou—the big, strong, able ones that fixe rhe ’ i ‘ ' i? | th i Fe out ‘ é e knots tor buildir ‘ o make the coffee with. TI low she had the fire goin’ when I got back to en ind she was layin’ out the lunch ona big flat stone beside the spring After I'd brought some more wood she htened up and looked around ive always been fond of this place hie Right here in this very spot is Where me and my first husband stood wW hie ne isked me to marry him I il \ remember it when | come here It i y the love makes such thing eem different .o you, ain't it?’ Phi eemed sort of needed an er, didnt But neither me nor the girl Said anything She was lookin’ the fire, with her little soft chin tucked down in the wrap she had around her shoulders so a body couldn't tell what she was thinkin’ about Ihe thing that truck me Wu omethin’ it wouldn't

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a 20 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 22,1911 hardly have done to say to her, I expect. I was thinkin’ she must have the geog- raphy all speckled over with places that seemed differ- ent to her by this time, not countin’ any but her hus- bands. But you can’t be rude to a lady, can you? Me and the girl just kept still and waited. The widow she bent over and give the coffee a stir. “They say it’s love that makes the world go round,” says she. “And that’s gospel-true, ain’t it, Billy?” What right had she got draggin’ me into her reflections when there was another woman amg rtre 4 eed err hitched up? Do you want to have us till dark night gettin’ back?” All the lazy softness was clean gone out of her voice and she was talkin’ bass again; and when I looked up at her face the thing I noticed first wasn’t her red lips nor her turned-up eyebrows, but her great big sunburnt nose and her square man’s chin. “‘My soul!’’ says she; ‘“‘ain’t-there one of you that knows how to act responsible when a body’s back’s turned? Havel got to whirlin and hitch upthe team myself? For goodness’ sake stir around!” All the time I was doin’ it I had to keep around? A man -an’t do himself jus- tice that way. My sinful soul! Didn’t I know that what she said was the truth? Hadn’t I been in love, all my whole life, with hundreds and hundreds of ’em? If it had been just me and the Able-Minded Lady I could have held up my end of the talk. But let me tell you something: When there’s two of ‘em present the only way to play safe is just to act ignorant. So I couldn’t do nothing but grin. *Yes’m,” says I, ‘I guess so.” After that the widow begun to fix the plates for us with the cold meat and the pickles and truck. It was a still sort of a supper, with the girl mostly doin’ her own medi- tatin’ to herself and me and the widow ramblin’ along about gettin’ the new corrals built, and the last of the colts branded, and some more help, and suchlike. Neither one of us seemed to be takin’ much interest. By and by she stuck the dishes back in the basket and got up. “It’s gettin’ late,” says she. ‘We've got to go pretty soon. But I’m goin’ to see what it looks like just once more from the top of the rocks before we start home. You stay here, Billy, till 1 come.” We watched her goin’ up the rough side of the hill with her dress held up around her ankles, takin’ those long, eusy steps of hers. Somehow she wasn’t one of the women a man would think of helpin’ by the hand over the rocks, no matter what kind of clothes she’d have on; the chances are he’d have fo go some himself to keep up with her. I was wonderin’ what kind of a climber her first husband had been when the girl spoke to me. “‘Isn’t Aunty a fine-looking woman?” she says in her soft little kitten’s voice. I turned around and looked at her. She’d waked up out of her study, lettin’ her shawls drop away from her and settin’ up straight. There was a new shine in her eyes and the pink was comin’ up in her cheeks bright and strong, like when the day’s just takin’ a good start on a clear morning. A man certainly can't explain himself, can he? A minute ago I'd been thinkin’ the very thing the girl was sayin’; but Aunty was out of sight by this time and the girl was awful close. “T ain’t noticin’ Aunty much right now,” says I. She got the least bit pinker and a cunnin’ little dimple come out at the corner of her pretty little bit of a mouth. I guess she wasn't cross with me. But it didn’t make her bashful none, either, because she kept her eyes on me steady. “Billy, come here,” she says after a minute. ‘‘Come over close. Right there, with your back up against this stone where [ can look at you. There, there! That’s close enongh. Now, then, I want you to tell me the truth about something, will you?—something awfully important.” The dimples had all gone away; but the pink hadn’t, nor the brightness. You could see she wasn’t jokin’, even if it does sound like a joke for her to ask me that. How could she know I was one of the best plain and fancy liars in Wyoming?” “Why, yes, I will,” says I, “if it ain’t too important.” “This is what I want to know,” she says: “I want to know if you're respectable. There’s nobody I can ask but you, and I want you to tell me exactly. Are you?” “What?” says I. “I don’t quite get you.” “1 mean,” says she, “have you got a good reputation?’ “Who? Me?” says I. “Oh, yes, ma’am! I certainly have.” That seemed the best thing for me to say, didn’t it? I certainly have too—for several things. There’s hardly anybody can throw and tie a steer quicker than I Was Takin’ a Little Snack When Here He Come me; and they say I’ll take bigger fool chances than ’most anybody in a game of draw. And I can roll a cigarette with one hand, settin’ in the saddle with my horse on a dead run; and—oh, lots of different things. She hadn’t told me just what kind of a reputation she was inquirin’ about. Her next question kind of stuck in her throat, but she got it out after a bit, with the pink in her cheeks turnin’ to red. “Billy,” says she, “would it be safe for a girl to fall in love with you?” You tell me what you’re used to sayin’ when a pretty girl asks you that question, will you? I don’t mind ownin’ up that she had me worried. It struck me at first that mebbe her bad health had gone to her head; but she didn’t look like one of them kind of invalids. And she had me plumb satisfied that she wasn’t just foolin’. I couldn’t make out what she was after nor what to say to her. I had a notion to tell her that lots and lots of ’em had been perfectly safe tryin’ it; but that didn’t seem like just the right answer, did it? Confused? Yes, sir, I was confused. Before I’d got it straightened out in my mind what to say the girl saved me the trouble. “This is what I mean, Billy,” says she. “I told you the other day about my sweetheart and about their sending me up here to get me away from him. They think if they keep me away from him I'll forget about being so fond of him. I know I won’t though. Not forever. I love him so much that I'll just die if I can’t have him. But I want them to think I’m forgetting him. Do you see?” Wouldn't that get you? I leaned my head up against the cool rock, shuttin’ my eyes. I felt as if a quiet little cow-pony had took a sudden notion to buck me off and I'd lit upside down on the hard ground. Soon as I could hear good again this is what she was sayin’: “You won't mind, will you, Billy? I want her to think I'm fallin’ in love with you. You'll let me, won’t you? Billy dear, you will, won’t you?” The dimples was crop- pin’ out again, fit to coax the heart out of a wooden Indian. “It won’t be so hard for Aunty to believe,” says she. “You're not at all bad-looking, you know. And don’t you see how it will be? When Aunty tells them what’s happening they’ll have to take me back home again to get me away from you!” And then this was the way the talk went on, with her doin’ every last bit of it and me not sayin’ a single word. “*Aunty’s coming back!” says she, ‘Oh, Billy, listen— quick! You'll do it for me, won't you? I'll do anything in this world for you if you will. Just when we’re around where she is, you know, we're to act as if we were falling in love with each other—or just going to begin to. You know, don’t you? Only you must be nice about it. She’s where she can see us now. You might reach out and put your hand on mine, just for a teeny minute. No, no don’t squeeze! There—let go. Oh, Billy, thank you!” Ain’t a woman a funny proposition? She’s funnier than a man some ways, ain’t she? No, it ain’t the girl I’m thinkin’ about now; it’s the Able-Minded Lady. Wasn't that just the very thing she’d told me to do her- self? And wasn’t I doin’ it for all she knew? I certainly was. Comin’ down on us from the hill and catchin’ a look at us, me holdin’ on to the Daphne girl's little hand, what way did she have of tellin’ that it was nothin’ but a show we was makin’ up for her? Wouldn’t you think she’d have been real pleased with me for doin’ what she'd said she wanted-me to? Of course! Yes; only she wasn’t. She come down-on a snort. ‘What are you-loafin’ for, Billy?” says she. “Didn’t I tell you to get that team my back turned toward her to hide the dry grins; and all the way back to the house I set up on my seat lookin’ straight between the horses’ heads —and even at that I was scared that my grin would show around in the back behind my ears. They sure had me amused, them two. It was just about as lively a ride as that first one. Once or twice I could hear the girl purrin’ somethin’ soft, like she was tryin’ to coax Aunty to be friends with her; but the Able-Minded Lady snapped her off short, sour as an old hen with the earache. All the way in she was tappin’ with her shoe on the boards in the bottom of the wagon; and when we got there I hadn’t hardly got the harness off before she’d changed back to her boots and corduroys and was out in the lot with the milkpail. She never said a word to me all the time we was chorin’ round, nor not till a good bit after I’d got through and was settin’ in the bunkhouse by myself, cleanin’ up my six-shooter. Then she come to the door and stood a minute lookin’ in before she set down on the step. When she spoke to me her voice had quieted down a good bit, just to a sort of a dead level. “It seems hard to find the extra men, don’t it?” says she. ‘‘But we'll have to get ’em somehow. One man can’t do all the work, it don’t matter how hard he stays with it. There’s five thousand posts to get out and all that new line to string along the creek, besides the mend- in’. If you hear of any men when you're ridin’ around get ’em.” “Yes, ma’am,” says I, and kept on with my cleanin’ while I waited. Of course I knew that wasn’t what she’d come out to say to me. She took her time to it; but by and by she hooked her big hands around her corduroy knee. “Billy,” says she, “‘aren’t you figurin’ on amountin’ to anythin’ in this life?” I let the cylinder pin drop on the floor. That wasn’t what I was expectin’ her to say either. While I was huntin’ the pin it give me time to think. It had been years and years since anybody had put that question up to me. Not but what I'd thought about it a lot to myself when I’d be off on the range with no folks around, after I’d come back from one of my whizzers with my money gone, and nothin’ tastin’ good and nothin’ to do but a mess of hard work. But after a man gets about so old and has been jarred out of a million or so of them kind of dreams he kind of quits tellin’ "em out loud to folks after he wakes up. What’s the use? “ Amountin’ to anythin’?”’ I says to the widow. “Why, yes, I’ve figured on it some. But I never had a very good head for figures.” “Tut!” says she. That’s the way you always do just monkey with your words. Can’t you be serious at all? How old are you?” “How old?” saysI. ‘‘Me? Let methink. Dear, dear, how time flies! Why, if I live long enough I'll be thirty or so in a few years.” But I couldn’t head her off. She was just bound to have it her way. “Are you going to be satisfied your whole life long,” says she, “with just driftin’ around from one job like this to another, and never gettin’ ahead any — workin’ as hard as you do for your money and then losin’ it all in a night or two with your skylarkin’ and your cards? Does that actually content you?” I didn’t want to hold any prayer-meetin’ with her. “Content me?” says I. ‘To lose? No, ma’am, it don’t. I ain’t ever goin’ to be real contented till I make a great or — re ——~ a rs Seaae elena baneniitin stat PB ah OR I

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a ET AR NEA big winnin’ sometime. That’s what I keep a-playin’ for. This steady losin’ is nothin’ but what they call vanity and vexation.” She clucked her tongue as if she was gettin’ sort of wore cut with my foolishness; but she come at me again on another slant. ‘‘Some of these times you'll be wanting a wife,”’ says she. ‘“*Then what?” Oh, that was it, was it? It wasn’t me she was frettin’ about, but me and my wife—me and mebbe a little blue and pink and gold wife. She’d put me up to the devil- ment; but now she was beginnin’ to feel responsible. That was it, wasn’t it? But I wasn’t goin’ to give her any satisfaction. “*Then what?’’’ I says after her. ‘‘There’s a bully way out of that. Marry her—or else don’t.” She give one of her short laughs, as if she seen it was no good tryin’ to drag anythin’ out of me backward that way. “Oh, well!” she says, and she got ready to get up. **T don’t know why I’m pesterin’ myself about you. Dear knows I’ve got affairs enough of my own. Anyway,” says she, ‘I read somethin’ once that’s seemed right reasonable to me since sometimes. It said that such things are in the lap of the gods. Can you sense that?” “Sense it?” says I. ‘Yes, indeedy! Ain’t that awful good English? But that just shows! If my wife’s in the lap of the gods it don’t look as if I needed to worry much about my morals, does it?” She wouldn’t take any more notice after that. ‘‘Good night,” she says real short; and with that she went up to the house. I was terrible busy after that for three or four days, so there wasn’t a minute for broodin’ about anythin’ but work—in the saddle from gray mornin’ till black night and rollin’ into bed so dog-tired that my head was no more use than a bunch of feathers for contrivin’ any excitement. One man tryin’ to spread himself around over forty thou- sand acres is tolerable apt to keep a-goin’, especially if he knows that winter’s hangin’ close somewheres. I did. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The face of a man you could tie to in anything from a toot to a funeral. Yes, sir, I liked him. He swung down from his pony, shakin’ the stiffness out of his legs and grinnin’ at me. “Hello!” says he. “Say, I'll match nickels with you to see whether you're Billy Fortune.” “You win,” says I. “Il might have knew you would. You look lucky.” “T certainly am,”’ says he. “I’ve come all the way from Douglas to find you; and a man don’t ride that far in this country unless he wants to find what he’s huntin’ for. And now here you are.”’ “Yes, here I am,” I says. “That’s awful true. Now will you tell me why you're so plumb pleased with findin’ me?” “T want work,” says he. “Steve Brainard sent me down here. I’ve been around Douglas a couple of days and Steve Brafnard told me “Steve Brainard’s a liar,” I says. He give me a quick eyin’ over, as if he didn’t just grasp me. “Steve didn’t tell me —"’ he commenced. “Yes, he did!” says I. ‘Yes, he did too. And Black’s Jim told you a lot more. And what them two couldn’t think of Bud Anderson told you. And every blessed word that gang said to you about me and the widow is a big pack of lies.” He'd started grinnin’ again before I’d got to the middle; and by the time I’d got through you could have heard him miles away. I knew by the sound of his laugh that we was goin’ to stay friends. Any lastin’ friend of mine has got to laugh hearty. This lad’s was a big bass roar that seemed as if it made the hills tremble. “All right,” I says after a bit when he could listen. ““Now that part’s settled. But what about the job? If you’ve been frolickin’ with that Douglas bunch for as much as two days you'll be needin’ one right bad and you'll Would thirty not be choosin’ the pay too particular dollars a month look good to you?” ““Would it?” says he. “Man, if I could be sure of havin’ a thirty-dollar job here with you for this winter I'd be willing to swim through seas of blood for it. You don’t know!” I laughed at him. “Man,” says I, “if y« bad I've been wantin’ you you’d know you couldn't get u knew how away only through blood now. Every man certainly needs some he-folks around, don’t he? What's your name anyway?” “*Slater,”’ says he. “Ben Slater. I’m Ben to some, and Red to some, and Buck to some. You can take your choice. I’m mostly Ben to my best friends.”’ “Then it’s Ben,” says I. ‘Buck is too much like shee p herdin’; and Red don’t half do you justice. That sure is some hair you've got.” I divided my snack with him and then we worked together—and talked. By the middle of the afternoon we'd been knowin’ each other for years and years, like a couple of men will sometimes when they suit each other No, sir; I didn’t have any fault to find with him. He was a prince-boy and he’d lived a man’s life all over the map and it hadn’t soured him, but just left him ready for more That’s the way it ought to be. I was right pleased to think of takin’ him back to the bunkhouse with me when it come around time to knock off work. On the way in we went past the nigger’s sheep-camp and it made me think of somethin’. “Ben,” says I, “you set here on your horse a minute and take your hat off like you was coolin’ your head. I'll tell you after a while.””. And then I rode over to where the nigger was stoopin’ over, puttin’ the biscuit in his Dutch oven for supper “Pink,” says I, “act careless now, just as if you knew your life depended on it. Mebbe it does too. Don’t be ina hurry, but just turn around casual and take a good look at We'd been siftin’ the whole country for help in between times, and one day I found him just when I'd most quit expectin’ him. I liked him fine too. I knew I was goin’ to long before I could see him plain, when he was a full mile up the trail. You tell me how that is, will you? But you've had it hap- pen with you, haven’t you? Not often; but often enough to know it’strue. Yes, sir; me and that lad never was meant to be strangers. I'd been cuttin’ posts all morning, and along in the middle of the day I was takin’ a little snack I'd brought along in my saddle-bag when here he come, just roundin’ the top of the next rise from up Douglas way. This isthe way I figured him out, a little serap at a time, while he was comin’ up to me: A fine rider, and one that thought a lot of horses, because he knew how to make fast time while he was changin’ off gaits every little bit to keep his critter from wearyin’. Young, by the light swing of him in the saddle. A big man, by the length of his stirrups and the rise of his shoulders above the pony’s head. New to the country, by the way he was lookin’ around once or twice to get his bearin’s. Goin’ a good ways or else huntin’ a job, by the big pack he was earryin’ behind him. Traveled a lot and seen alot and not afraid of anything he ever went against, by the lift of his head and the slant of his hat. Redheaded, just by plain eyesight —not the color of a new brick, but the color of a great big lot of old copper. Careless about his looks and not much for beauty anyway, but cheerful and reck- less and comical and friendly and all them things. The face of a man that wouldn’t never who's behind you.” He wasn’t so very casual about it, but stiffened up and jerked his head around to where Ben was settin’, with his mop of red hair blazin’ in the sun I could tell what the nigger was thinkin’ by the way his eye commenced to pop. “Yes, that’s him,” I says. “Didn't I tell you he was some red? But the hair on the outside ain’t a marker to the bloodthirstiness that's inside when he gets on a tantrum. | don’t know what he’s here tor but I’m just showin’ him to you this way so you'll know it’s him if he should get to hangin’ around. You'll see you've got to be careful, son about how you handle them letters.” What did I tell him that for? Oh, I don't know. It just come in my mind. It seemed a pity to let that hair go to waste without makin’ any use of it. Besides, there nothin like bein’ prepared for what may come up. Anyway, there Was a hervous nigger left to cook his supper when I went back to Ben. Ben,” I says we Was rackin’ along toward to him when home, “tell me this ire you fond of variety?” He give me a sideways loc witk a comical glimmer it his eye. ‘“* Variety?” 1vs he Variety? Billy, I’m a er between a Dutch father and a . panish mother ind the wort that wet-nursed me was I I've seemed to have a hanke ing lor variety ever since Well, then, you've brol nto the right society for it ivsI. **Them boys at Dou las told you some things about the way I'm fixed down here I know they did; they was just bound to But they're au clumsy lot. I don’t care What they told you, it ain’t as funny as the truth nor half as [here's a whole wait for somebody else to sug- gest what ought to happen. “Biliy,’’ Says She, ‘Would it be Safe for a Girl to Fall in Love With You?” full of chances. Continued on Page 5%

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22 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOUNDED A°D'‘ 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY. THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 421 TO 427 ARCH STREET GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR By Subscription $1! S8@ the Year. Five Cents the Copy of All Newsdealers lo Canada — By Subscription $1.5@ the Year. Single copies, five cents Foreign Subscriptions; tor Countries in the Postal Union. Single Subscriptions, $275. Remittances to be Made by International Postal Money Order PHILADELPHIA, APRIL 22, 1911 Farmers and Reciprocity AST year’s elections certainly raised a strong pre- —4 sumption that farmers of the Middle West were highly dissatisfied with the Payne-Aldrich tariff bill. We do not know how else to interpret the rout of Standpat Repub- lican candidates in the Mississippi Valley. But a number of organizations claiming to represent these same farmers are fighting Canadian reciprocity, which is the first tangible step yet taken in the direction of real tariff reform. This relation, they say, would force our farmer to meet the competition of Canadian products duty free, though nearly everything he buys would still be charged with the high tariff tax, thereby giving an unfair advantage to the Canadian competitor, who can purchase supplies that are not charged with a high tariff tax. The only advantage under the agreement would go to the protected manufacturer, who would get an enlarged market for his products. As they see it, the farmer would be still further sacrificed to the protected manufacturer. If this were the whole case perhaps there would not be much to say for the reciprocity agreement. But it is only the beginning of the case. This agreement definitely breaks the vicious circle by which the high protective system has so long been maintained —vastly to the harm of the farmer. If farmers of the Middle West can be per- suaded that their prosperity depends~ upon protection againat Canadian grain, there will be little trouble in persuading them that they must vote continued protection to steel, wool, and so on, because the only way they can get protection is by joining hands with other people who want protection —and the only way the other people can get protection is by joining hands with the farmers. This hand-joining has been going on for fifty years. The other people have got the chestnuts; the farmer has got the cinders, Let him step out of the vicious circle, and the whole forty-per-cent system falls to the ground. Canadian reciprocity will take him out of the circle. The Household Bank Account DISCUSSION among bankers, as to whether banks should refuse small household checking accounts those, say, where the average amount on deposit falls below two hundred dollars. naturally reminds us of this financial conundrum: Why does a sz¢vings-bank account encourage thrift and a checking-bank account discourage it? If any middle-aged reader, who has gone through a typical American experience, is inclined to deny this fact, let him hunt up the household expense book cover- ing the period when he changed from a savings account to a checking account. Let him look back with amazement and despair to a time when the family exchequer was man- aged on a cash basis. In the sight and feel of real money there is something subtly precious, which only very power- ful and vigilant imaginations are able to attach to a check. To all healthy minds, uricorfupted by possession of super- fluous wealth or by over-indulgence in alcohol, parting with real money is painful. As the crisp bill leaves your hand a little ghostly sigh accompanies it. You are then tangibly, consciously paying away the fruit of your labor or your strife. A particle of your life has visibly passed from you. The insidious character of the check arises from the fact that it enables you to spend money without any of this funereal and chastening suggestion. None of the awe and mystery of the banknote belongs to a check. It is a thing you yourself made in half a minute, with a bit of paper,ink anda pen. In spending real money you are subject to the constant discipline of remorse; but in spend- ing money by check this steady restraint is removed. You merely have one fit at the end of each month. Reform Near Home OO MANY people reform means doing something at Washington or at the state capital —something in con- nection with election laws, or the tariff, or civil service, or the railroads and the trusts. Perhaps to a majority of people it means doing something restrictive; getting after somebody with a sharp stick; shutting’ up disorderly saloons, suppressing gambling, punishing bribe-givers, and so on. Here is a man, living in a city of medium size, to whom it means something rather different. He writes: “T am an ordinary, busy, practical man, and should be glad to do something to help better my own locality if I knew what to do. Most men are so busy with their own work and families that they cannot take the time to do much in the various organizations that are working for civic betterment—or thinking about it. In a political way, about all they can do is to obey orders from some organization at election time. Yet there must be helpful things near at hand that they could and would do if the things were pointed out. Why wouldn’t it be practical for the chamber of commerce in a city to appoint a small committee in each ward to report on people and con- ditions there? Perhaps we could help some feilow two blocks away to get a job. We could remove unsightly, unpleasant things in our own neighborhood, and so on.” You are interested, let us say, in prison reform; but has it occurred to you to look into your own county jail, or town lockup, or the precinct police station a block away, where innocent prisoners may be kept in filth? You tele- phone a charitable organization to send a wagon to your house for discarded but serviceable clothing. The organ- ization hauls the clothes downtown, and then sends them out by another wagon to a family living around the corner from you. Bribery at Albany stirs your indignation; but you only laugh upon hearing that the candidate for sheriff left a bundle of bills at a certain saloon the day before election. If every one did his best to better his own ward, the other reforms would accomplish themselves. The Idolatry of Property Rights HAT the laws in this country governing compensation to workmen for bodily injuries received in industrial accidents were barbarous, up to two or three years ago, no one who is competent to speak upon the subject will deny. In annulling as unconstitutional the new and more enlight- ened act that the New York legislature passed last year, the highest court of that state says: ‘‘We entertain an earnest desire to present no purely technical or hyper- critical obstacles to any plan for the beneficent reformation of a branch of our jurisprudence in which, it must be conceded, reform isa consummation devoutly to be wished.” But the court holds unanimously that compelling an employer to compensate an employee in a hazardous occu- pation for injuries received in an accident, regardless of the conditions surrounding the accident, amounts to tak- ing the employer’s money without due process of law, which both the state and Federal constitutions forbid. It adds: “If such economic and sociological arguments as are advanced in support of this statute can be allowed to sub- vert the fundamental idea of property, then there is no private right entirely safe.” A society in which every private right is in jeopardy must obviously be a pretty flat failure. Under the old order, which this decision reinstates, there is no adequate protection to the workman in respect of his life and limb, nor to those dependent upon his earnings, yet society man- aged to survive a great many years in a tolerable state of security and civilization. Many other private rights were fully protected. But, according to this v‘ew, as we under- stand it, if we put the employer’s money in jeopardy we strike at the foundation of social order. In other words, the salvation of society depends more upon the protec- tion accorded to the employer’s money than upon that accorded to the crippled workman and his dependents. The Long Fire:Death List A THE Iroquois Theater, in Chicago, which burned with appalling loss of life, there was an asbestos cur- tain, but it wouldn’t come down; there were many exits, but some of them were locked. The building had been constructed and equipped, that is, in view of the well- known fact that fire and panic may happen in a theater. Yet nobody took this possibility with the least seriousness. The devices provided in view of it were not in working order. When the fire happened, the audience could scarcely April 22,1911 have been in a more helpless position if fire in a theater had never before been heard of in the history of the world. Survivors of the shirtwaist factory fire in New York have testified that some of the doors were locked. There was a stairway, but the employees, used to taking the elevator, scarcely knew of its existence. The fire-escapes were inadequate and impeded. A hundred and forty persons lost their lives, just as though fire in a factory were no more to be expected than a tidal wave in Nebraska. Everybody, of course, knew the liability. In thousands of buildings throughout the country, not only in cities but also in towns and villages—very likely in your town—people habitually congregate for work or amusement under a standing liability to death by fire and panic that nobody takes seriously. When the fire happens certain officials may be blamed and the ordinance may be amended. But there is no security in officials and ordi- nances unless the constant liability to fire is taken as a serious thing to be guarded against by constant vigilance. Insurance for Travelers VERY time you travel you incur some liability to injury or death by accident. When you buy your ticket fora twenty-four-hour journey, if you hand the obliging agent a quarter in addition to the price of the ticket he will write you a policy of insurance by which, if the train is wrecked, your heirs will receive five thousand dollars in case of your death, or you will receive twenty-five dollars a week for a year if you are totally disabled, or ten dollars a week if partially disabled. A part of the quarter undoubtedly remains with the obliging agent for his trouble in writing the policy. The remainder goes to the insurance company. Only a small part of those who travel take accident insur- ance. If all travelers took it the company no doubt could afford to sell its policies for considerably less than a quarter each, or for a few pennies added to the price of each ticket the railroad, with an agent’s commissions to pay, could well afford to insure all travelers. The liability to fatal or disabling accident is heavy for the individual. But when this liability is collectively borne it becomes of almost impalpable lightness merely the matter of a few pennies. This is the principal reason that we can have no patience with anybody who hinders the shifting of this accident liability from the individual to the collective shoulders. Capital and the Opera |S yacht grand opera in this country and high finance there is an intimate connection. Our leading operatic organization has long been backed and managed by some of Wall Street’s most eminent financiers. Now grand opera, so far as the management is concerned, can- not be classed as a gainful occupation. Scarcely ever does an operatic season produce a profit. Almost always it produces a loss; and the chief function of the backers usually consists of coughing up checks in several figures to cover the deficit. Mr. Hammerstein attempted val- iantly to make opera pay its own way; but he, too, com- plained loudly of his deficit. It appears, however, that Mr. Hammerstein was paid the tidy sum of one million two hundred thousand dollars in consideration oi his agreement to withdraw from this unprofitable field and keep out of it for ten years. Most men think they are lucky to get out of a losing venture without being; paid anything whatever for doing it. Most men, also, would look at one million two hundred thousand dollars a long time before handing it over to another man as an induce- ment to stop his losing money. But Mr. Hammerstein was a competitor, and it seems that Capital— incarnate in the operatic backers—-cannot nowadays endure the notion of conipetition, even in losing money. Triumphant Monopoly N THE first quarter of the current year the stock market was notably dull. Prices of stocks, in the main, varied but little, and there was little trading in them. One reason alleged in explanation of this condition was that nearly everybody felt inclined to wait for the Supreme Court deci- sion in the Oil and Tobacco Trust cases. Nobody cared either to buy or to sell until it was known whether the court would hold that those powerful concerns were unlaw- ful combinations in restraint of trade and order them into dissolution. But to this rule of dullness there are two very interesting exceptions. While most other stocks were stagnant, the two referred to advanced respectively sixty and sixty-eight dollars a share, and these two stocks were precisely the ones immediately involved in the pending Supreme Court decision — the stocks, that is, of the Standard Oil Company and the American Tobacco Company. This was not because anybody felt certain that the court was going to hand down a decision favorable to the companies. It was because somebody knew that, no matter what the court’s decision might be, our oil and tobacco monopolies would continue on their flourishing and profitable way. aaa — t le I TRE ee caps nes wae! remorests mentor

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| ! ' ; | Caught in Cook County HAT HO! Long ere this, without doubt, some person who has that privilege has been to the Honorable William Howard Taft, has clutched him firmly by the top button and exclaimed “Harkee! Bill; it’s two long years agone since T. R. was President—and how comes this Walter Fisher business, being as you are President now in your own right?” "Tis even so. How comes it? Many a publicist has spent dizzy hours wondering how it was T. R. came to overlook that Fisher bet; and now a period of similar cogitation must ensue wherein the publicists will puzzle to find out how Taft came to make it. You see, Fisher is a regular T.-R. kind of an appoint- ment and a most irregular kind of a Taft one. Fisher has seven children, whereby he should have scored heavily with the Colonel; but nobody ever heard Taft putting forth any burning thoughts concerning race suicide or its reverse. Moreover, Fisher is a vice-president of the National Conversation League of course I meant Conservation, but I reckon Con- versation will do—a pal with T. R.’s bosom friend, Gifford Pinchot, who, if memory serves, isn’t as strong at the White House as he used to be—or as strong for the White House either. Morning exercises at the Fisher household are interesting. Fapa Fisher lines up the seven children and asks: *“‘ Who is the greatest man in the world?” Present company being politely excepted, the seven usually split four to three for Theodore and Gifford sometimes one way and sometimes the other; which shows where the Fisher family gets off. Still, it is all right. Variety, even in Cabinet officials, is a good thing. Here we have had R. Achilles Ballinger for two years and now we have started anew with Walter Fisher. Inasmuch as Mr. Ballinger, in his policies and practices regarding various matters that come under the ken of the Secretary of the Interior, is the exact, not to say the diametrical, opposite to the policies and practices concerning which Mr. Fisher has been enunciating ever and anon, we may look for a happy succession of days wherein Mr. Fisher will undo whatever Mr. Ballinger has done; and at the end of two years we may expect the status quo to be reasonably well established and the department about where Ethan Allen Hitch- cock left it—before Jimmie Garfield got his hooks fastened in. It is not quite clear whether the joke is on Ballinger, on the Department of the Interior or on Fisher; but there is a joke lurking about somewhere, perpetrated by that emi- nent jokesmith, Mr. Taft. Mayhap the joke is on the Ballinger baiters. Likely as not, Mr. Taft, having failed in keeping Mr. Ballinger in the Cabinet, said to himself: “I’lt pick out one for them who, next to Gifford Pinchot, is the most conspicuous exponent of their cult — and we shall see what we shall see.”” So he picked him. And we shall see what we shall see, retaining always in correct perspective the system of the department, against which Mr. Ballinger went and against which Mr. Fisher is now engaged in hurling himself. He Gets Around in About Eighty-Five OWEVER, let everybody cheer up. Many another Ad gallant young knight has ridden fearlessly against the system and many another willsoride. It is all a part of the great game. Two years from now Mr. Fisher, if he stays so long, will have had a fine experience and we shall still be talking in a desultory manner of Alaska coal and forest reserves and water-rights, and other interesting topics connected with our natural resources. When asked about his plans, Mr. Fisher said: ‘‘I have no statement to make except that I have accepted this office with a deep appre- ciation of its obligations and of its opportunity to accom- plish practical and constructive work.” And isn’t it the truth? There are more opportunities for practical and constructive work—with the emphasis on the practical in the Interior Department than in any other place in the known world. The new Secretary of the Interior is a tall, raw-boned citizen. He has long arms and long legs—and a long head and a long record as a reformer. As a reformer Mr. Fisher may well be termed a stemwinder. Always an earnest and progressive youth, he early determined to be a crack reformer; and in pursuance of this ambition he went to the place where there were ample opportunities for the practice of his specialty —that is, Chicago. Since landing in that town in 1888, he has done all kinds of plain and THE SATURDAY EVENING POST "SS WHO-AND WHY He Has Done All Kinds of Plain and Fancy Reforming fancy reforming—not, perhaps, completing the job, but making a dent here and there. Fisher was born in Wheeling, West Virginia, in 1862, on the Fourth of July, and educated at Marietta and Hanover colleges. His father,the Reverend Daniel Webster Fisher,wa president of Hanover College for many years. A year after Fisher landed in Chicago he was made special-assessment attorney. His job was harmonizing what the city wanted to do in the way of sewer, street and other improvements with the ideas of the citizens who were taxed for the same He became so expert at it that he could make a taxpayer give three cheers for the right of eminent domain and pleasantly receive a tax levy for all kinds of fixings on his property. Presently he developed into the Municipal Voters’ League, a Chicago institution that keeps tabs on the common council and other similar bodies, and makes Hinky Dink and Bathhouse John and all the rest of them toe the mark. They made him secretary of the league and then president. That was in 1906, before he became identified with the traction fight in Chicago. Carter Har- rison had demanded a fifty-year franchise for the roads but the people wanted more. Dunne was elected mayor on a municipal-ownership platform, but he did not get munic- ipal ownership. Instead, after a long squabble, Dunne uppointed Fisher special traction counsel for the city The street-car affairs of Chicago were in a frightful muddle and had been since the days of Yerkes. Fisher completed a plan whereby the city was to receive revenue from the franchises and drafted the ordinances to make his plan effective. He fought his plan through the council, back and forth and up and down, against tremendous opposition both in the council and out. The plan was not completed until a few months ago, but it finally won, being sustained by the people and providing the city a revenue of a million and a half dollars a year where there was formerly nothing paid. Mr. Fisher drafted the Mueller law, which permi municipal ownership of railroads in Illinois, and was active in the litigation over the so-called ‘ Mueller certificates’ as counsel for the city. He took part in the investigatior into the Western Indiana land graft and the Illinois Central car-repair graft, and has been concerned in many like services to the state and city. His greatest rey ation as a lawyer rests on his skill in condemnatio proceeding thoug! he has been counsel for n ge concer notably the National Wholesale Dry goods Association, before the Interstate Commerce Commissior President Taft made him a membe of the Railroad Securitic Commission, of wh President Hadk of Yale, is president Conservation has been one of his studies and he ! go eeply Oo the legal phase the contro of water-power and waterways vested in state and Federal government He was president of the Con ervation League of America, of which President Roosevelt was honorary president and Secretary Taft ind William J an honora ce-presidents. That organization was merged into the National Conser vation League, of which former President Eliot, of Harvard, was made president and Gifford Pinchot ind Fis} eT Vice-pre it I 1 I in hot ubsequentls became president of the league and Mr. Fisher still Is one oO! the vice-presicde Secretary Fisher is a man of high ideals, great intelligence, unWavering Courage and intense enthu siasm. He is likable, approachable, good company unaffected and not burdened with too serious an He belongs to that noble band of Sigma Chis of which George Ade and John McCutcheon are the chief hand-shakers. He is a member of a lot of clubs and a resident of the outlook on things in general same ward in Chicago from which came Secretary Dickinson and Secretary MacVeagh to the Cabinet And, harking back to the why of his appointment there is this to be said: Fisher is an expert golfer who gets around in about eighty-five on an average President Taft always did say Secretary Ballinger golf game was not what it should be Hope Short-Lived MISSOURIAN from the Ozarks recently went + to the city to see the sights He had never He walked down the street looking in the windows and At one place been in a big city before enjoying himself hugely Serious and Frivolous Facts About ext oven reading, “Woman Exchange tlhe Great @mel the Near Great The mountaineer hurried into the store, which was filled with various feminine handicraft specimens ol is this the Woman’s Exchange he asked “It is,” answered a very tall, very gaunt and ver spinsterlike person behind the counter ‘Be you the woman?” and he eyed her keenly “T guess I am “Wal, I gue I'll keep Sa he said apologe hurrying out A Strange Account NEGRO sharper started a bank in Georgia, in one of the smaller towns, and the negro ho lived thers about were much taken with the idea and serimped to ge a few dollars to start an account One man made a deposit of five dolla ix months later he came into the bank and said Il wants n tive dollahs “You ain’t got no five dollahs heal h,”’ said tl banker, who acted as paying and receiving teller, cashier president, and carried the money in his pocket ‘I ain’t?” **No, suh.”’ 3ut I done put five dollahs in tt Ver bank SIX months ago “T know that, suh, I kr that; but th’ intru natur’ly done eat it up Too Much Cohan AN ENGLISH theatrical n yer visited a theate 4 where George Cohan Wa renear fy a company tt one of his own play ‘Who wrote this piece?”’ asked the Englishman ‘I did,”” Cohan replied ‘Who wrote the song I did ‘Well, who wrote the musi *I did.” Who is produci ] am.” ‘Who is going to play in it? ‘My sister and myself.’ * Well shouted the Englishman desperately, “‘who painted the scenery? Surel ou didn't do that too? P ipa painted that.’ ‘Oh, no Cohan repli d sweetly

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24 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST is Succulency Ch April 22,1911 What the Chesapeake Might Add to the World’s Food Supply Dredge chains rattle, the frozen spume By Harry Snowden Stabler manner. This is an area nearly as great as all the cultivated bottoms in New York, Connecticut and Rhode Island waters put together. Knuckles cracked open and red And a crazy kind of a dream of bloom In a crazy kind of a head. Blows and blasphemy, meat that walked, Bread that was all but stone, And the horrible hunger for sleep that talked Through blood and muscle and bone. THE BENTZTOWN BARD OU may not be shanghaied on an oyster boat out of the port of Baltimore as readily as you might have been say five years ago. Neither can you go down the Chesa- peake Bay and get a jag of oysters as easily as you might have done even two years ago. But since, by chance, you might lose out on either one of these two propositions, they ure “coupled in the betting,” speak; for the industry in the upper half of these waters is dying with the romance. It has been dying for twenty years or more. To ninety-nine people out of every hundred that is startling, not to say incredible. The story of it constitutes a tale of lawless rapacity, stupid greed and worse politics, which would be a matter of mere loca! importance were it not for the fact that the Chesapeake Bay is a national asset of enormous and peculiar economic value. The foremost biologist of his time likened this great “river valley” to the Nile, the Ganges and the Euphrates, which by reason of their fertility were the cradles of separate and successive civilizations. Although this com- parison was that of an enthusiast and an optimist, it was also that,of a scientist who in his lifetime hatched from artificially fertilized eggs more oysters than there were inhabitants in the United States at the time of the tenth census. To avoid any appearance of muckraking in contrasting the industry as it is carried on in the Chesa- peake with that in the Northern field, it might be well to follow a bugeye, whose captain is known to the writer. so to The Taie of the Oysters That Lived in a Pocket H® CAME up te Baltimore with a jag of oysters and, haying sold them at a fosas in a glutted market, was half way home when he had to run for shelter before a sud- den storm. The bay at that place was about eighteen miles wide, but he got under the lee of a small point and dropped anchor in about three fathoms of fairly smooth water. As the “cull boy” dropped over a casual line, instantly bringing in a big white perch. Another and another followed in quick squall subsided, hi Figures are usually tiresome, but the few in this article are going to jar some people, for most of them have never been made public. Moreover, the public knows next to nothing about the oyster. In nine of the twelve tidewater counties of Maryland there are more and better oyster bottoms than there are in the whole state of Rhode Island, whose income from this in- dustry is estimated to be one hundred and eighteen thousand dollars for the single year of 1910. It is not the intention here to “start something”’ by discussing the relative merits of the natural fat oyster in different regions. That is a matter of pride and prejudice — with a few facts on the side. So the word “‘better,’”’ as applied above, refers Tonging in a Bit of Quiet Water, San Francisco Bay darkness and each time selling his catch at a different point along the bay. Feeling sure that he had a safe thing, as the bed was old and untouched, he had taken only the finest barrel stock —nearly a thousand bushels of them first and last, which he sold at an average of eighty-five cents when one day about sundown the man came in sight of his gold mine. There were four or five dredgers, tacking this way and that across it. From a distance they looked like dancers doing a slow waltz over a ballroom floor, now and then stopping to bow to one another. And the captain of the bugeye concluded that the jig would soon be up. It was. Within a few days there was practically not an oyster left on that bed—big and little, all had been taken. In their mad game of devil take the hindmost they stripped it clean, not even taking care to return the cultch—old shells, stones, and so on—that another set of spat or spawn might be caught upon it to grow another supply at some future time. Although this happened several years ago that bed is still barren, and so it will remain. That captain, his children, and probably his children’s children, will never see it replenished fully until it is planted with seed oysters or strewn with cultch to catch the spawn drifting over it from other places. Now there are in the upper part of the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland waters alone—approximately one hundred thousand acres of these depleted, barren bottoms— vast underwater farms upon which the wild oyster at one time grew in plenty, but which have been destroyed in this solely to the fertility of these Chesa- peake bottoms and the comparative ease with which they could be made to yield a return far greater than any of the Northern bottoms. This whole bay—nearly two hundred miles in length and from six to thirty-five miles in width—-is compara- tively shallow and landlocked; even the estuaries, inlets and small bays are rarely frozen over in winter for any length of time. There is no enormous expense of dragging by steam power huge tangles over wide areas of bottom to destroy the terrible ‘‘fivefingers,’”’ and the drumfish is seldom found farther up the bay than the Patuxent. Held in Bondage by a Bay HE waters of the bay receive the drainage of Maryland and Virginia, nearly all of Pennsylvania and about one-third of New York, bringing to its bottoms the rich sediment from field and forest out of which grow the microscopic plants the oyster feeds on. This is his natural habitat, in more ways than one the most productive body of water for its size in the world. Those who live along these shores have never had to work hard for a living. It requires scarcely any labor to raise enough vegetables to live on in the summer; it is even less of an effort to catch all the fish and crabs one cares to eat. And in the winter there has always been the hitherto supposedly inexhaustible supply of oysters to be had for the trouble of taking them. This is the real work when one feels like it—and a ready cash market always available. Since it is not human nature succession. Then | over went the tongs; | for all kinds of fish i wax lat over a nat- } ural bed or bar of To the cap- tain’s surprise and } delight he found the bottom covered with oysters. them—from big full- grown bivalves, six inches in length, down to the smallest —all ‘condition. In an unsuspected, unfamiliar part ol the bay he had ru: across a “patch” or ‘pocket of about eighteen or twenty acres of natural oyster bar —a veritable gold It was his just could mine. as long as he keep the location of it a secret, and no longer. hand at the game he did keep it fora while, dodging those as wise ¢ Being an old 4 Pipes rae CC. ao te eae : 4 Sonee”, ee’ = 1 ra RE Sc AE Mie TIE 60 a ER to work any harder than one has to, the very fertility of this region has been, inthe opinion of many intel- ligent thinking men, a handicap instead of a blessing. For, to go back to the captain of that bugeye, he simply pitched in with the rest, got what he could and quit the place, chuckling at his luck in having beaten the otherstoit. His point of view is quite nat- ural, in that it is the same as that of his ancestors, who in this slipshod, hand-to- mouth fashion took oysters in the Chesa- ae peake for nearly - - ; ‘ three hundred years without doing any apparent damage. But about fifty years ago three things hap- as himself, going to t ler cover of Another of a Season's Shucking, Baltimore, Maryland pened: Some clever Yankee oystermen —— —

Page 27

ia | | | | , t 4 lt it j } f i - 1 of a | & \ ,) = discovered true oyster culture, which is nothing more than the capture of the young bivalves on collectors and the rearing of them to maturity; secondly, they invented a process of steaming them and putting them up in sealed cans like tomatoes or corn; and lastly, transportation facili- ties began to make tremendous strides, and oysters instead of being transported by wagon began to be shipped by rail. Since then the Chesapeake has been fished ruthlessly and incessantly. It became one of the most important factors in building up what is now a great industry in the Northern waters by furnishing seed oysters for planting, after the natural resources in the North came near the vanishing point through the same methods. The canner, who pre- fers the smal! oyster—the smaller the better—had to come farther South. And now the upper half of the Chesapeake produces a little over three million bushels of oysters whereas nearly twenty million bushels were taken twenty years ago. It is a common thing to hear one speak of the cold- blooded, dry-as-dust scientist, though as a matter of fact he is always an enthusiast, always a dreamer. Else how could he have the patience to search out the deeply hidden why and how of things, unless his mind’s eye saw beyond the actual point of vision? He has, it is true, been too fond of picturing the oyster industry under conditions nearly approaching the millennium, so far as man is con- cerned; as well as picturing a continuous ideal condition, so far as concerns Nature herself. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The tong itself is a very primitive affair, looking not unlike a pair of garden rakes with their teeth set toward each other. Each rake is fitted to a handle anywhere from ten to thirty feet in length. These shafts are cross-joined by a pivot iron, so that the implement opens and shuts like a pair of scissors. It requires great skill and some strength to operate one of them successfully. Much in the way that a cowpuncher delights to put a tenderfoot on the back of a bucking bronco, the oysterman delights to have a green hand try the tongs. It usually means a ducking The two men work from opposite ends of the boat, one on each side. They stand on the gunwales, their heels hooked in the coaming ef the washboards or on a narrow platform running the full length of the boat. It is a curious sight to see a fleet of these tiny vessels with a man upright on each gunwale, as delicately balanced to the rise and fall of the boat as a bareback rider in a circus. In slack or still water it looks easy, but add a strong tide to a two-foot dip and rise and one can imagine how difficult it would be to touch a certain spot on the bottom, even a few feet below the surface. Yet any of these men can use a pair of twenty-four-foot tongs in twenty feet of water and tell by sense of touch whether the grab is a full one or not. There is no prettier sight on a clear winter morning than a bunch of these tongers racing out of a cove or inlet on the way to the beds. With them, as with every one else in the business, it is a case of devil take the hindmost. Light 25 including captain, mate and cook. They use an apparatus almost exactly like a lady's metal purse, the mouth of which is held open by an iron frame. To the bottom bar of this frame is fastened a row of iron teeth, which tear the oysters loose from the bottom. The dredges —or “‘drudges,”’ as they are called chains and are dropped overboard, one on each side. The are attached to ropes by vessel then tacks back and forth across an oyster bar, At regular intervals the “‘winders” are manned, four men to each, and the dredges are drawn on deck dragging these huge purses after it. On a bitter cold day, when the spray is flying and the vessel plunging, winding in these heavily loaded dredges is work of the hardest kind, and dangerous toe; for when the dredge strikes a snag on the bottom, as it sometimes does, the windlass cranks fly back, revolving with frightful rapidity and suddenness. Men have been instantly killed by them, while broken bones are more or less common These dredges are terribly destructive when used wrong, but when used right, with decent restraint, they are really a benefit to the beds, as they break up the clusters of oysters and allow them freer growth, exactly as the farmer's harrow breaks up the lumps in his field. When oysters were much more plentiful in the Chesa- peake than they are now it was so hard to get crews to man these dredge boats that all sorts of schemes were resorted to in procuring them. The stranger out of work or the hobo pan- handling in the But it is certain that the tongerand the dredger will never lie down to- gether, like the lion and the lamb, nor will the planter hobnob with either of them. And, as at present, there are bad seasons in the oyster business asin farming. The two industries are alike in many ways. Acontinued drought hurts both; for the farm- ers’ produce dries up for lack of rain, and the rivers then carry little oyster mud to the sea, leaving the bivalves poor and thin. It may be seen, therefore, that a bad season is almost invariably a simple question of food supply. And yet, while this paper was being written, one of the best- known men in a certain oyster field stated, in a news- paper interview, neighborhood of the water front, after having takena drink insome saloon often awoke out of a doped and dream ful slumber to find himself fifty miles or so down the bay. It was not neces- sary for him to know an oyster from a buneh of beets, just so he had the strength to “heave and wind” a dredge. Of this phase of the business a re cent writer says: “During the quar ter of a century or more since the grim and grizzled pioneer and the polite but dreadful cowboy with his six-shooter have become ex tinct, they have been celebrated as typical Wester: characters in a del uge of magazine lit erature by Eastern writers; and the flood continues un abated to this day The equally pictur that he belie .ed the oysters in that sec- tion to be suffering from some strange disease. Thinking the man knew what he was about, the statement got past the editor, and was followed by a cartoon showing an oyster bottom: One bivalve felt symptoms of pneumonia, another feared it had diphtheria, and so on—and Doctor Fish was depicted puzzling over the situation. It was, on all sides, one of those instances of crass stupidity from which the industry has too often suffered. The condition of the oysters in that section was simply that of partial starva- tion from purely natural causes. The incident is mentioned merely to offset the very great harm already done by the original story. Nevertheless it was predicted almost to a nicety just twenty years ago that the present condition in the Chesapeake would occur unless the oystermen changed their habits. They have never changed unless they have been forced to do so. And although their lives are pictur- esque and romantic they are not anything else—in the Chesapeake. With the appearance of the open season the tongmen, who live at some distance from the water, fit out rude shanties along the shore nearest to the beds or bars they intend to work. Perhaps half a dozen or more of them will build a raft or scow, tow it into a creek or inlet, and build a more pretentious shanty upon it, stocking it with pro- visions for the coming winter. They usually work in pairs; the crew of a skipjack or bay canoe consists of two tongers and a “cull boy,” whose duty it is to break with a hammer the cultch from the marketable oysters. What a Planted Bed Looks Like or heavy weather, it is always a race for the best positions over the beds and for the first full load; a race to the “buy boat” and a race to unload. Then, last of all, comes the race back to homes or shanties. The “buy boat” is an important and picturesque factor in the tongman’s end of the business. Her captain is always a speculator, for it is his business to buy at the lowest figure and sell to the distant packers at the highest price obtainable. In markets as uncertain as those on the Chesapeake are now, the difference between profit and loss is very close at times. Often half a dozen of these ‘buy boats,” usually schooners or bugeyes from forty to sixty tons burden, may be seen lying to near an oyster bed over which a hundred or more tongers may be at work. The signal that a boat wants to buy is a half-bushel oyster basket or pennant run up to the maintopmast head. Usually all the other ‘‘ buy boats” follow suit at once, and if the market is brisk the queer competition begins. Another captain signals his willingness to pay one cent more per bushel than his competitors by running a second basket up to his maintop. Then ensues a scramble on the part of the tongers to reach him, until another puts up a third basket. The excite ment increases as one basket after another goes up. Each of the “‘buy boats” may have five or six extra baskets or pennants swinging aloft before the game is over. With the tonger’s mortal enemies—the dredgers and the scrapers who are small dredgers —it is quite a different proposition. They carry a crew of five to twelve men, esque bad man in their midst has entirely escaped their attention, perhaps because he has so recently been with them. It remains for some Pacific Coast writer who has never crossed the Coast Range to exploit the wild oyster pirate of the Chesapeake. There will be color for his tale in the facts when he obtains them, and fiction will not be necessary.” Many of these dredge captains, especially some of th out of Baltimore, bore reputations unsurpassed by any pirate that ever trod a deck. It was not altogether their fault either, for the owners of these vessels often instructed the captains to “get a crew and get oysters, or get another job.” This meant, of course, that they had to do their work with any kind of a crew; dredge day and night, in fair weather or foul, driving the crew to “heave and wind from sun to sun,” and then at night to cull and sort the jag. It is fair to say that only a relatively small number of the men who made up these crews were actually shang haied. Many of them answered cunningly worded adver- tisements in New York and Philadelphia papers and came “to farm somewhere down the bay Others shipped as waiters, bartenders. barbers, and so on; and one that the writer knew of made his first and only trip on a dredge thinking he was going asa bootblack. He was soon black, and blue too, from the mate’s boots, which of course had never seen any blacking. After three months’ work this man, with his hands and feet badly frostbitten, was flung ashore on Tangier Sound without a penny; and for years, a mental and physical wreck, he panhandled up and

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THE SATURDAY | down the bay with but one single purpose— to find a certain captain and kill him. Since the Federal authorities took hold | of this phase of the industry in 1906, con- ditions have greatly improved. It has, | however, been very hard to break up the practice of holding a man who has signed for one trip only —‘“‘ just to see how he will | like it.””, He rarely does. On the contrary, | he usually develops a great big grouch. According to his disposition his anger may grow or lessen as he sees the hold gradually filling with oysters; for he ‘s probably cal- culating how much of a “beating up”’ the captain can stand when the trip is over. | But to his rage and disgust this captain | with a full cargo merely swings alongside of another vessel called a ‘‘run boat,” and | orders his crew to get busy transferring | his catch aboard of her. That task being finished the ‘“‘run boat”’ goes up to market, the “lay boat’? goes back to the oyster beds, and the man realizes that unless he is lucky his single trip may last the best part of the season. These dredgers are the Ishmaels of the business, for the hand of every man—the | tonger, the scraper (who uses a very light dredge), the planter and the police—is against him, even as his is against them all. He likes nothing better than a good chance to raid the shallower waters set aside by law fortheothers. They are much easier to work. The Possibilities of the Chesapeake It is this irresistible desire that has led to these famous oyster wars in which scores of people have been killed. That they were not mere stage battles is shown by the affair that took place years ago when a large fleet of dredgers came into the Rappa- hannock River in Virginia and raided the tonging grounds. Of course the small boats had no chance in the fights that ensued. They were driven off and kept away for weeks, It happened that the Virginia Leg- islature was then in session and it voted to supply the tongers with cannon and small arms. But the dredgers had completed their work and gone long before relief came. This raiding is generally done at night, | preferably in weather in which only the most daring would venture out. The skip- per loosens the top of the piece of num- bered canvas tacked on his mainsail and | covers his name-board, thus concealing his | identity for all of these vessels are about of the same rig and build. Gathered ina cove or river at night, it only needs one man to start the whole fleet off by trying to sneak out on a little private venture of his own; for what one does they all do and the devil take the hindmost! Not long since, in a talk with one of these oystermen whose views represent eight- tenths of them, the writer argued that the upper half of the Chesapeake Bay should be producing thirty or forty million bushels of wild and cultivated oysters a year, instead of the three million, or a little over, produced now. Leaving out the adjectives, his reply was: ‘You must be one of those scientific fellows and you are just naturally bughouse like the rest of ’em. That’s a rainbow you're painting.” Though both distinctions were disclaimed the admission was readily made that much harm had been done the industry by paint- ing rainbows about it. The assertion was backed up, however, by figures and by comparisons. “But where would you sell ’em?” the oysterman demanded. He would not believe that, for instance, in 1907, four years ago, one firm in New York shipped sixty-six thousand barrels of oysters to California alone; or that by up-to-date methods of introduction, sell- ing and advertising, such as the northern planters have adopted, the country could | easily be made to consume all the oysters | the bay could produce. Also that a greater market could be opened up in Europe, where the oyster is a real luxury and where the cost of cultivating it is many times greater than in America. He scouted the idea that as far back as twenty years ago the demand for Chesapeake oysters was greater than the supply; but when the | figures were shown him he was curiously | noncommittal as to why the demand has fallen off. | It so happened that this oysterman was | a small truck farmer during the summer, | and when the question was put to him, | ““Would you go into your field and cut | down your partially ripened as to sell it for fodder?” he answered ‘ EVENING POST “But you do go on the natural oyster beds and take the small ones as well as those that are full grown, don’t you? And | isn’t either one of these acts as bad and foolish as the other?”’ “Yes,” he admitted reluctantly, “‘it does look that w way. But the oyster beds are public property; they always have been free.” ““You mean you feel free to break the ‘cull’ laws by taking everything off these beds that could be called an oyster?” “Well, everybody does it, and I’ve got as much right to make a living as the rest of ’em. It’s a poor one at that, with oysters selling at twenty-five and thirty cents a bushel.” “Then why don’t you make a better one? Instead of marketing these half-grown oysters why don’t you rent the ten acres of shallow water or one hundred acres in the epen bay that the Maryland law allows you, and plant them and put your whole time upon them? You know the practi- cal side of the business, and the shellfish officials would' be glad to put you wise to the up-to-date methods of cultivation. They would even help you to select your grounds. The raw bar stock you can grow on thousands of acres in the bay that are now useless will bring anywhere from two to six dollars a barrel.” “Yes, I know. things against all that. If I were to go in to planting ten acres, which ain’t enough for me to put all my time on anyhow, I’d lose all my friends and maybe my oysters too. They’d swipe every one of them if they got the chance. And I’ve never heard of anybody fool enough to take up a hundred acres in these waters.’ The oysterman’s grim chuckle that ac- companied this last statement brought forth the question: “And you would swipe the planted oys- ters, especially the hundred-acre lot, if you got the chance?’ “Sure thing. You see this planting busi- ness means an oyster trust as soon as it gets going good. And you know,” he added, pointing to his neck, “‘where the poor man is going to get it then. York and Connecticut.’ “But,” was the answer, “up there the best of the bottoms are owned or practically owned by the individuals, gradually falling into fewer hands. But here the state owns all these bottoms, and as the permanent survey of them is nearly completed they could be rented under terms that would make an oyster trust next to impossible. Or you could form producers’ associations, like the potato growers down in Virginia who make their own markets and keep in touch with them. ea could then be independent of the aws. “Oh, the laws are good enough for us just as they are.” Inadequate Oyster Laws This is true. Not one of the hundred thou- sand acres of natural bottoms that have been stripped clean may be rented to the cultivator under conditions that are rea- sonable, though it is known that many years—generations perhaps—must elapse before Nature in three or four. Of natural beds in the upper half of the Chesapeake there are yet about two hun- dred thousand acres on which the oyster- man gets his living. The cull laws being broken with impunity, these beds are going the same way. In addition to these there are two hundred and fifty thousand acres of splendid bottoms that could be put in good condition for growing oysters at a com- paratively small cost. In all of this im- mense natural wealth of resource there are only twenty-five hundred acres of bottoms rented for cultivation in Maryland, for the reasons set forth in the talk with that oysterman. Therefore the state, instead of deriving any net income from the in- dustry in which she formerly held first | place, now pays annually nearly forty thou- | sand dollars for so-called inspection and policing. The first is a farce, the second totally inadequate. But for her eighty thousand acres of cultivated lands, from which she | derives an income of nearly that many thousand dollars, Virginia is in the same condition or worse. The bottoms have not been surveyed properly and the laws have been revised, revoked, amended and gen- erally tinkered with until they are simply chaotic.

But there are several |

and they are | can do what man could do |

April 22,1911 “That’s Right!” HINK what a sure reli- ance you findin Campbell’s Tomato Soup in the midst of ‘nervous’’ tiring work. Think how much _ bother and fuss it takes off your mind; how invigorating it is, and how it nourishes and tones you up. You get all the fine tonic | qualities of fresh ripe tomatoes in , Just look at New | ambled. § TOMATO OUP It gives you the highest food- value known in any tomato soup. Every material we use is rich and pure. And we blend them all with a scientific care impossible in any home kitchen. Make sure of these qualities when you order by insisting on Campbell’s. Judge it yourse/f. We guarantee it will satisty you completely —or the grocer returns your money. Why not have the best ? why not have it today ? 21 kinds 10c a can Asparagus Julienne Beef Mock Turtle A nd Bouillon Mulligatawny Celery Mutton Broth Chicken Ox Tail Chicken Gumbo Pea Ykra) Pepper Pot Clam Bouillon Printanier Clam Chowder Tomato Consommé Tomuato-Okra Vegetable Vermicelli-Tomato Just add hot water, bring to a boil, and serve. Look for the red-and-white label Josep PH CAMPBELL COMPANY Camden N J

mh, **O boy why wait This fiery fate & When all but you have fled? ”’ €e<% ***T is not too late el eS For one more plate Sen ge Of Campbell’ s Soup,’* he said.

——— “Sr

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peti EE SRaIRL ek Senne os y } .3 ‘ ; { 33333 4 3 +} $3353 $33) oS 433 = £ -j+ ater das Le etapa debehheron se ||| | oer This Kind of Corn Cooked, sweetened, rolled into thin, fluffy bits and toasted to a crisp, appetizing brown, becomes Post Toasties A tempting, wholesome food for the whole family. It is fine served right from the package with cream and sugar or fruit. “The Memory Lingers’”’ nM tadion Cons I~ ; - ‘ Bere ) : . Li sak °: Limited oie nn = 4 Postum Cereal Company, Limited, Battle Creek, Mich., U.S. A. Canadian Postum Cereal Co., Limited Windsor, Ontario, Canada THE SATURDAY All over the lower part of the bay may be seen watchhouses—sometimes half a dozen in sight at once— built on piles over the water. In each of these a man guards his planted beds with a rifle or sawed-off shotgun. It may be guessed from the few facts herein set forth that the Chesapeake Bay oyster is deeper in the political mire than it ever was in its rich native mud beds. And yet, strange as it may seem, there was something in what that oyster- man said about rainbow painting. Many a thousand dollars has been lost by indis- criminately dumping a lot of seed or half- grown oysters overboard in any kind of water, and paying no further attention to them. Accompanying this article is the photo- graph of a facsimile of a planted bed, and the text describing it is as follows: “These oysters were grown on barren bottom in Barataria Bay, Louisiana, on an experi- mental plantation of the Bureau of Fish- eries. Six hundred bushels of clean oyster shells per acre were planted May 25, 1906, and the oysters were taken up May 29, 1908, when not more than two years old, at which time it is estimated there were twenty-five hundred bushels of oysters per acre. The oysters shown were taken from an area of bottom equal to that of the model, which, therefore, exhibits the actual density of growth.” In a conversation with the writer, Doc- tor Moore of the Bureau corrected this estimate to between fifteen hundred and | two thousand bushels. This in a sense is a rainbow, even in the corrected figures. The experimental plantation was less than half an acre in size, of selected land and with no other beds near it. It is believed that no extensive areas of land under water could produce such an enormous yield, sim- ply because there would not be food enough to support them. One-fifth of such a | crop would mean an immense revenue to the planter. But the size and shape of the oysters shown give one an idea of what cultivation means. A Louisiana Experiment Profiting by the experience of the New England states, Louisiana not long ago adopted sane practical laws. She gave an | oyster commission sole jurisdiction over her entire coast, endowing it with ample police powers and requiring the oystermen to observe the cull laws and other essential regulations, which under the old régime were disregarded with impunity. During the first five years under the new act the increase in production was at the rate of one hundred and fifty-four per cent. Less than one million bushels of oysters were taken in Louisiana in 1897; in 1908 the crop was nearly four millions. If the bottoms of the Chesapeake Bay were cultivated as intensively as those in Rhode Island, at half the rentals paid in that state, the income to Maryland and Virginia would give every child in the two states a good education and pay five per cent on enough bonds to build modern | highways throughout their territory. With grazing lands in the West becoming scarcer each year and the prices of meats rising in consequence, the eighty million bushels of oysters the Chesapeake could produce would be a tremendous factor in the country’s food supply. The country at large needs and would soon consume all of this splendid, nutritious food it could get. “‘T believe the time is now fast approach- ing when the increase of population on the earth, and the question of food supply which must arise as a necessary conse- quence, will compel us to pay most serious | attention to the utilization for this pur- | pose of what has been termed the ‘ watery waste.’ “For man to overfish and then to wait for the bounty of Nature to replenish, or failing that to seek new fishing grounds, is, it seems to me, an act to be put in the same category with the doings of nomadic peoples wandering from place to place in search of pastures.” These are not the words of an American or European scientist. They were spoken before the International Congress of Arts and Sciences at the St. Louis Exposition in 1904 by Professor Mitsukuri, of the Imperial University of Tokyo—a man whose country, well within the memory of men now living, was a terra incognita, and whose education was completed in sight of the Chesapeake Bay. Editor’s Note — This is the third of three arti- | cles on the oyster by Harry Snowden Stabler. EVENING POST ry a , Hold an 5 a ' Inverted } od k Bottle to if the Light; Ps Clear—Pure No Sediment Of all other beverages, save 5 hh hs milk and water, one may drink \s X a too much. & But of Walker's Grape Juice one can hardly drink enough. Every glassful is a draught of Nature's health-giving, strength-making essence as she a provides it in her greatest food-fruit, the grape. WALKER’S is just the pure juice of big, ) plump, luscious Concords. It is not only pure | grapes—it is pure grape juice—no ground-up t stems, skins or seeds are in it. uy iti si \\% WALKER'S is clear and pure, a rich, translucent ruby ¢ \} color without sediment or suspended fibrous matter—it is, i] all juice. Serve it regularly on the family table as well as upon pa special occasions. Many tempting drinks can be 4 made with Walker's Grape Juice. \ * Our booklet of unusual recipes for dainty iN desserts and beverages is full of surprises. wh We will mail it to you free, upon request. LA 4 Walker’s Grape Juice is sold by druggists t &) and grocers and served at soda fountains ly a. throughout the United States and Canada 1G AN Write for this recipe book / “ \" ‘ The Grape Products Company /9 . North East, Pa. |

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‘To make them bright as new in record time use Porat FOR RAPID POLISHING of Brass, Nickel, Copper, Aluminum, etc. Tested out by exacting serv ice in the home and the garage. As small applied with a soft cloth, a few light quantity rub » and that is all. Arco Spotzoft a utely ) NON-EXPlostve,. i afe for mistress, maid 2 You can keep any quant e garage. It es NOt settic eca You get all you pay for, and use eve ' Go to your dealer ar Jy a can for tria Five sizes, f 1 halt-pints to ga There is great ¢ my the gallon size-—Arco Spotzotf will ke dition ia any climate © detetioration with age Sold ley hardware, groce {rug and sporting-goods stores and by auto supply h and gata If pot found } your town, send us 2 and “ forward you sampie an, charges paid Write for interesting booklet “The Care of Meta! Surfaces” The Atlantic Refining Co. Spotzoff Department 6400 Euclid Ave., Cleveland For a Bright Future | peeps out: | will say that”; | befitting a clodhopper.” | truths they hold to be self-evident. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SAY NOW SHIBBOLET (Continued from Page 15) Whatsoever things are false, whatsoever things are unjust, whatsoever things are impure, whatsoever things are vile, what- soever things are of ill report —these things dol unhesitatingly impute to him. I can’t prove it. don’t know anything about it; but I feel it in my bones. And there- unto do I set my hand and seal. Done on January the second, nineteen hundred and eleven. If one turns one’s eyes from the Astors / and the little asteroids to consider care- fully in what desert corner of the U niverse our petty provincial system wanders dark- ling on the dim frontier of chaos, a fleeting spark for one brief split-second of Eter- nity —one would hardly think it worth one’s while to be such an insufferable, unmiti- ,ated, complicated and complacent ass as I am about that “bronco” word—would one? For consider that in the worlds beyond Aldebaran and Antares they may not use the word bronco at all--or madam either. The book on Words is written in a more tolerant spirit. it is fair to believe that the writer’s honest purpose was to help his readers to better usage. But inherent superiority cannot be completely sup- pressed, even by retiring modesty. It ‘Abominable”; “execrable”; “ignoramus”; ‘“‘no one but a low fellow “a vulgar colloquialism A clodhopper is one who hops clods—in plowing. The term seems to be a euphe- mism for “farmer.” That he who hops a clod is necessarily a low and despicable fellow is, for many, not the least of those I think the inference is hasty. I think that never | to have hopped a clod is but a negative virtue at best. have known men who hopped clods with nimbleness and preci- sion, but who, nevertheless, were estimable men—solvent, even—and who personally knew what their own thoughts and opinions were without consulting the authorities or | looking in the morning paper. His instruction is right in the main, but he slips sometimes. ‘“‘ View-point is the | correct and elegant expression, unless we would countenance such vulgar words as washtub, cookstove and the like.” He does not give us the elegant word for wash- tub. I wish he had supplied it. I should like to get one. Shall We Marry or Wed? “The masses. This expression is thought by some to be as vulgar as the object it describes.”’ Let us pass over the implausi- bility of such reference to some eighty-nine and a half millions—some say more—of our people, as “‘the object,” or even “objects.” For a question arises in our minds—if an object may be said to have a | mind—whether this wholesale scorn is not | far sea-island.”’ at least as disrespectful to the Creator of that object, or objects, as to the object, or objects, which He created? Either this sweeping disdain is unjustified or He erred | in not calling expert advice before creating this object, or objects. He might have heard of something to His advantage. On the whole, I believe “objects” is the better word. It seems to concede to us a certain amount of personal identity. Paste this in your hat, please. ‘ Vulgar”’ means “of or pertaining to the mass or multitude of people: common, general, ordinary, public; hence, in general use: vernacular.” The evil meaning attached to the word has been forced upon it by such scornful patricians as have felt it necessary systematically to advise the worlds that they were not common or ordinary. That a word or a man is vulgar is no more proof that such word or man is vile than that a vulgar fraction is vile. A vulgar man may be objectionable — but not because he is one of a multitude of people. That is not a criminal matter. It is not even a matter for sorrow. When you meet a man overgiven to the use of “ vulgar,” in its deprecating sense, shun him. He is a Gileadite; he will slay you. If it is not feasible to avoid him at least let him do all the talking. Keep your mouth shut. You are safe then—unless you wear black trousers. “He married his wife in Honolulu. Well, such a man is only fit to live on some Far from—er-—where? I wonder. What has the place where a man lives to do with his fitness? Where is the moral Meridian of Greenwich? Hono- lulu is no farther away from any place whatever —and I make no exceptions—than any place whatever is from Honolulu. I say it deliberately; and I will so maintain it with my life. I seem to have a dim re- membrance of a parable wherein it was said: “I have married a wife, and there- fore I cannot come.” But the Giver of that parable lived in a far land Himself. Surely this is literalism gone mad. To “marry” originally meant to take a hus- band; true. It means to wed now—and has meant just that any time these four centuries. There is no such thing as the “sanctity” of language: a word means what it means, not what it once meant or what it might mean. So cruelly to exile a man, or even a person, for using a word in its universally accepted sense throws a strong sidelight on the animus of the hyper critic. True, in the strictest literal sense a man who marries a wife thereby assists her to commit bigamy. A bride is not a wife until she is married. Theoretically, a man marries a mi iid, widow or divore ée; in practice we say ‘“‘he marries a wife”’ just as we say “‘he takes a wife.” ‘‘ Thou shalt not take a wife of the daughters of Canaan.” No misunderstanding results. It seems hard to be consigned to outer darkness for using a term so convenient and so unambiguous. Our Coarse and Wretched Ancestors The Life of Lincoln, which we now take up, is in many respects a valuable work. Its usefulness is heavily discounted by the opening pages, which are given to an indis- criminating attack upon the threefold nature of the early settlers of L'linois and Indiana. He imputes to them the lowest motives; he puts the worst possible con- struction on their every act. He leaves “not even Launcelot brave, nor Galahad clean.” Lincoln himself does not escape rough handling; and as for his family, they are pursued with fire and sword —no city of refuge avails them. That the pioneers built log huts before building palaces is a shameful thing; the forest was their personal misdemeanor; the privations of the foregoer are his re- proach. Decency, cleanliness, morality, truthfulness, honor, common honesty, the author denies to them, directly or by impli- cation. Indeed, of all possible virtues he grants them only two: “‘an ignoble physi- eal courage” and “a sort of bastard con- tempt forhardship.”” These are his prudent words. For myself, I think that a sort of bastard contempt for hardship would do nearly as well in a pinch as a legitimate contempt for hardship, with a church reg- ister rampant tattooed on its torso. Hon- estly, don’t you think he went out of his way to be offensive? What sticks in his gizzard most, however, was that these men were migratory. He doesn’t approve of that. He rings all the changes on this theme: “Restless” *‘shiftless vagr: ints” “the natural idler’’; “nomads ‘rovers’; “wi: tifs and strays from civilized communities’ ’; “adventur- ers,”’ forever ‘‘moving on.’’ He intimates pretty strongly that they “‘moved on” to avoid paying their debts. He does not ex- plain how they could have settled the West if they had stayed at home. He evi- dently thinks they might have been better employed. It is a pity. He blames them severely. ‘“‘Wretched”; “brutal” “squalid”; “frontier ruffians of the familiar type”; “uncouth”; “coarse”; “vulgar- ity”; “utter lack of barriers establishing strata of society” —these are but a few expressions culled from a dozen pages. I want to do a little inferring now. I feel that I have a right to infer a little. My inference is that this author has lived so long among the noble oaks and the solid citizens, many of whom have never left | their native parish, that he has acquired a wrong notion of this matter. I do not know his birthplace. I do not here hazard a guess. But I think I could find him if I had to. There! I have done the man an in- | justice. He does credit these people with another virtue —a notable one. He says: “Finding life hard, they helped each other with a general kindliness which i impracticable among the complexities of elaborate social organizations.” April 22,1911 “Just read this signed guarantee.” ‘This goes with every suit I make from Shackamaxon guaranteed fabrics. “You notice this guarantee covers everything about your suit from beginning to end: fit, style, making, wear, color everything. “*T know what these Shacka- maxon fabrics are. ** Every thread is pure fleece- wool of the highest vrade the long pliable perfect fibre from live sheep. “Every yard is perfectly woven; dyed in the finest per- manent colors, and shrunken to the limit. “*'The patterns are exclusive. You can’t get these rich color- ings and tasteful designs except from a merchant tailor. **| like to handle such goods. I can shape them to your figure without any pinching or stretch- ing. And they 4o/d the shape I give them. *’ That's the beauty of Shacka- They give you permanent satisfaction. “And the Shackamaxon Mills back my guarantee with theirs. Read this, too:” If any fault develops in any Shackamaxon fabric at any time write to us and we will make it good. Write us for the name of a tailor near you who will show you the very latest Shackamaxon spring styles. Better write today; and get our new style book and up-to- date dress chart for all occa- sions. Every man wants that. maxon fabrics. JR Keim & Co. Shackamaxon Mills Philadelphia Look for this trademark on every yard of the fabric. TRADE MARK REG Guaranteed fabrics. SPAT. OF FICE { j if ee Pattee ee ee en ee a ee hee: Seana ee > ate ha ee =

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Get one Price 35 cents The Brush that Holds Its Bristles You are not limited to one shape when you buya Brisco-Kleanwell. There are ten. See the samples in our case at your dealer’s. The brush you buy is Sold in a Sealed Box Make your little girl a present of a Dollv’s Kleanwell—a tiny tooth brush. Sent on receipt of 4 cent Ores HAIR BRUSHES calp. ported M le ALFRED H. SMITH cO., 38 w. ‘33d St., New York Why Pay Extravagant Hotel Rates? | THE CLENDENING seed te fr te | never otherwise. Like The question naturally arises: Isa strati fied society that finds kindliness and help- fulness impracticable, superior to a society in which kindliness and helpfulness are spontaneous and inevitable? We have noticed that. Our sort of objects seldom receive help or kindliness from really cultured people—or common politeness either. They invite us to say Shibboleth, generally. Then they slay us. “Troughs served for washtubs when washtubs were used.” Exactly. It is difficult to imagine troughs serving for washtubs when washtubs were not used. That would bea useless extravagance — as he would realize if he had ever hollowed out a log with an adz. But perhaps he meant that they did not wash their clothes. On examination, it is likely that such was his meaning. It seems probable too. People living so far away common!y do not wash their clothes. That is well known. For myself I deem and say that this stock was as good as any that ever came over in a Maytlower loaded mast-high with Chippendale and Sheraton — well, furniture anyhow. Maybe it was Cloisonné and Val enciennes. I don’t really know about furniture. Chippendale and Sheraton are lovely words, so I used them. The trouble with this sort of people is that they are that sort of people. They are puffed up with vainglory and presump- tion. A little astonished at themselves, too. They ignore the fact that language is a tool, made by those who use it— made by that use —and that it changes. They make no allowance for the growth of idiom, or for the modifications of a living tongue. Modifications are made by modifying other man-made instruments, language was at first more complicated tuan was needful. We have outgrown most of the cumbrous and ¢ shonee sy inflections now; we are simplifying the spelling in our slow, easygoing way, and have been simplifying it for centuries: I think we shall simplify our pronunciation in time. The Greeks, when two letters came together in a word to make an ugly and difficult sound, systematically changed or dropped one of them to make a smooth and flowing sound. They had a beautiful and sonorous word for this euphonic process too. I wish I could remember it. It is a bully word. Never mind—we are going to do the same thing. We are doing The dictionaries haven't caught up with us yet —that’s all. Ground and Lofty Tumbling Cultured people give the words oil, and boy, as 6-il, né-ise and bdé-i, with a fur- lined mouth and the accent on the first sound—not exactly in two syllables, but, say, a syllable and a half; ice, mine and by are rendered a-€é-ce, mié-Géne, b-a-G6, with a pinched nose; the more carefully sheltered of them pronounce out, bound and now as thus: 4-06t, ba-60-nd, na-06, with the lips closed—accent same as above. I think these elaborate pronunciations will die out after a while —not because they are not proper but because it is not - venient to frame to utter them. The last has now but a few devoted adherents. The next to go, as I judge, will be the Norman ‘“u’’—except as an initial sound and in some of the easier combinations. We can all pronounce “‘amusing”’ rightly enough. Lute, except as “‘loot,”’ is too hard for us. This is a relic of the attempt to foist Norman-French upon England. The old aristocratic flavor still clings to it. Duke, lute, new, as di-00k, li-d6t, ni-dow, serve as social insignia, verbal strawberry leaves. But the most enthusiastic practi- tioners of this admirable sound find it a difficult accomplishment. A:tempted after d, j, 1, n, s, t or th, the results are deplor- able. It will have to go, I think. We, the Ephraimites, the masses, the bourgeoisie, hoi polloi, the plebeians—the workers, in fact —desire it. We cannot ‘rame to utter these distinguished words.—Good word that, bourgeoisie eh? A bit difficult to frame it, however. A bourgeois, I gather, is one who supports himself by his own exertions and doesn’t put on airs. When a person approaches you with one of these linguistic feats observe him closely. If he is pale, breathless, astonied, shun him. It is but fair to say that many excellent people use any or all of these sounds — naturally, unconscious sly and with- out consternation. This warning—and these comments-—-are not for them. Fictionists will lose a valuable when this “G”’ sound is abandoned. It i noise asset THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 29 99 ‘Onyx vw » Hosiery RK Stamped on a Hose means— THE MAKER’S BEST EFFORT THE BUYER’S BEST JUDGMENT Our purpose is to have you put this statement to the test. A trial of a pair of **Onyx’ Vince you of its truth. We put twenty-five Labor, and much Money in right. hav e realize their greatest expectations. We advertise because we know that the right; ’ Hose at years of making Hosiery that people want, and any price will con- ‘Time, Thought, Onyx’ Hosiery Which they will ‘*Onyx’’ Brand is because it has great merit; because we know it will satisfy you, and we want you to know it. The ‘‘Onyx’’ to win your favor- Brand resorts to no ‘Cc atch- penny” * devices it relies solely on its superior quality, its purchase is not surrounded with annoying conditions. In the ‘*Onyx’’ Brand you get the Finest and Best Ho siery that the most skillful manufacturers can produce for— MEN, IN SILK, LISLE a aa At 25c, 35c, 50c, WOMEN AND CHIL AND COT $1.00 and Upwards per DREN TON Pair EVERY PAIR IS WARRANTED TO BI GIVE REASONABLE WEAR, IF OTHERWISE, FREI FROM DEFECTS, TO MAY BE EXCHANGED “Onyx” Hosiery is a great success—success invites imitation, therefore, see that you get the hose with the “Onyx” To do justice to yourself, Hosiery. A few of the scribed for your guidance. FOR WOMEN i ask your dealer for best numbers are SILK HOSE FOR WOMEN trade-mark stamped on every toe “*On a” ——— e her re with de- FOR MEN B 488 251 B 153 Women’s “ONYX”’’Gauze Women’s “ONYX” Pure Me “ONYX” * Silk Lisle Silk Lisle in black and all Thread Silk with I e€ Sole Black and all « ; Crauze colors, with ““GARTER and Lisle Garter To; weight; Liner Spliced Hed POP” and Spliced Heeland Black and a color a and Toe and Double Sole; Toe; very sheer, exceed wonderful value i remarkable value ingly strong. $1.00 per pair 25c per pair 25c per pair ; ilies ee E 325 M YX" and 90/7 = : Women’s “ONYX” Black i BLEX Women’s“*ONYX"’ Black, gijp. Seasonable Weight 1 1 Tan and White Gauze | le, se pt B-] rop” I - ' . \ with **DUB-L TOP” and Sole Hi } S; € i Heel Se per pate : o Sole; igh Spliced age DOUBLEX ce NE OI quality ( I Mu ‘ Toe; avery desirable qualit . 50c per pair 35c per pair, or 3 pairs $1 $1.50 per pair 215 409 K FOR CHILDREN Men's ““ONYX” PURI M s ONYX" DUI ee rHREAD SILK with Lisle | He econ Mg eB inee dik X 54 Heel and Toe, in Black and gatH a Toe; fee Misses’ ‘ONY X”** Seamle the followis k O1or Tan . ks lik wearsbetter 1X1. Ribbed Silk Lisle WI neg ton. f wenn Mie ‘ 50c per pair | Hose; Black, White, Pink, Helio, Suéde, Green, Bur. 409 ¢ Phe Ga weight Skv, Tan and Red. Size gundy and Cadet. Best pure ( ” ies 5-10; all k sock made at the price 50c per pair | 25c per pair 50c per pair a leading shot If your dealer cannot uppiy you, é l/ direct you t t one r send post any number desired Write to Dept. E. P. Lord € Taylor visii:, New York

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A arial Ay wilh Mt cet: tial ene tf Judge “Ben” Lindsey Father of Denver’s Juvenile Courts MAKES THIS COMMENT : HAVE used your AutoStrop Safety Razor, and [| cannot say enough for it. It has many advantages over other safety razors | have seen. “Tt 1s quick and easy to strop, and the ex- pert stropping that it does puts on an edge that gives me a delightful shave. I hope it meets with the success it deserves.’ SHAVING SATISFACTION. GUARANTEED $5 for an AutoS will represent your total shaving expense for years, as a single blade often lasts six months to a year, Consists of silver-plated self stropping razor, 12 fine steel blades, and strop, in handsome case. Price complete, $5. It Razor doves not give satistaction dealer will retund your money. He has our authority to do this. It you put of getting an AutoStrop Satety Razor, you'll forget to 5 Get one today, while you’ re thinking of it. AutoStros, Safety Razor Company, 327 Fifth Avenue, New York 233 Coristine Building, Montreal; 61% New Oxford Street, London Iie nN nad HM A ii ne ad Wl " vel wey ae aah te, my ry | an old standby. You seldom read a story by a young writer without hitting upon “literachoor” or “‘literatoor.” The thing interests him and he has but lately learned how one in his station of life should pro- nounce theword. ‘Brootal,’’too. Brootal seldom fails to win a smile. ‘“‘Noo York” is another mirthmaker. And there is un- failing cause for merriment in the idea of “calling” the midday meal “dinner.” Some novelists and story-tellers are offensive in their dialect writing. Others use precisely the same phonetics without hurting any one. It depends on the spirit in which the spelling is done. If the con- text is marked by haughty superiority, pride, disdain, arrogance and contempt, it is probable that no kindness is meant by the dialect. James Whitcomb Riley has grieved no Indiana heart by his loving mockery. (Just a word of digression, boys and girls of literatoor: When your illiterate writes a letter, and you print it in your text, please do not permit him to keep up the dialect in | that letter, with a proper apostrophe in | each fitting place. It isn’t consistent; it isn’t sensible; it isn’t artistic. Itisa blem- ish. We've all seen this done—too often. Manage to have him misspell without his | own ne of it —surreptitiously, as it were We'll skip three or four French and German sounds, produced by holding the | vocal organs rigidly in position for the sound | of oneletter and then attempting to givethe sound of some other letter—not any other letter, you understand; some particular letter. The resultant disaster will be the required sound—perhaps. Let us hurry on. Arbitrary elegancies, such as “clark,” “‘shedule” and ‘‘Cleopatra,’’ are blessed words indeed; but no one takes them very seriously. There are place-Shibboleths, however, over w hich there is much ink shed, Such a word is ‘ ‘gallery.”’ Why is “gallery” taboo? It is of good and direct lineage, French and Spanish; brought here by French and Spanish settlers in Louisiana “holding to their kindred speech.”” Why are porch, portico, piazza and the Dutch “stoop”? admitted, while “‘gallery”’ is so rigorously barred? Answer: It is the ‘favor of makers.” It is because New Orleans has produced few lexicographers. One more, and we are done. ‘‘Creek”’ is, I believe, pronounced “creak” in lexicog- rapher-land. I am entirely willing to pro- nounce it that way. Most of our millions, however, pronounce it “‘crik.”” That does not prove that this is a better way to pronounce it: it only proves that it is pro- nounced that way. Also, that it will prob- ably continue to be pronounced that way. ‘“*Been” was once pronounced “bean.”’ It is not, now. Why? Because the diction- aries changed? I rede you, Nay. The dictionaries changed, for that a perverse and stiff-necked generation provincially pronounced it ‘‘ bin” —because they wanted to, maybe; or perhaps because it is a little easier to say. That is a way dictionaries have. A dictionary does not create; it records. It is not a master; it is a tool. When we seriously decide that we want to have a tool changed, we change that tool. That is a way we have. A Constructive Program So let us not be unduly hurt or angered by these continual little slurs and slings at our manners and our hopes and our people, Thos. Tonight, as we furtively gobble our plates of corned-beef hash, let us laugh over it. We have had our little say; we are just a trifle sheepish over our own blaiant vin- dictiveness —a little ashamed of the childish perversity with which we cling to our sins. We can afford to smile. The future is ours—yes, and the present too. “The real language of a people is the spoken word, not the written.”” We can forgive the Gileadite, even, if he will only show a little respect for helpless age and for the dead. For us—the living—let him scold. Poor fellow, he is beaten. He is con- scious, too, that his class has never done that part of the world’s work for which it has been fitted by its splendid opportuni- ties. His class has been too much en- grossed hitherto. But I think it will do its part, and do it nobly, sometime. I think that time is drawing near. Heaven speed the day! Have I any “constructive program”? I have: a simple one—not, I think, un- reasonable; but it is not new. When pointing out to us our verbal faults, our teachers are under no bond to make and April 22,1911 publish morose inferences as to our com- plexion, age, clothes, weight, height, disposition or ultimate destination. In noteworthy books dealing with the sub- ject—and they are needed, for our errors are not right and our deficiencies are not accomplishments — you may find such phrases as these: T his term is better than that one; This word is incorrect; That is not the preferred usage; Avoid this error. And, for more emphasis: This blunder is only too common, but it cannot be justified; This usage is indefensible—care should be taken to avoid it. The authors of such books make no mention of our vices, our sins, our crimes, our bad manners or our clothes- judging, possibly, that we are sufficiently informed on those subjects. They confine themselves to the use or mis- use of words and leave us to adjust those other matters with our God and our tailor. There is another class of educated men and women besides this one at which we have glanced so lightly—a larger class, abler, wiser. Of the many who might well serve for a type of ‘‘this sort of person,” let me select one for the gratitude I owe him for many pleasant hours of instruction instruction not only sane and sound but delightful. Ephraimites, let me nominate, as our first Professor of Common Sense, Mr. Brander Matthews: a man broad- minded as well as learned, tolerant of faults not his own, giving cheerful recognition to usage not his own, yet able withal to render a reason with any for the faith that is in him. May his tribe increase! Prize Travelers HE Hungarian Ornithological Society is trying to find out something more definite about the migrations of birds by the adoption of a new device. It catches them and fastens on their legs metal bands that bear an inscription. Anybody who kills or traps the bird is requested to return the band to the society. This idea has worked out very success- fully. For one thing, it has brought in a lot of information about the long Journeys taken by storks, which, leaving Europe in the wintertime, fly far south into and beyond the tropical zone of Africa. They may not be regarded by native Africans with the sentimental appreciation accorded to them elsewhere, but are none the less highly appreciated because of their huge appetite for grasshoppers. Parts of the Dark Continent are fairly devastated at intervals by plagues of grasshoppers; and the multitudes of storks that flock to the scene on such an occasion have earned for them, in Africa, the name of “locust birds.” Not less interesting have been some experiments recently made at Bird Key— a small coral island belonging to the Dry Tortugas, sixty-six miles west of Key West, which is occupied by a colony of over twelve thousand noddy and sooty terns. They are so crowded that their nests, built in cedar bushes and dune cactus, are often less than a foot apart. The place is extremely hot, the tempera- ture at the breeding season varying from one hundred and twenty-four to one hun- dred and forty-three degrees Fahrenheit, in the daytime. The first experiment was made with six noddies, which, after being marked with oil paint for identification, were carried on a launch to Key West and liberated. Within a few hours they were back on their nests, having had no trouble in finding their way home. Next, three noddies and two sooties were captured and marked—their nests being likewise marked. They were taken, via Key West, to Cape Hatteras and lib- erated twelve miles east of the cape. Within a few days they returned and were found on their nests, having traveled eight hundred and fifty miles as the crow flies, or ten hundred and eighty miles by way of the coast. Two noddies and two sooties were carried to Havana and released. They got back the next day. The experiments are being continued in the hope of shedding some light upon the problem of what is commonly called the homing instinct. In one of the cases above mentioned the birds were taken hundreds of miles beyond the northern limit of their normal range, and they were set at liberty in a region of which they could have known nothing; yet they returned quickly to their nests. The question is, How did they find their way? ss jek

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| ne cook’ s right bower for making things good Is Snider’s Tomato Catsup T is not only an unsurpassed relish for meats, fish, game, vegetables, etc., but is a most convenient seasoning for dishes requiring a tasty puree, and saves labor. (Try this recipe, using Snider's) Tomato Rarebit 2 tablespoons butter ns fi l cup thin cream; ! rr Catsup; 2 cups cheese fter g ing (orrunning thr « Cxe slightly beaten; salt Melt butter in sauce pan, add flour. P. in, gradually, the cream, and $ SOOT mixture thickens add the Cat | add cheese, eggs and salt to ta Ss as soon as cheese has melted, on a crackers, or crisp toa The pantry should always contain good supply of Snider process Pork and Beans and a bottle of Smider’s Chili Sauce. **It’s The Process’’ The T. A. Snider Preserve Company Cincinnati, Ohio, U. S. A. Au Snider froducts comply with all Pure Food Laws { the world $4.00 ~see sel This Cut Glass Bowl You can get this Prima Donna Cut Glass Bow! for only $4.00 at any Clark dealer's. A bow] as lar ge (8 in diam eter, 34% in. deep) usually costs from $6.00 to $8.00. A striking feature is the beautiful tesselated rim listinctive with the Prima Donna cutting Ma: ter hands and extreme care a count for the rare brilliance of ¢ _— Cut Glass. It is true art CUT GLASS ire as 5 exquis ite, varied ccomell All our choicest desig? If there is no Clark dealer near you, send $4.00 direct to us T. B. CLARK & CO., Honesdale, Pa. } | and Champ will be there | slide last THE SATURDAY The Senators | Secretary O MATTER how rapidly the spot- light moves, it never moves rap- idly enough to elude Champ Clark. Champ is always in the exact center of the illumination and if there happens to be no outside light working Champ turns on one | of his own. You see, Champ is a naive sort of per- son—oh, naive as the very dickens! frank, ingenuous, candid, and all that. When an admirer sidles up to Clark and says, “‘ Mr. Clark, I hope to see you Presi- dent next time,’’ Mr. Clark genially but enthusiastically replies: ‘“ You don’t hope that half as much as I do.”” Champ may be defined as a receptive candidate for the Democratic Presidential nomination in 1912, with acceptive, but not with deceptive, slants. I feel warranted in say- ing if the nomination shall come to Champ he will accept it; and if, peradventure, the nomination shall hesitate about com- ing to Champ, Champ is the boy who, laying aside all other employments, will go out after the nomination with birdlime, traps, shotguns and other implements of acquisition. He is pretty well placed, too, so far as keeping in the public eye is concerned. He has the Speakership of the House of Rep- resentatives, without the responsibilities, but with all the emoluments and with all the advantages for publicity. He did not have to appoint committees, thereby es- caping the wrath of each and every Demo- crat who did not get a chairmanship. He is not on the Committee on Rules, and cannot be held for anything those rules may proscribe or admit in the conduct of the business of the House. He can make speeches and enunciate principles and up- hold standards in any pleasing way that may occur to him; and when it comes to dissent among the proletariat he can stand gracefully aside, point to the Committee on Committees, the Committee on Rules, the fact that he is merely the presiding officer, and disclaim responsibility until the cows or the votes come home. Three Willing Candidates Though naive, there is nothing coy about Champ. He doesn’t dissemble, dissimulate, disquabulate or digress. He is right out in the open about this Presidential nomina- tion business; eager to have any reporter or constituent, or anybody else, mention the possibility to him, and ready with the admission that if the unterrified Democ- racy shall express a desire for him he will respond. Indeed, the unterrified Democ- racy need not go so far as to express a desire. All the U. D. needs do is to hint, or intimate, or even glance in his direction, on the spot and on the job. Geographically, he is in fine position. He comes from Missouri—not too far south for the northern Democrats and not too far north for the southern Democrats. Politically, he is as regular as a chronome- ter. Should circumstances—or the nomi- nation—veer Champ’s way, he will have a ringing O. K. from W ‘illiam Jennings Bryan, unless, perchance, William Jen- nings reserves his own QO. K. for himself. Moreover, Champ is a well-known citizen, He was that before he became floor leader for the minority and advanced to the shorn, but still distinguished, Speakership. For many years Champ has stampeded around this country, lecturing at Chautauquas and for lyceums; joint-debating with General Grosvenor and the late Senator Dolliver. Also, he has stumped on many a stump and been stumped by few; and, since the land- fall when Champ’s warm and personal friend, Uncle Joe Cannon, got his, along with a few score of Cannon folks in | the House, if there has been a day when |} somewhere, by way of comment, Champ has not been in the public prints discus- sion, quip or other verbal message con- cerning Clark, it has escaped the notice of vigilant perusers of the press. There is one little handicap to Champ’s ambitions. Joseph W. Folk, of his own state, is also campaigning for the Demo- cratic nomination in 1912 and putting in some good licks. It is quite possible Joseph W. could get an O. K. from Bryan also, but the advantage Clark has is that _ a, EVENING POST Y = THE CLEVEREST CLOTHES IN AMERICA ———— Pre oO Er EE Pik cist ne ta PHIL e ~ i te { Ihree-t Kegey KIRSCHBAUM’S $21 special “Reggy” Top-notch model of Kirschbaum famous hand-tailored ““Yungfelo’’ Suits—a 1911 style creation. Designed in our new depart ment equipped solely for produc ing clothes for young American gentlemen. And dis Special tinctively different from those shown by any “Reggy” Features Other maker Coat: —1 , ‘ *“Regyy’’ fabrics (many exclusive) are all I a a5 wool. Striking, yet tasteful in tone and See ny pattern—chosen to best express the artistic 7 we . *" Reggy”’ lines * a ~ r lailoring and finish are comparable only with highest grade custom workmanship \ ‘ shows : . at opening the Kirschbaum standard kles, a es sg th lhe Kirschbaum ‘‘Yungfelo’’ label under the inside breast pocket is your guaranty ot - oo all wool fabric and absolute satisfaction. 4 a Le I a a Kirs ] 1 Coa Watch-gua $ $35, sf . “ , Fa a I f autiful b f Fa Am Pa ated pa , ' I a . \ Bouk A. B. KI RSC H B AUM & CO. Makers fi 90 Clothes Only ADELPHIA NEW YORK

Page 34

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Barn of S. P. Strickland, Bangor, Me. covered with Amatite R«

A Roof That Needs No Painting vofing

a real mineral surface painting Amatite has which needs ne The above illustration shows the barn of S. P. Strickland, Bangor, Me., which was roofed with Amatite three years ago. The owner's opinion of it is expressed in the following letter which we recently rec eived: “Gentlemen:—The Amatite Roofing Pp chased three years ago and placed on my barn, has given most satisfactory service. The Roofing is unusually attractive in appearance, and in my judgiment is the mostdurable and satisfactory made. The fact that it requires no painting appeals to me very strongly, and thiv feature make it by far the cheapest ready roofing on the market, Yours very truly, (Signed) S. P. STRICKLAND.” Every practical man will see at once that painting roofs is an expensive nui- sance. If the roofs fail, the manufacturer always claims that they are not painted often enough, or that you did not use the right kind of paint or something of that sort. After Amatite is laid there is nothing more to do to it.

_B ARRE T T MANUFACTURI ’ York } wlelphia Bostor St I K t Minne s N ‘ If we sold Amatite at a price 20% higher than the old-fashioned ‘* Paint- me-often’’ kind, you would be justified in buying it. You would more than save the extra cost by eliminating the paint in after years. Amatite, however, costs mo more than other first-class roof- ings, and it gives twice as much weight of roof per square foot. A sample of Amatite showing the mineral surface will be sent free on appli- cation. Address our nearest office. Everjet Elastic Paint Do you realize the economy of using black paint when possible? Everjet costs half as much as other first-class paints. Tough, durable, heat-proof and water-proof. For wood or metal. scl Lice Destroyer Creonoid and Cow Spray Vermin in the cow barn and hen house costs you money. Prevent insect worry by spray ing regularly with Creonoid, a cheap, powerful disinfectant. It repels flies, mosquitoes and hen lice. It kills germs and prevents the spread of contagion, NG COMPANY —

Allens Foot-Ease 6 Shake Into Your Shoes Allen’s Foot-Ease, the antiseptic pow- > der for the feet. It relieves painful, f woller narting, lenc der, nervous feet, md ins tly takes the sting out of 1 buntons. It's the greatest comfort {Hoare of the age. Allen's k Kase makes tight or new she re It is a certain relief for i ail > Doreen allous and tee eove 30,000 TRY irro DAY Sold s o oy Lyn a4 a sub-

stitute sad ; CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS Box 117 71, Scranton, Pa. Please exy t further quality f ep tion, trade or 1 ha urked X

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Page 35

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licans, THE SATURDAY people, has been deprived of the foster ing care of the Republican party in the House of Representatives and turned over to irresponsible Democrats, who have the temerity to undertake to revise the tariff. Nobody knows what is coming out of it and nobody can predict anything but trouble—that is, political trouble. Over on the Senate side they are scared blue. There are a good many Democrats in the Senate who are not so anxious to revise a tariff thatthey are sending out bulletins concern- ing their feelings on the matter. The dear old sacred policy of high protection is not without its admirers among the Senate Democrats. Likewise, although the Insur- gents think the tariff should be revised, they want to be real careful about it —and not revise it in such a way that the re- vision will hurt their particular constitu- encies. The standpat Republicans grow faint with horror at the thought of revising the tariff in any respect —except upward and what will happen when a Democratic House throws a tariff bill at this bunch | of timid souls—which cuts the duties on wool and cotton, for example, down to the minimum and then some—is frightful to contemplate. While the Democrats are still more or less undecided as to what they can accom- plish, but are fully determined to do as much as they can, the depressed Repub- on both sides of the Capitol, are mostly concerned in figuring out ways for obstruction. They cooked up a neat little plan on the House side to embarrass the Democratic Committee on Committees by refusing to name the Republican members for the minority ends of the committees, on the hypothesis that inasmuch as the Demo- crats, being in the majority, had established a Committee on Committees, that organi- zation should appoint both majority and minority members, and unless it did so the Republicans would refuse to name their committee members. It is too early, as this is written, to say how that scheme worked out or whether it was pressed. It is merely cited here to show the frames of mind of the regular Republicans who are left in the House. Extra-Session Plans So far as President Taft is concerned he has given up hope of getting a reciprocity and tariff-board bill through and having nothing done with the tariff until next December, when the tariff board will have a report ready on the wool and cotton sched- ules. He realizes the Democrats are going to do as they please, without any regard to his wishes or feelings in the matter; and he is prepared to put his back to the wall, grit his teeth and make the best of it, or do the best he can with what he gets from the Congress. The regulars, figuring on what fighting they can do as minority members, are saying the Congress will be here until next August or September and may run clear through to the regular meetingtime on the first Monday in December. It is held by some authorities that the Demo crats, having passed the reciprocity bill and the tariff-board bill in such shape as seems advisable, will put in several tariff bills changing various schedules, notably the wool and cotton schedules, and some food rates; will fight for them, pass them, put them up to the Republican Senate, and then consent to recess until late in the fall, or adjourn, claiming their record is clear that they have made good with the people so far as they are able. Various statesmen, with vacation plans in mind, think it would be a good plan to take a recess until October along about June first —and so it goes. The only thing that is clear is that there will be much trouble and travail before it is all over, and that no political prophet on earth can tell how either Demo- crats or Republicans are coming out of it all. Meantime Champ Clark will be presi- ding only that and nothir ngmore. Hewill not be mixed in it. He will gain no enmi- ties because of committee appointments. Nobody can call him down about rules that may not work out. He had no appar- ent hand in framing whatever tariff legisla- tion may be proposed. He will besitting up there on the dais, seeing to the parliament- ary and peaceful conduct of business and keeping an eye on that nomination for 1912.

EVENING POST 2 ee ee _—_ Make After-Dinner Speeches Propose and Respond to Toasts Tell Stories Make Political Speeches Sell More Goods Address Board Meetings Improve Your Memory Develop Power and Personality Acquire Poise, Self-Confidence Speak and Write English Correctly Increase Your Vocabulary Earn More—Achieve More HE Kleiser Mail Course in Public and women who realize that the forcefully —winningly adjunct to commercial and social success Upward of 8,000 men and women in Speaking is for earnest men power to speak confidently when occasion requires, is a necessary ofessions and busi different pr nesses —preachers, lawyers, physicians, druggists, dentists, real estate men, brokers, insurance men, salesmen, members of fraternal organiza tions—these people évow that the Kleiser Course is the best thing of the kind, because they have taken the Course and it has proved its value by making them good, clear thinkers and speakers Let Kleiser Increase Your Earning Capacity

There is no theory or guesswork about Mr. Kleiser's tuition, and further, his Course even does more than teach people to be confident, forcetul speakers. It builds up a man’s personality and gives polish and distinction to his address, it improves his memory and tells him what to read and how toremember the essential part of what he does read; it carries hope and inspiration into tired and discour aged lives by opening up a vista of new possibilities—new opportunities, It makes a man more valuable to himself, to his family, and to society at large, because it enables him to earn more, to achieve more You Can Become a Confident, Convincing Speaker Before One Person or a Thousand

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April 22,1911 34 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST - > A glimpse of the largest, mo: economically operated Mo or ont - | HE PLANT that operates along the largest, most efficient and most eco- nomical lines must necessarily market the : most efficient and economical product— providing they do business according to the American Code. Right there you have the keynote of the Overland’s huge success. @ The Overland plants are the greatest of their kind in the world. They represent the most advanced mechanical development the automobile industry has ever seen. Here production efliciency and practical economy | have reached the highest standard. ) Few people realize their magnitude, and fewer still have the slightest conception of what a scientifically managed institution it is. Scientific analysis determines every factory move. This great, throbbing organi- zation is a combination of select men, prop- erly trained by adequate supervision, working in exactly the proper way with the very best and most modern tools and finest machinery that have ever been invented. The Overland stands today the most per- fect type of mechanical standardization. The Overland’s method of accurate produc- tion is its guarantee of value. Your invest- ment is always safeguarded by the work and painstaking care of the most practical and proficient body of motor car men ever gathered together. We wish we could take you through the wonderful Overland factories. A trip would convince you of the greater Overland value—would make you fully realize the accuracy, thoroughness and completeness of the best car in America—regardless of price. First would come our great drop-forge plant. Here twenty-two giant hammers are in operation every day in the year. From there we would step over to the grinding plant where all metal parts are ground,—then to the furnace and heat treating plant where the steel parts are hardened and tested to an exact degree. Next we would pass to the lathe shops. Hundreds of lathes, large and small, perform their part of the many accurate operations that help toconstruct the powerful and efficient Overland machine. And so from shop to shop—step by step— through the drill shops—automatic machine shops—assembling—engine testing —chassis assembling —upholstering and body shops— and finally out into the busy and hustling shipping yards, where train load after train load is despatched daily. The Willys-Overland Coif TOLEDi ), Model 51 _ ‘J Wheelbase 110 inches; capacity \ 5 passengers; 30 \ H.P.; 4cylinder ) / motor; tires 34 x 3}% in.; trans- mission three speeds, selective and reverse. ' Price*1250

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nS apany, 136 Central Avenue iD, OHIO ee | } } H } i ) Voge st thoroughly equipped and tor Car plant in the world T WOULD take a week to really inspect the entire Overland plants, but a few hours would be sufficient for you to realize the Overland advanced manu- facturing methods and the magnitude of the organization. You would see no lost motion—no waste—no needless expense. Everything and everybody operate along certain definite lines. Everything is precise—every step made in the Overland factories points out economy. Every turn—every move has been figured out mathematically. Kvery part of every Overland car is made in the Overland factories. We make what others are compelled to buy from others. We make the parts at one profit less than it costs the manufacturerwho purchases on the outside. The purchaser— you—gets the benefit of this economy. Look at the handsome Overland Fore Door No. 51 on this page. Levers in- side — door handles inside — full flush body with ample room in each seat. Seethe whole high character and tone of the machine— a car that looks as good as it is. Notice its perfect lines and rich design. Then make a few comparisons. Take the Overland specifications and line them up with any other automobile of a given price, or even higher price. Compare the wheel base—size of wheels—capacity— motor—transmission—body. ‘Take each item. Pit one car against the other, and you will admit the greater Overland value. ‘Take our Model 51, priced at $1250, and Model 52 Wheelbase 118 inches; capacity 5 passengers; 40 H.P.; 4cylinder motor; tires 34 x4in.; trans mission three speeds, selective and reverse. Price*1600 compare it with some of the popular $1500 and $1750 cars. And do all this before you buy acar. Go to the different garages in your town —¢get the specifications of several cars, and take them to the Overland garage Our dealer is waiting for you no matter where you are, and he’! be mighty glad to go into the proposition with you to any extent There are 22 striking Overland body styles to choose from, and five different chassis. “The power runs from 20 to 40 horse power—the wheel basesfrom96 to 118 inches— the prices from $775 to $1675. The body styles in- cludeall thatcan bedesired. Allarefour cylindercars There are about 1000 Overland dealers. Find the one in your town — cultivate his acquaintance. He is an important part of a great organization. He will give you facts and figures that will aid you in the selection of your machine, and every Overland dealer is as fair and square as the car he sells. qj Drop us a line and we'll send you an interesting Overland book. It tellsthe whole story all the models, specifications and everything. Write for a copy today. shows SATURDAY EVENING POST MT gfe \ Wig \ “f £\ »\ CHASSIS PAINT SHOP “tax oa

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If it does not suit you in every way and a better bicycle than you can get anywhere ya reason whatever you do not wish to keep it, ship rht and you will not de out one cent highest grade bicycles direct from fact lower prices an any other house. We save you fis mid middiemen's profit on every t Roller chains, pedals, et pgm oy ve wonder DO NOT BUY - a yo learn our low prices and t i” eral ter BECOND WAND Bicycles a DO NOT WAIT | teresting matter and mee I only . y wt Write at once {> © our spe pa of tires f »” BICYCLE DEALERS you can sell our bicycles under your own ay ve TIRES, COASTER ‘BRAKE: hee as er than cheap mail order bi ) retail stores wil ‘half seal prices faigne beat trat ning @ great fun osts a p ing “Write it! how MEAD CYCLE CO. Dept. K-55, new 00 sitar est grade models with Puncture-Proof tires, Imported ycles; also reliable medium RIDER J AGENTS WANTED : Ranger” Bicycle furnishes ty vs. Yow will. be tior pecial offer we will give on receive our catalogue and repairs CHICAGO, ILL. ‘Rebuilt, Used Automobiles Soldby MailonEasy Payments All Standard M skes —at Less Than Half Price. Every Car Gua iteed for one year ok like new, run like Write ‘ t Free Illustrated Catalogue, Price List and Easy Payment Plan Every Car Sent on “Cente AUTO TRADING CO, Inc., Dept. 8, 6936-17-19-21 Center Ave., Pittsburg, Pa References; Any Express Co., Bank or Commercial Agency oes with first letter & meth new ants it Orders $1.00 to $ive. plea t ss Y wene o noe METALLIO SIGN oo. ‘493 w Clark, Chicago oa Hat serviceable hat for dress or business. Genuine English Felt. Folds into pact roll without damaging. Broad outside band “ sald sell for §2 © most hat stores. Colors lack, Gray Mix ire wn Mixt We 4 ozs Sent z ylor wanted ao Genuine Panama Hate $1 and up Panams Hat Co., Dept. A. $30 Broadway, New York City » EVENING POST April 22,1911 The Dramatic Foundry By EMMETT C. KING Stock Companies as Schools for fictors AY, what do you think of our manager putting an extra matinée on Lincoln’s Birthday, when we already have two a week?” an actor playing in a Broadway company asked of another actor who was playing ina Brookly n stock company. “It’s a shame,”’ answered the Erooklyn- ite. ‘‘There’s where I have the better of you: we never have any extra matinées in our company.” “You don’t? How’s that?” “‘Because there are only six working days in a week and we have a regular matinée every day.” Notwithstanding this assertion I heard of a stock company, playing the regulation twelve performances a week, that put in a morning matinée on Thanksgiving Day, making three performances for the day and thirteen for the week —no doubt about thirteen being an unlucky number for that company. Although twelve performances are the limit in the East, fourteen are allowed and played in most of the Western towns, where the two Sunday performances will yield about one-third of the total receipts of the week. Of course all stock companies do not play twice a day, but the majority of them do; and it is with the “‘two-a-day stock”’ that this article will deal. There is scarcely a town of fifty thousand inhabitants in the United States that has not had, at one time or another, a two-a- day stock company. So, with the external workings and results of such a company the majority of my readers are quite familiar; but what do they know of how these results are accomplished? Probably they have never thought of that side of it; or if they have, have given it up as an unsolvable problem. They may well have done the latter, for it is difficult for one who has not actually been through the experience to explain the exact method of procedure whereby the company plays twice every day, rehearses every morning, and pro- duces a new play each week. There have been companies that played twice a day and put on two plays every week. How this is done I am not going to explain, for the very simple reason that I have never been able to figure it out myself. Has it ever occurred to you, while sitting in front at a two-a-day house, how much work, both mental and physical, it requires to rehearse every morning —and sometimes the better part of Sunday—play every afternoon and evening, and study a new part every week? Have you ever calcu- lated the hours these people put in and compared them with the hours put in by union laborers? Just listen then to this. What it Means to Act Twice a Day The actor in a two-a-day stock company must be in the theater by nine-thirty in the morning —toward the end of the week the call is often made for nine. If he gets out at twelve-thirty he is lucky. To be ready for the matinée he must be in the theater by “half-hour time’’—one-thirty. By Tues- day or Wednesday, when the play is run- ning smoothly, he will get out about five o'clock —but we shall only count the regu- lar hours. The evening performance will require the same amount of time, making a total of ten hours’ work. Just two hours longer than union hours, you will say, with better pay and easier work. But wait. You open in your new play at the mati- née on Monday afternoon—Sunday after- noon if you are in the West. Tuesday morning, after playing one part twice, you begin to rehearse the play for the following week —going through one play in the morn- ing and a different one in the afternoon and evening. You must commit this new part to memory. When are you going to do that? Your entire time is taken up from nine-thirty A. M. to eleven P. M., excepting just enough time for meals. Of course the utility and general busi- ness people get a short part now and then that they can study during their waits. They can, therefore, get along with a paltry | matter of nine or ten hours’ work —some- times; not always. But the leading people have parts that run from fifty to one hundred and fifty pages in length, and these require time and concentration. Not only must they learn the words that they are to speak, but they must memorize absolutely the business of the play —which means the action. Besides this they must learn the cues that precede their lines or business. How is it possible to do this and play twice a day? I am not sure that I can tell you; but, having put in several years in the two-a-day houses—one of them a fourteen- a-week theater—I shall try. The method differs, of course, according to whether you are a quick or aslowstudy — the theatrical term for capacity to memo- rize lines. Some actors study in half the time that others do. To some the commit- ting of a new part is torture. They must put in every hour and every minute that they can command, and go over the part hundreds of times. Others can absorb words as a sponge does water. One of the most phenomenal studies of which I ever heard was that of an actor who managed his own company, directed the stage and played the leading parts. In addition to this he was a great Bohemian, and would sit up at night as iong as any one could be found to keep him company. In spite of all this he would come to re- hearsal on Thursday letter-perfect, when the other members considered themselves lucky if they knew their parts on Saturday. Such people are veritable marvels and can- not be considered here in explaining the routine of the average stock actor. Learning Parts no Pastime If you possess just a normal study your method of procedure will be something like this: At the Tuesday morning rehearsal you read your part, of course. The chances are that you have never seen it before. Tuesday night you read it over before retir- ing. Wednesday morning you take it to breakfast with you, prop it up against the carafe and study it while you gulp down your eggs and coffee. You walk up and down the stage at rehearsal, during the scenes in which you are not concerned —if you area leading man or woman there will be very few of these—and mumble over your lines. When your scene is called you read from the part. During the matinée performance you carry the part in your hand, again mum- bling over the lines until your cue comes to goon. You drop the part in the entrance, if you are a woman, and if you are a man you cram it into your poc ket, and goon the stage to play a scene in a different play from the one you are studying —don’t lose sight of that. This routine you continue during the matinée and repeat at the evening performance. Between matinée and night you indulge in a reckless form of amusement —you go for a trolley ride, accompanied by your part for next week. This never leaves you. Even if you are not in a situation to study it you will sometimes give a start and feel in your pocket for it. An expression of abject terror will come over your face and startle the friends with whom you may be dining. You rush to your overcoat and plunge your hands into the pockets. With a sigh of relief you return to the table. “I thought I had lost my part,” you explain, as you drop back into your chair. On the car you put the part on the inside of a newspaper to hide it from the other passengers—who wouldn’t know what it was if you handed it to them. Then you read a line and look up at the roof and re- peat it to yourself. You become so ab- sorbed that you do not realize that every one is looking at you and wondering whether you are a dangerous or a harmless lunatic; for nothing looks so idiotic as a man or woman holding a conversation with an invisible being who is somewhere up in the air at an angle of forty-five degrees from the person visible. “Everybody perfect on Saturday!” the stage-manager calls out at the Friday re- hearsal. Then you begin to realize that all the time you have been pretending to hold converse with invisible beings you have really been figuring on the Giants’ chances eine = ne ee SS

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Cincinnati, Ohio HALCYON MESSALINE (TRADE MARK Petticoats Are close-fitting, smooth - draping, beautifully modeled garments — what you want for the latest style in dress. Another (hydegrade SUCCESS Ask yourdealerfor HALCYON MESSALINE PETTICOATS and be sure the word * HALCYON " is on the ! = label. > H ALCVON Every Petticoat Guaranteed Halcyoa Messaline also by the yard at the linir A. G. HYDE & SONS, New York nese Makers of Heatherbloom Taffeta and other Hydegrade Fabrics THE CORRECT FINISH f.tise. Gur opate Irish Crochet hat pin 7 r ¢ 11 60¢ Both in neat box §1 io, “on made canes pins, buttons, ete Merritt Novelty Co., 150 E. 56th Street, Los Angeles, Cal. of beating the Cubs, or some other mat- ter of national importance —and in conse- quence you don’t know a blooming thing about your part. The stage-manager rakes you over the coals at the Saturday rehearsal for not being perfect, and says if it happens again there will be a rehearsal on Sunday. Hav- ing been thus rudely awakened from your dream you begin to study—really study. You cancel your engagement with your best girl for Sunday and spend the day and evening walking the floor and raving like a madman; and Monday you know your part. At the matinée Jack Jollyboy, who has not been conscientious and has not cut out the Sunday’s pleasures, stops in the middle of your big scene, turns his back to the audience and whispers to you that he is stuck and that you must go on. You flounder around and try to blend the cue he should have given you with your own lines, making an unintelligent jumble of your best climax. Then it is that the actor in front, who has only two matinées a week and has come in on a pass, says: “Did you ever see anything as rotten as that leading man? It’s a wonder he doesn’t cut out drink and study a few lines.” And again your equilibrium is jostled when Jollyboy comes to your dressing room and says: “* Much obliged, old chap, for pulling me out of that hole. I never worry about my scenes with you—I know you'll pull through.” Wouldn’t you feel like saying right out loud: ‘‘Damask curtains and plush-lined alarm clocks’’* A young actor, who always knew his lines, was much annoyed by one of the older members of a stock company who, when he forgot his lines, would turn his back to the audience and tell the youngster to go ahead. The younger man resolved to show the other fellow up, as on the occa- sions mentioned it appeared as if the junior player had forgotten his lines. The young man studied the context of all the scenes he had with the other person and resolved that when the older man attempted the former trick he would prompt him so that the audience could hear it. When they reached the scene where trouble was ex- pected the old man, instead of sticking in his lines, spoke the speech that belonged to the other actor. The scene went to pieces and the audience blamed the young man. The Old Problem of Clothes The time that the two-a-day stock actor gives to his work depends primarily upon three things: the length of the part, his method and his “‘swallow.”” A conserva- tive estimate would be about fifteen hours a day, in the theater and out. All the rest of the time he can do as he likes. Although this seems quite a strenuous existence | can only recall, among all the stock actors I have known, two or three who went crazy, one who committed suicide, and one who dropped dead. The whole thing is a question of tempera- ment—that much abused word. If the actor can systematize the work —study just so much, trusting that somebody will pull him out of a hole if he falls into one—he will get along fairly well. But if he is con- scientious and studies for himself and the other fellow he is likely to become an insom- niac. When this happens he is liable to lie awake half the night with the lines of the play running through his head, or else to repeat them in his sleep; with the result that he has little rest. I have only pictured the man’s side of the case; the woman’s is far worse, for she requires so much more time and is at so much greater expense for clothes than is the man. If aman hastwoor three suits of street clothes and a dress suit he is fixed to dress for anything. If the play has three scenes in which evening clothes are required the man wears his one suit in all—he car wear nothing else. But the woman must have a different evening gown for each act; and she cannot wear any of these in the next play, or for some time after. When she does wear them they must have been changed so that they will not look the same. How the women manage to dress in the stock companies —for they do dress well —is another question I cannot answer. In this as in the two-plays-a-week proposition | have had no experience; and I am only telling things here that I know. I do know of a woman who kept a sewing machine in her dressing room and made all her own gowns, although she played twice a day. On one occasion she fashioned a handsome THE SATURDAY EVENING POST and women of Dealers Let us send you a box of Keith’s Purity Lawn Writing Paper We make this offer to introduce to men culture and taste a line : writing paper made by the Keith Paper Company, one of the oldest paper manufacturers in New England. In texture, quality and shade, Keith’s writing paper is pre- eminently suited to meet the most exclusive correspondence. sold to the fastidious users of stationery; but limited facili ties have until now precluded a wide distribution. demand has forced increased production. In every step of the making of Keith’s writing paper, from the selection of the rags to the finishing of the product, such care is exercised as to insure the production of a paper especially fitted for those of refined taste. We shall send you this box of twelve sheets of paper and envelopes to match of Keith’s Purity Lawn if you will send us your dealer’s name and five cents to cover the postage. Ask dealers to show you the paper. Address for trial box American Papeterie Company Manufacturers and Distributors 1245 Broadway, Albany, u anted eT exacting requirements of the ‘This paper has long been A growing N. Y. erywhere Ask your dealer for E. ¢. 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38 THE SATURDAY Fifth - Annual Rose Festival PORTLAN D -ORE..JUNE 5 10, 1911 einer ORTLAND has made her- self famous with this gala event, in which, this year, five mil- lion blooms will be used! A hun- pat rt dred thousand dollars will be spent to show how well Portland 5 earns her name of “The Rose City.” § Special Fares to i | Pacific Coast and Back |} Will be in effect May 29, 30 and 31,1911, on account ff Return limit, July 31, of the Portland Rose Festival. Low Summer Tourist Fares daily June to September, with Special Reductions on certain dates in June and July. Daily through electric-lighted Standard and Tourist Sieeping Car trains from Chicago and St. Louis te North Pacific Coast via Burlington-Northern Pacific lines. Dining cars for all meals. Remember: this is the route of the world-famous “North Coast Limited"’ and the only line to Gardiner Gateway, official entrance to Yellowstone Park. Ask ot’ The Land of Geysers."" Send two 2-cent stamps for beautiful booklet telling about the Rose Festival and Portland, with information about Fares to the North Pacihe Coast and Yellow stone Perk (Park season 1911: June 15th to September | 5th). A.M. CLELAND, General Passenger Agent, St. Paul, Minn. Northern Pacific Railway HE acknow ledged by beautifying properties of palm and olive oils, Zenobia and other famous queens of olden times as the secret of their beauty, may be had in improved form 4y you. Just ask a druggist tor Palmolive Soap. It soothes and Lathers quickly —in hard water, too. Palmolive Cream— delightful also, adds the final touch Toilet.” No woman knows until she’s Price articles just what complexion-possibilities 5c she has. Get both today. Palmolive means perfection in complexion. softens irritated skin. to a ‘* Palmolive tried these dainty Send us twelve 2-cent stamps and the band from a jar of Palmolive Cream and we'll send you a set of six beautiful artist's proofs, size fs x14% (ready for framing), made from gina paintings im ol, portraying severa historically famous Oriental queens B. J. Johnson Soap Co. 382 Fowler Street Milwaukee, Wis EVENING POST evening gown out of an old lace curtain, and it “‘looked all right from the front.” Notwithstanding the hard work in the stock companies, any number of actors and actresses prefer it to the work on the road with its one-night stands. One great thing in its favor is the opportunity it gives the actors of having some home life which, in spite of the prevalent idea of the actor’s Bohemian tendencies, the majority of them crave above everything else. Then, too, they make friends and have an opportunity for social intercourse, all of which is lacking on the road. It’s a great thing for a girl to have her mother with her; and it is about as cheap for two people to have a little flat as it is for one person to live in a hotel—to say nothing of the comfort of having the mother around and of having her assist- ance in preparing that alarming array of stage gowns. Many actors have wives that they are really fond of —yellow journals to the con- trary notwithstanding—and children. The stock system permits them to be together; | and many actors endure the hard grind of the two-a-day system in order to have their families around them—again controverting the largely prevalent opinion that there are no happy marriages in the profession. Before the Lights Go Up Really humorous things often occur in the foundry during the course of a season, and they tend to lighten the labor. The opening performance of a new play is always a time of trials and often of most ludicrous situations. Nerves are stretched taut and every sense is on the alert; for every faculty is needed to pull the actor through this first performance. On the opening day the actor goes to the theater half an hour earlier than usual. He is not sure as to how he is going to make up | for his part, and it is seldom that he has not forgotten something that he will need in the play. There is a general borrowing of clothes, “‘props,”” and make-up among the players. “Great Scott!” the heavy man exclaims a few minutes before the curtain is due to rise. “I haven’t any crimped hair to make a mustache. Have you any crimped hair, Jim?” calling to the juvenile man next door. “T have some blond.” ““Won’t do. Must have dark brown. Have you any hair, George?”’ to the char- acter man across the hall. “‘T’ve some gray.” Down to the leading man’s room the heavy goes; but the leading man tells him that he never uses hair, which the heavy should have known. Back to the juvenile man he goes: “‘Give me a couple of inches of that blond hair, Jim; I'll have to make it up.” He gets the light-colored hair, darkens it with grease paint, twists it into shape, glues it on and has the traditional dark mustache of the villain. Before the curtain goes up half a dozen actors and actresses usually find that they have forgotten something in the way of a “‘prop”’ or some part of a costume. At times it looks as if the performance will have to be postponed; but somebody al- ways comes to the rescue and lends the desired article. This is the most striking feature of the occasion—the rare good na- ture of the actors and their willingness to help each other. The men help each other to build beards, paint in bald spots, and sometimes put studs in a shirt when the other fellow has dirty make-up. That the women hook each other up and do various other feminine services goes without saying. When costume plays—those requiring dress of a period other than the present are put on there is usually lots of trouble. Such costumes are rented; and they sel- dom ever fit and are rarely in decent repair. The property man is also a destroyer of your peace of mind. Your part calls for a pistol, and ‘‘ Props” brings you a modern revolver, although the play is of the period of 1690. When you remonstrate “ Props”’ replies: ‘‘ Well, I ain’t no mind reader. The list said a pistol and I gave you a pistol, didn’t 1?” And that’s the best you get. When you stop to consider the things that “‘Props’’ has to get for each play, and that all he has to get them with is passes, you will realize that his job is no sinecure. Among the things that a property man secured on passes in a two-a-day company were a fire engine and horses, a live bull, two lions, a Jewish prayer cloth and a April 22,1911 baby. Do you wonder that he sometimes made anachronistic mistakes? There are no understudies in stock com- panies, and for obvious reasons. Acci- dents happen here, however, as well as elsewhere, and it is sometimes necessary to replace some one who has been compelled to leave the cast suddenly, through illness or some other cause. Here is where the big memory stunt is pulled off. I knew a young actor to have censigned to him the part of Bob Acres, in The Rivals, at eleven o’clock in the morning and play it at the matinée that afternoon. Another was handed the part of Deprunelle, in Divorgons, on Friday night after the performance. Saturday morning he rehearsed a different play, which he played on Saturday afternoon. Satur- day night he played in a still different play from the one he took part in at the matinée. These were not new parts; they were “repeats.”” He played Deprunelle, a part of one hundred and seventeen pages, Monday night, and was only prompted once. In the language of the classics, this was “‘some study.’ The two-a-day stock company is often referred to as a cheap stock company. The term is unjust. While the price of admis- sion is low there is nothing else cheap about them. The manager of a stock company employs a scene painter who paints special scenery for each production. He produces plays that have been played for a few sea- sons in the high-priced theaters, at a maxi- mum price of fifty cents; and he gives you a company, the leading people of which are paid salaries of from one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty dollars per week. Furthermore, his royalties for the plays he produces often reach the sum of five hun- dred dollars a week. It can readily be seen why he gives twelve performances a week. It takes a great number of admissions at small prices to total the cost of production and then show a profit abuve. That they make a profit, however, is evident from the number of companies that continue year after year. The regular patrons of the stock theaters seldom complain of the performances. They are quite satisfied to see a two-dollar pare for fifty cents, given by a company of good actors, even if there are some technical details missing. Occasiorially one hears some would-be critic make invidious com- parisons between the stock company and the original cast. Such comparisons are absurd. The company that played the piece first, rehearsed on an average of at least eight hours a day for four weeks. The stock company plays the same piece, with e or six rehearsals of three hours each. A slight calculation of the different amount of time put in by the two companies in preparation will be inte resting. For the Sake of Experience A few years ago there was, among produc- ing managers, a strong prejudice against stock-company actors. They argued that the hurried manner of doing things, neces- sary in the stock companies, unfitted actors for the more detailed and tedious work necessary for a first production. The fal- lacy of this theory has been positively established. By degrees actors from the stock companies compelled recognition, and whenever the opportunity came they almost invariably made good. Managers found that the reason the actor in the stock company did things hurriedly was because he had to; and that when he was given the requisite time to perfect his method he not only did so, but did it much more quickly than the actor who had had no stock expe- rience. In proof of this, examine the rosters of the Broadway companies of the past few seasons. You will find few that do not include some prominent member or mem- bers whose experience was largely gained through the stock companies. So valuable is stock-company training considered for young actors today that a young leading woman, who had already gained recognition in Broadway produc- tions and had been engaged to create the leading réle in a new play by a well-known author, obtained an engagement in a stock company in an obscure town at a salary much less than her regular stipend, and played there for a number of weeks just for the sake of the experience. Later she returned to Broadway and _ successfully created the heroine in one of the hits of the season. A long list of stars and prom- inent leading men and women could be given whose first successes could be traced back to the dramatic foundries. oo ane

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Photographed—Not Idealized We show here a Stein-Bloch spring overcoat not in a fanciful drawing. as it really 1s— Send for Note the lines. the texture. Then visit the nearest Stein- Bloch dealer and ask him to show you the overcoat of which this is a photograph. This Overcoat wi fit you with more style at less cost than any other make in the world. STEIN-BLOCH Smart Clothes Examine the other new Stein-Bloch Spring models, in suits or overcoats. Notice how they are made. Try them on before the Stein- Bloch dealer's big mirrors, that show you from head to foot. a Book of Photo- ee 46 Smartness. graphed Spring and Summer styles. You will earn the nearest dealers name and address. This is the Label that Means 56 Years of Knowing How. THE STEIN-BLOCH COMPANY Wholesale Tailors for Men NEW YORK Fifth Ave. Building lee Fix It in Your Mind OFFICES AND SHOPS Rochester, N.Y CHICAGO OFFICE 1422 Republic Bldg

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40 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 22,1911 ‘United States IS Painted Valuable buildings all over the country are rot- ting for the lack of paint. This means a yearly loss of millions to Amer- ican property owners. Paint now and give your buildings a new lease of life. You save money when you invest in paint. The right kind of paint is machine mixed paint. “The Name of a Responsible Manufacturer on a Sealed Can is Everywhere the Modern Guarantee of Quality” Our book, “Paint Economy,” tells of machine made paint Write for our Interesting Free Book Paint Manufacturers’ Association and its advantages. It is full of suggestions regarding the economical use of any kind of paint. It contains color schemes which can_ be _ practically applied to house decoration. If you area property owner write for it. Wewill send it free. EDUCATIONAL BUREAU 623 Bourse, Philadelphia, Pa.

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Tag A nest THE SATURDAY DOCTORING Al SICK BUSINESS (Concluded from Page 9) the money. Great Scott, if I had all the money I’ve been stuck with since I started in this town I’d be ahead twelve thousand dollars!” “You’re lucky,” the grocer answered dryly. ‘I should have guessed you'd lost nearer twenty-five thousand dollars, judg- ing from your business methods. You've no kick coming. I’m here nearly half as long as you, but do you know what my loss due to dead accounts is? Not six hundred dollars! I know that nearly every trades- man in the town is doing as you are, and you’ve got to add your losses on to the prices of your good customers; therefore, one half the people in the blooming place is living off the other half.” “But what am I going to do?” the shoe- man whimpered. ‘I can’t afford to queer my self with my customers!” “You don’t have to. The whole thing is in the trick of knowing how. Take the personal note right out of your request. It isn’t that you want the money or that you don’t trust your people. It is all the fault of the other fellow, see? He is pushing you for a big bill you'll have to meet, and you are obliged to ask all your customers to help you out. Now go home and write that in some nice, smooth, to-the-point letters, and you'll be surprised to see the money come in.” A week later the shoeman bobbed up to see his friend the grocer. He was wearing asmile. ‘Well, that letter fetched pretty nearly eight hundred dollars, with the promise of three hundred dollars soon to come,” he said. “That’s something like it, but not enough,” the grocer prompted. “In an- other week send out again to those who haven’t answered your first letter. Be nice and smooth, of course, but tell all over again about the bill you have got to meet. Say that you know money is tight, but that you are compelled to ask them to help you out. After that we’ll send a third letter to those who have ignored us, asking for something on account. Then we'll wax just a little stiffer, and so on, step by step, until we round up the hard-headed ones with a col- lection agency. That won’t do much good in some cases—-where there is no money it would be throwing good money after bad to sue—but we’ll rake up something.” The lesson the grocer gave this shoeman resulted in the establishment of a local board of trade, which has a white list of all the good-paying customers in town. Not only the shoeman but every merchant in town has successfully adopted the grocer’s method of running a collection depart- ment —another instance that shows how easy it is to apply a remedy to an ailing business if a merchant only knows enough to copy what is being done successfully in other businesses. A Fortune From Mousetraps About ten years ago there came into a New Jersey town a pale little man who had practically nothing except the experience he had acquired while ruining his health working in the shipping department of a department store. Throughout fifteen years of hard work, by electric light in a sub-basement, he had seen day by day how the store almost ruthlessly sacrificed cer- tain wares to draw trade; and in his capac- ity as a packer he could see better than any one else in the shop how these leaders drew customers. Often he fancied that. if only he had a chance to go into business he would be able to put this principle into operation for himself. His chance came sooner than he ex- pected in the shape of his doctor’s edict, which sent him out of the city. He picked out what he thought a likely town and with only five hundred dollars opened a little five-and-ten-cent store. From the very beginning he decided he would put into effect on a small scale the selling principles he had observed in the department store—-he would sacrifice sensationally on some “leader,” and con- centrate all attention on this. It struck him that in a suburban town a mousetrap might be an especially handy article, and so he decided as an opening celebration to blow himself to selling mousetraps at a cent each. To the owner-editor-publisher of the local paper he went, and paid one dollar for four inches of space next to the local-items columns. “T’m a merchant and not a trained writer, and I want you to write me an ‘ad’ all about a new kind of mousetrap I’m going to sacrifice on my opening day. He re *sone. It’s the surest sort of a trap can’t possibly miss —and it kills a mouse so quickly that it does not know what struck it. There’s no suffering and jumping aroun d and strangling to death with that trap! It’s instant! You never bought that kind of a trap here in town for less than five cents—I’m going to sell it for a cent! Put all that into the ad.” The newspaper fellow asked many ques- tions, and was perplexed why a man open- ing a new store should not want to tell more about his place; but the new mer- chant wasfirm. ‘* That’s the way big depart- ment stores in the city advertise, and that’s good enough for me,” he insisted. “People want these mousetraps; they don’t want me. They'll see all they want about the store and me when they come for the traps.” And they did. The clever scheme of concentrating —even on a single insignifi- cant article—and really saying something about it attracted attention. All during the week people happened into the new place; and almost every customer that bought a trap had use for some other arti cle-——from a corkscrew to a bread-knife and a bottle of ink. Free Lessons From Big Fellows The following week the advertisement was headed by an hour-glass, and it told all about the diffic ulty of cooking soft eggs just so, and the nuisance and the disappoint- ment of trying to cook eggs soft by clock Then it told of the wonderful egg-clock that would be on sale-a tiny hour-glass that would empty its sand from ene glass into another within three and one-half minutes. For ten cents these were sold each sale meant a loss of two cents. In addition to the advertisement the merchant hired a little girl for afternoons to stand in his show window and to keep up-ending a dozen of these little glasses as quickly a they ran out. In each corner of the show window were eggs in pans, boiling at a great rate. For the first time in the history of that town there were crowds in front of a show window. And so the new merchant went on, now sacrificing twenty-five-cent stovepipe lengths, now this and now that article, until there was hardly a person in the town who did not know the store and the owner favorably. “Before you buy anywhere, say, ‘See if - the five-and-ten-cent store hasn’t got it.’”’ This was an advertisement he inserted on one occasion, and after that he used this as a catch-line until it was taken up by his customers as a sort of popular joke. One day, after this merchant had put his store on a sound footing, he said to him- self: ‘‘Look here, between a thousand and two thousand people come into this place every week. While they’re here I might as well sell them something else.”’ He leased a larger store and added a first-class hard- ware and kitchen-utensil department, ad- hering to his policy of small profits and many sales. Today the five-and-ten-cent store is a three-story department store, containing hardware, kitchen utensil’, furniture, stoves, ranges and house furnishings. But the en- tire top floor remains the five-and-ten-cent shop, which draws the people. There you ean buy anything, from a stove-lifter to a box of writing paper. The method of curing a sick business, as set forth in this article, is really nothing new. It is far more important than any- thing new that can be devised, for it is nothing but one of those every-day, common-sense tricks that are as old as the hills. We put them into practice uncon- sciously while we are in the thick of the business fight, on top of the heap; but, for some reason or another, we forget about them once we begin to make leeway. The stearaship lines of the wide world, the rail- roads of the country, the trusts, the various manufacturers in their respective lines, our banks, our insurance companies, our su cessful merchants, all are on edge, each watching the other for the latest wrinkle to imitate, each putting into practice the principle of learning from the success of others. EVENING POST “SS ‘You Can {pot The AGevchant: Tailored Aan MA YW Glance IS clothes express just him and express him justly. You think more of clothes that were taped’’and tailored expressly for you, and you think more of yourse lf when you wear them. Garments “pulled from the pile” must lack the individuality ol the wearer, because they were not made and measured for you, but for ‘“Mr. Anybody.”’ The best-dressed men the world over go to the tailor. “Manufactured” garments are not good enough for them. Dress to impress others and express you—be measured for Kahn-Tailored-Clothes With practic ed eye, our Authonzed Re ~presentative t takes note of your personality, your height and breadth—the position in which you stand. ‘Then, and only then, he “box ly-tapes” $s your every dimension to the atom of an inch. If there is a single discrepancy i in your proportions —if there is a single fault in your figure, he sees it and guards against it be fore your garments are cut. And—when you receive them, they express your personality and only yours, because they were “taped” and tailored for you and only you. They accentuate your taste and your refinement —they are personal to you—they are your “‘double”’ in cloth. Our ‘‘Crystal Palace’’ From coast to coast our block-square establishment is known as the “Crystal Palace’’ Tailor Shops. They are air-swept and sun-bathed. They are tiered with windows that flood every thread of cloth, every ply of the needle and every process of tailoring with brilliant daylight. Amid such surroundings, ideally real and really ideal, our tailors cannot slur a stitch or bungle a thread. They handle only fabrics that are all-wool all through—they line them with pure-dye mohairs—they needle your personality into the clothes, the merchant-tailored air and richness of finish that anybody anywhere can “spot” at a glance. Tailor Shops This Tailoring is Convenient to You Go to our Authorized Represe ntative in your flown Our seal reproduced below, identihes him and our tailoring Have him measure you Put yourself into his hands and he will put garments with merchant-tailored elegance into yours at $20 to $45— within four days, f you do not know our Representative, write to us for his name and for Simply address if needed “The Drift of Fashion,” Edition No. 6, the famous tailor-shop-in-print fn, ¢ of Indianapolis, Ind. RQ Coment 41

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April 22,1911 a i) _ = —_ — 5 a) os a ——e ———_— Fore Do or THE SATURDAY EVENING POST S 2 wz 5 | wn nm 2% N ¢ NI +] wt co ee #R Ro = F 3 = = 83 wt? A. 3 we OS e sz 4g i 8% Aree 933 Az Ass ee: : . a - | 's : e ® os eg 3s 3 = he a = om ee &* ; Me X ——f 42

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 43 Some want OME people want the Fore Door all the time. Some one thing e , , don’t want it at all. Some would like it one day and not another—depends upon weather and time of year; for there is some heat in the forward compartment. You can have the Reo any way you want it: 1. With the fixed Fore Door. With the put-on-and-take-off door. (See top picture opposite. ) - lo 3. With open front. (Middle picture opposite. ) 4. And you can buy the door (2 sides) by itself, and put it on whenever | you want it (see sketch at bottom, opposite). This door fits both the 1910 and 1911 Reo Some want another That’s the real thing to do and the Reo way of doing it—give people what they want and a whole lot of plus. ! They want power, speed, reliability, comfort, at a low price. Give it to them; give them —not what they expect of a $1250 car, but what they look for in a $2500 car. They want proof. Give it to them. Not such “proof” as is being put-up every day; but a performance like New York to San Francisco in 10) days, which would tear almost any other car to pieces. | ) That is the Reo idea. Get people to buying with both : sides of their dollars. ‘The more people do that, the more The Reo has both Reos we shall sell. Send for catalogue and ‘* Coast to Coast in Ten Days.”’ | R M Owen & Company Lansing Mich °o'*= Reo Motor Car Company

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44 } ‘BV.D. | FOR ME!” The preference for Loose Fitting B.V.D. has made it the summer underwear of world-wide favor. Its coolness and comfort will make it your favorite B. V. D. Undergar- ’ ments are made of light woven, du- rable fabrics, and are cut loose fitting, so as to let refreshing air food your ! body. The roominess of cut and exect- ness of drape prevent binding and chafing and lessen perspiration. The strength of the materialsand mak- ing give the utmost length of wear. . This Red Woven Label i ae FOR THI mI | ED om RETAIL TRAE ! k I is sewed on every B. V. D. Garment. Take no garment without lp Write for a co PY of j r Booklet, “Cool as a Sea Breeze.” ' B.V. D. Coat Cut L oe and Knee ’ Length Drawers, 50c, 75c, $1.00 and $1.50 « garment B. V. D. Union Suits $1.00, $1.50, $2.00, $3.00 and $5.00 a suit THE B. V. D. COMPANY, * 65 Worth Street, New York. paign,”’ | I didn’t want to mix in politics. | importuned on every hand THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Where Roosevelt Stands Today (Continued from Page 4) | I got out of that convention every ounce of progressive action that it was humanly | possible to get out of it.” ‘“‘Why did you get into the political fight anyway, Colonel? —that’s what a lot of people are now asking.” “T tried to explain that in the cam- the Colonel replied. ‘‘Governor Hughes and his supporters were entirely responsible for my appearance at Sara- toga. I didn’t get them into the fight. They were in the fight. All I did was to | try to help them out in a fight in which | they were right. As long as they were in it I couldn’t stay out. When I got back from Europe I wanted to go home and be quiet; But I was by the Insur- gents of the West and by the Progressives in my own state—to help along the move- ment for honesty in high places in the political and financial world. It seemed to me that it was my duty to try to help them in the fight for popular government, with- out any regard to what the effect might be to me personally. I didn’t see how I could keep out of the fight and retain my self-respect; so I went into it. “T had influence at Saratoga simply because men like Senators Hinman and Davenport, and the other men who had backed Governor Hughes, felt that I was the man to put forward. You know how it is in a football game—how a back is sent intotheline. Well, they thought I was the man to send into the line.” ‘You made a good rush, Colonel.” “I had mighty good interference! It is amusing,”’ continued the Colonel, ‘‘to hear people say that I forced myself into the Congressional campaign—that of my own initiative I went up and down the country making speeches. Have you any idea of the number of invitations I have declined?” The reader may guess just as the writer did and come far from the mark. “I’ve been forced to decline over two thousand invitations since I returned from Europe. Roosevelt for Reciprocity If what has been written down does not sufficiently explain Colonel Roosevelt's reéntry into politics, perhaps a bit of inside history may throw some light on his controlling motives in returning home when he did. It was not difficult to fore- tell, long before the big-game hunter and faunal naturalist came out of the African jungle, how the fall elections in the United States were likely to go. Several of his friends, therefore, wrote him about the situation; told him he was not responsible for political conditions, and begged him to remain away from the country several months longer than he had planned certainly not to return until after the Congressional elections. Concerning this | plea the writer received from Mr. Roosevelt a letter, dated Nairobi, December 14, 1909, reading in part as follows: ‘I quite agree with you that it would be well for me, if I could, to stay away from America until after the Congressional elec- tions. But I don’t see how it is possible. I am not a public man now, but a private citizen. My main thought is not again to be separated from Mrs. Roosevelt, and as soon as I can to be in my own home where I can see my children. Moreover, the sum- mer would be a horrid time to take Mrs. Roosevelt to India; and I ought to be back to take up my work on the Outlook and to correct my book.” This letter should convince any fair- | minded person that Colonel Roosevelt's first thought was of his family, and that his second thought was to get back to his job to his editorial work. From post-mortems we turned to a con- sideration of the questions of the day. “You came out strong for Canadian reciprocity, Colonel.” “Yes; I’m heartily in favor of it. I feel | that the country is to be congratulated | upon the probability of obtaining a closer reciprocity of tariff and trade relations with Canada. Among all the powers of the earth there is none with which we should desire to be upon a more intimate footing | of equal rights, or to which we should be more closely bound in relations of mutual helpfulness, esteem and good will than our great neighbor to the north, whose prosper- ity and growth should be a matter of pride CLOTHCRAFI to all who dwell on the American con- | tinent. So, in addition to the trade advan- tages that will result to the United States | and Canada, I welcome the proposed reciprocity treaty as marking a signal ad- | vance in bringing about the most friendly relations between the two countries.” We then talked about the proposals of the National Progressive Republican League. This League, as has been publicly announced, has for its object the “ pro- motion of popular government and progres- | sive legislation.” the attainment of this object a platform has been adopted, containing the following five planks: States Senators; (2) direct primaries for all elective offices; (3) direct election of all delegates to the National conventions, with opportunity for the voter to indicate his choice for the President and Vice- President; constitutions providing for the initiative, referendum and recall; (5) a thorough- going corrupt practices act. Concerning all of these planks I interrogated Mr. Roosevelt. As to the Progressive Platform “In principle,” said the Colonel, with the emphasis indicated, “I assent to these five propositions. But certain of these proposals are merely devices—a means and not an end. The end is good gov- ernment founded on genuine popular rule. The value of each device must be tested squarely from this standpoint: Does it or does it not secure this popular rule?” “How do you stand on the particular planks?” “Of course there can be no dissent from the proposition of securing proper legisla- tion to prevent corrupt practices. I need not say that I heartily approve of that plank. “In my judgment,’’ continued the Colonel, ‘“‘the Constitution should be so amended as to provide for the direct elec- tion of United States Senators by the people. I emphatically believe in that change. Those opposing such an amend- ment are merely expressing the same fear that moved the framers of the Constitution to commit the election of President to the Electoral College. yr yaad short experience convinced the Nation that the President should be voted for directly by the people, and although the form of the Electoral College has been retained the electors have no function except to ratify the popular verdict. And if it should be thought necessary, even this superflu- ous machinery could with advantage be abolished. “T believe, also, that there should be direct election of delegates to National conventions. This would give every voter the opportunity to express his party pref- erence for President and Vice-President. Of course the delegate must be permitted to exercise his own judgment if it becomes As a means or method for | (1) Popular election of United | (4) amendment to the state | apparent that the first or second choice | of his constituents cannot be nominated by the convention. This change in party practice would make more difficult the control of delegates through the use of patronage.’ “You have already taken a stand in fav or of direct nominations.’ “Yes,” said the Colonel with a smile. | “‘T went down to defeat on that issue a very | few days after my return from Europe.” “That hasn’t altered your belief in direct primaries?” “Not in the slightest. On the contrary, in view of the manner and methods em- ployed to defeat the primary bill in the New York legislature, I have been con- firmed in my belief. The movement for direct nomination is rapidly ‘spreading throughout the country,”’ continued the Colonel. ‘“‘Even Governor Baldwin, of Connecticut —with whom, you remember, I had a passage-at-arms in the campaign has recommended to the legislature a ‘careful consideration’ of direct primaries! Each state must determine for itself, by testing the scheme in practice, whether all elective officers are to be nominated directly by the people or by certain stipulated officers.” ‘How about the initiative, referendum and recall? ‘“More antagonism is excited by these three proposals,” said the Colonel, ‘and | | GUARANTEED April 22,1911 ALL WOOL F YOU believe in the service that only thor- oughly-shrunk all-wool can give, it’s worth your while to investigate Cloth- craft Clothes. They’ll save you from $5 to $10 a suit, and yet give you the style and fit and service ou’d expect only at 1igher prices. That’s really a mild way of stating Clothcraft advantages, as you'll see from this characteristic incident: y I A man recently wore a Clothcraft suit at his club for several days without having a single comment upon it. Perhaps this was the finest compliment that could be paid any clothes in aclub noted for the plain- speaking of its members. Never- theless, this man desired an opinion of Clothcraft, so he asked a fellow clubman ‘*How do you like my new suit?’’ ‘‘] thought it was the brown suit you’ ve been wearing !”’ said his friend. That was a triumph for Clothcraft. The “‘brown suit” referred to was the best-looking, best-fitting, most satisfactory cus- tom-made suit this man had ever worn, and had cost alot more than tne Clothcraft suit mistaken for it. Clothcraft Clothes are the One Guaranteed All-Wool Line at Medium Prices: $10 to $25 The guaranty is backed by dealer and maker It’s a protec t that assures absolutely pure wool, first-class trime and workmanship, lasting service and satisfaction. You get it only at Clotheraft Stores If you care to have absolute confidence your clothes, go to the nearest Clotheraft Store If you don’t know one, write u outhe Clotheraft style-folder for sprit th ean lig ht shop where Clothceraft . together with the name of the nearest dealer. Clothes are mad THE JOSEPH & FEISS CO. Founded 1850—Oldest American Manufacturers of Men's Clothes 620 St. Clair Ave., N. W. Cleveland

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© TRON FOR ALL THE HOUSEHOLD WORK UST the ‘American’ would be a strong reason for comtort oft Electric cool | | | ! Ironing adopting it, for all the heat is in the bottom of the iron comfort it couples a most desir But with able saving of time and energy an economy that’s as practical when the ironing is done by a servant as when herself does it. the housewil | The “American” klectric lron stays evenly hot without any run the oul an ning to and from Thus it turns all-day ironing by three o'clock range ordinary leaving time and energy for other things. It keeps the work clean and does it better. But to assure all these advantages y« must get the “American” Electric Lron uct of the experience of the oldest ind largest exclusive manufacturers of electric heating-appliances It can be attached to any ordinary electric lamp , and the heat can easily be rey It is so simple and durable tha t is fully guaranteed lated i Prices of “American” Electric Irons anywhere in the United States: “Steel-Clad” type, 7 If your dealer hasn't the pit harges prepa oday for free bo« hire It explains the re efficiency, and describes appliances tor household use. AMERICAN ELECTRICAL HEATER CO. Oldest and largest exclusive makers 1349 Woodward Avenue Detroit, U.S. A. Write Look for the triangle on the tron or tag especially by the recall, than by any of the other planks in the League platform. With these three devices it is particularly a case of a means to an end. The recall is sometimes very useful, but it undoubtedly contains possibilities of mischief. There are strong arguments in its favor—or at least for some equivalent of it in regard to officers elected or appointed for life. My own viewpoint is that the recall is a useful device with certain well detined and carefully drawn restrictions; but I do not think that it is necessarily a device to meet conditions in every state. “I learned the other day, in this con- nection, a very interesting thing. In 1780 the state of Massachusetts put into its constitution precisely that provision for the recall. The article of the constitution states that ‘in order that public servants may not become the oppressors of the people,’ legislative provision may be made for the retiring of public officials to private life. *‘Observe—this is Massachusetts, which is not usually regarded as an anarchistic state! “In regard to the initiative and refer- endum, | believe that the anticipat ons of their proponents and the fears of their opponents are equally exaggerated. Ore- gon has already put into practice both principles, and they seem to have produced good results —certainly this is so in the case of the referendum. But this does not mean that the device would work well in other communities. This reminds me of my correspondence with one of the Oregon Senators, from which I am led to believe that, though | am regarded as a wild radical in W all Street, some of the people of Oregon look upon me as a timid con- servative. “In one of the oldest and most servative sections of the country,” said Mr. Roosevelt, continuing his argument, “there still exists a form of local government much more radical in its application than even the initiative and referendum. | mean the New England town meeting. All purely town matters are there decided, without appeal, by the vote of the townspeople in meeting assem- bled. In no other part of the world, except in two or three cantons of Switzer- land, and perhaps in certain districts of Norway, is there any form of government so democratic or so popular as the New England town meeting.” “Then the initiative and referendum represent merely the next step—a_ less popular device of government than the town meeting?” * Precisely.” con- self- Third Term Talk Silenced ““Why should those who have long used this instrument of government be unwilling to adopt devices that are even less demo- cratic —the initiative and referendum?” “Why? Well, that is their affair. If they are not now ready to adopt the initiative and referendum, or if they never become ready, the genuinely progressive leader will no more read out of the company of Progressives a New England state that believes it can achieve popular government without the referendum, for example, than he will ostracize some Western state because it has never adopted, and refuses to adopt, the town meeting. “Personally, I should like to see the initiative and referendum, with proper safeguards, adopted generally throughout the Union—just as, personally, I am sorry that the New England town meeting is not adopted throughout the Union. But | certainly do not intend to part company from Progressives who are thoroughly sincere in their desire to achieve popular government just because they cannot indorse the initiative and referendum. | will work with these men just as willingly as I will work with the Progressives of other parts of the country who favor the entire program outlined by the Progressive League.”’ ‘In other words, Colonel, you will work with any man who is traveling in the right direction?” “Precisely. In so far as I have any influence, I intend to insist that in making progress we keep on the track.” A man halted tentatively at the state- room door and looked in—a big, blond, outdoor chap. The Colonel jumped up and greeted him and drew him in. I found that he was a Rough Rider. With the fine, breezy familiarity of the icomrade in arms, he asked: “‘ How about THE SATURDAY EVENING POST it, Colonel? Will you carry the colors in nineteen-twelve ” The | ‘ suence, if they handthemto you second of rather te e Was a then with a deliberation nestness, and a sincerity that be mistaken, the Colonel said “Tam not a candidate for the Presidency And my real friends wil cruel injustice if they seek to make me such.” | do me a The Colonel's Greatest Ambition “Already, since my return from Europe 1 have visited the Middle West and the Northwest. This spring I am going to make a trip to the Southwest and to the Pacific Coast. I feel under ve ry great obligations to the American people; and now that I am out of the Presidency and have nothing to ask from the people, | should like to visit each state, if just to say ‘Howdy’ and ‘Thank you. ‘l am physically unable to accept one in fifty of the invitations I receive; but just about one in fifty is of such a character that I feel I must accept it, that l can’t help myself; and then I accept it — whether it is to visit Miss Berry's school in Georgia, or Hull House in Chicago, or the anthracite coal fields, or the tenement-house region in Brooklyn, or a child-labor congress in Birmingham, or the Roosevelt Dam in Arizona, or to make the charter-day address at the University of California, or to meet the legislatures of Texas and Ne vada,” Out in Chicago, on Washington's Birth day, they packed the Auditorium and the Armory and Orchestra Hall and HullHouse They waited in crowds along the streets in quite the old way to hear the Colonel speak or just to see him go by and wave his hat. All sorts of people, from the mem- bers of the Union League Club and their friends to the newly arrived bewildered im- migrants and the boy scouts-—-everybody, just as in the old times. He gets the same It’s not so much his ideas, for to a great extent the Nation has caught up with him theoretically —out on the coast they think they have got rather beyond him —it’s the man himself that they cheer, and they love him because they understand him. Anybody can understand him. The fundamentals of him are like the primary colors: honesty and courage of the old fashioned, simple kind. He's a fighting man, the Colonel is—the same sort of fight- ing man that he was in ’98 down in Cuba. Seven years in the Presidency, thirteen years of a life that would have kept any other man at his desk, haven’t refined it away. Not long before Mr. Roosevelt left the White House I was talking with Mr. John C. Greenway, an officer of the Rough Riders and one of the Colonel’s most loyal friends. He asked me if I knew what was Roosevelt’s greatest ambition. When | said that I did not he recounted an incident that occurred in Cuba. It was in one of the first skirmishes in which the Rough Riders were engaged. The under fire, was lying down, impatiently waiting for the order to advance. A young West Pointer—call him Sherman—who was near Lieutenant Greenway, in disob« dience to orders ke pt Jumping to his feet and surveying the Suddenly, throwing up his exclaimed: “T’m shot!” Lieutenant went to him and found, upon examination, that the West Pointer had been shot through the stom- ach and that the bullet had through his body. It seemed certain that the man would die, possible, response. regiment Situation, hands, he Greenw ay yone ciean and Greenway, face to face with death on the battlefield, tried to bid hira goodby, for the regiment might advance any moment. Sherman asked Lieutenant Greenway if he thought Colonel Roosevelt would come and y goodby Greenway carried the message to the Colo nel, and hereplied: ‘ Certainly I will come The Colonel walked rapidly over to where Sherman was lying and, as he appro a smile upon his face, he waved a greeting to him. Then, clasping the West by the hand, he said, to Greeny “You're a lucky man, Sherman, alucky man! You’ve been shot on the field of battle. All of us will have to go, sooner or later, and some of us will not die tle. You’re a lucky man, Sherman; you've been shot on the battlefield; you're a lucl y man! Goodby, old man, goodby Waving his hand and smiling, he walked away. “Colonel Roosevelt’s greatest ambi ached > + ~ Pointer ys awe you re in bat tion,”’ said Greenway, to be shot on the field of battle EXPERT SHOE MAKING Under the Magnifying Glass VU PERIORI TY Amat et in shoes han of claim another of the y White House Shoes are good wet ey're the best because we trv harce to ike the ) Here the expert operator of the Goodyea We ‘ t c pr he pa nha he Th THAKITY KY welts f es; it sews the undersole and upper togethe i it the same time adjusts a trip of weltu to which the tsole ewed It is a delicate, difficult operat , al whet well done, j eat skull Or & WHITE HOUSE rete SHOES tev0 f BoowN 1 ‘ wa Mt ans Qual $5.00 $4.00 $3.50 B 83 MEN'S “PRESIDENT, WHITE HOUSE” Guna Metal, 3-Button Oxford, Bully Lest. B 83% — Same in Tan For Boys J. $1.50 to $3.50 For Girls di ain Ye Sspopine SaosGe, St. Louis, U.S. A.

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Branches: New York, Broadway and 80th St.; Chicago, 2416 Michigan Ave.; Kansas City, Buffalo, Cleveiand aan Oh ae Peer A gpmey nea Selling Representatives in all leading cities ted range of adaptability EVENING POST April 22,1911 SERPENTS’ TEETH (Continued from Page 12) Doctor Eichendorfer Mrs. Schrimm asked, “Do you mean allows you that?” and Sam nodded. “Then, all I could say is,’”’ she con- tinued, “‘that you are going to stay to lunch, because if Doctor Eichendorfer allows a man only crackers and milk, Sam, that’s a sign he could eat Wienerwurst, dill pickles, and Handkiise. Aber if Doctor Eichendorfer says you could eat steaks and chops, stick to boiled eggs and milk because steaks would kill you sure.” “‘But Babette would be back at one o’clock and if I didn’t get home before then she would take my head off for me.” Mrs. Schrimm nodded sympathetically. “So you wouldn’t stay for lunch?” she said. “*T couldn't,” Sam protested. “Very well, then,’”’ Mrs. Schrimm cried as she hurried to the kitchen. “‘Sit right down again, Sam; I would be right back.” When Mrs. Schrimm appeared a few minutes later she bore a cloth-covered tray which she placed on the table in front of Sam. “You got until half past twelve—ain’t it?” she said; ‘“‘so take your time, Sam. You should chew your food good, espe- cially something which it is already half chopped, like gefiillte Rinderbrust.”’ “Gefiillte Rinderbrust!” Sam _ cried. ““Why’’—he poked at it with his knife ‘Why, this always makes me sick.” He balanced a good mouthful on his fork. But, anyhow,” he concluded—and the rest of the sentence was an incoherent mumbling as he fell to ravenously. More- over, he finished the succulent dish, gravy and all, and washed down the whole with a cup of coffee—not Hammersmith’s coffee or the dark brown fluid, with a flavor of stale tobacco pipe, that Miss Babette Gembitz had come to persuade herself was coffee, but a fragrant decoction, softened by rich, sweet cream and containing all the delicious fragrance of the best thirty-five- cent coffee, fresh-ground from the grocer’s. ** Ja, Henrietta,’’ Sam cried as he rose to leave; “‘I am going to weddings and fash- ionable hotels, and I am eating with high- grade customers in restaurants which you would naturally take a high-grade customer to, understand me; but—would you be- lieve me, Henrietta!—I am yet got to taste such coffee oder such gefiillte Rinderbrust as you are giving me now. Mrs. Schrimm beamed her acknowledg- ment of the compliment. ‘Tomorrow you would get some ¢ thicken fricassee, Sam,” she said, “‘if you would get here at half past eleven, sharp.” Sam shook her hand fervently. ‘Believe me, I would try my best,” he said; and fifteen minutes later, when Babette entered the Gembitz residence on One Hundred and Eighteenth Street, she found Sam as she had left him —fairly buried in the financial page of the morning paper. ** Well, Babette,” Sam cried, “‘so you see I went out and I took my walk and I come back and nothing happened me. Ain’t it?” Babette nodded. “T’ll get you your lune) right away,” she said; and, without removing her hat and jacket, she brought him a gl: ass of butter- milk and six plain crackers. Sam watched her until she had ascended the stairs to the first floor; then he stole on tiptoe to the sink in the butler’s pantry and emptied the buttermilk down the wastepipe. A moment later he opened the door of a book- case that stood near the mantelpiece and deposited five of the crackers behind six full-morocco volumes entitled Prayers for Festivals and Holy Days. He was busily engaged in eating the remaining cracker when Babette returned; and all that after- noon he seemed so contented and even jovial that Babette determined to permit him his solitary walk on the following day. Thus Sam not only ate the chicken fricassee but three days afterward, when he visited Mrs. Schrimm upon the representa- tion to Babette that he would sit all the morning in Mt. Morris Park, he suggested to Henrietta that he show some return for her hospitality by taking her to luncheon at a fashionable hotel downtown. “My restaurant days is over,’ Mrs. Schrimm declared. ‘To oblige me,’’ Sam pleaded. “I ain’t been downtown in—excuse me—such a helluva long time I don’t know what it’s like at all.”’ = If you are so anxious to get downtown, Sam,” Mrs. Schrimm rejoined, “why don’t you go down and get lune h with Henry? He’d be glad to have you. “What, alone?”” Sam cried. “Why, if Babette would hear of it “*Who’s going totell her?”’ Mrs. Schrimm asked; and Sam seized his hat with trembling fingers. ‘By jiminy, I would do it!”’ he said, and then he paused irresolutely. “But how could I get home in time if I did?’ A moment later he snapped his fingers. “I got an idee!’ he exclaimed. ‘‘ You are such good friends with Mrs. Krakauer ain’t it?” Mrs. Schrimm nodded. “Then you should do me the favor, Henrietta, and go over to Mrs. Krakauer and tell her she should ring up Babette and tell her I am over at her house and | wouldn’t be back till three o’clock.”’ ‘“Couldn’t you go downtown if you want to?” Mrs. Schrimm replied. ‘* Must you got to ask Babette’s permission first? Sam nodded slowly. “You don’t know that girl, Henrietta,” he said bitterly. ‘She is Regina selig over again only worser, Henrietta.” ‘All right. I would do as you want,” Mrs. Schrimm declared. “Only one thing I must got to tell you,” Sam said as he made for the door: ‘don’t let Mrs. Krakauer talk too much, Henri- etta, because that girl is suspicious like a credit man. She don’t believe nothing nobody tells her.”’ Iv HEN Sam entered the showroom of Henry Schrimm’s place of business half an hour later, He enry hastene ad to greet him. ‘Wie gehts, Mr. Gembitz ?” he cried He drew forward a chair and Sam sank into it as feebly as he considered appropriate to the réle of a convalescent. ‘I’m a pretty sick man, Henry,” he said ‘and I feel I ain’t long for this world.” He allowed his head to loll over his left shoulder in an attitude of extreme fatigue; in doing so, however, his eye rested for a moment upon a shipping clerk who was arranging Henry’s sample garments on some old-fashioned racks. ‘“Say, lookyhere, Henry,” Sam _ ex- claimed, raising his head suddenly, “how the devil could you let a feller like that ruin your whole sample line?”’ He jumped from his chair and strode across the showroom. **Schlemiel!”’ he cried. ‘*What for you are wrinkling them garments like that? He seized a costume from the astonished shipping clerk and for half an hour he arranged and rearranged Henry’s samples until the job was finished to his satisfaction. **Mr. Gembitz,”” Henry protested, ‘‘sit down for a minute. You would make yourself worse.” ‘What d’ye mean, make myself worse? Sam demanded. “I am just as much able to do this as you are, Henry. Where do you keep your piece goods, Henry?” Henry led the way to the cutting room and Sam Gembitz inspected a dozen bolts of cloth that were piled in a heap against the wall. “That’s just what I thought, Henry,” Sam cried. ‘* You let them fellers keep the place here like a pigsty.” “Them’s only a lot of stickers, Mr. Gembitz,”” Henry explained. “Stickers!” Sam _ repeated. * What d’ye mean, stickers? That’s the same mis take a whole lot of people makes. There ain’t no such thing as stickers, Henry. Sometimes you get ahold of some piece goods which is out of demand for the time being, Henry; but sooner or later the fash ions would change, Henry, and then the stickers ain’t stickers no more. They’ re live propositions again.’ Henry made no reply and Sam continued “Yes, Henry,” he went on, ‘“‘some people is always willing they should throw out back numbers which really ain’t back num bers at all. Take them boys of mine, for instance, Henry, and see how glad they was to get rid of me on account they think I am a back number; but I ain’t, Henry. And just to show you I ain’t, Henry, do you happen to have on hand some made-up garments which you think is stickers?”’ Henry nodded. “Well, if I don’t come downtown to- morrow morning and with all ther there

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factory aud cheap. With a pellet and water pen is always panty Makes full fluid pint or a yea 25c. Agents wanted PERFECTION TY CQ., Dept. A, Box S61, Portland, Main Vests => PREMO PEN PELLETS Solid, soluble, satis opt = THE SATURDAY stickers sold for you,’ Sam cried, “my name ain’t Sam Gembitz at all.” Say, lookyhere, Mr. Gembitz,”’ Henry protested, ‘ ‘you would make yourself sick again. Come out and have a bite lunch with me.” *That’s all right, Henry,’’ Sam replied “T ain’t hungry for lunch—I am hungry for work; and if you would be so good and show me them stickers which you got made up, Henry, I could assort ‘em in lots, and tomorrow morning I would take a look-in on some of them upper Third Avenue stores, Henry. And if I don't get rid of *em for you, understand me, you could got right uptown and tell Babette. Otherwise you should keep your mouth shut and you and me _ does a whole lot of business together.’ Half an hour later, Sam carefully effaced the evidences of his toil with soap and water and a whisk-broom, and began his journey uptown. Under one arm he carried a bundle of sample garments that might have taxed the strength of a much younger man. This bundle he deposited for safe-keeping with the proprietor of a cigar store on Lenox Avenue; and, after a final brush- down by the bootblack on the corner, he made straight for his residence on One Hundred and Eighteenth Street. When he entered he found Babette impatiently awaiting him. “Why didn’t youstay all night, popper?”’ she demanded indignantly. ‘‘Here I am all dressed and waiting to go downtown and you keep me standing around like this.” “Another time you shouldn't wait at all,” Sam retorted. “If you want to go downtown go ahead. I could always ask the girl for something if I should happen to need it.” He watched Babette leave the house, with a sigh of relief, and for the remainder of the afternoon he made intricate calcula- tions with the stub of a leadpencil on the backs of some old envelopes. Ten minutes before Babette returned he thrust the envelopes into his pocket and smiled with satisfaction, for he had computed to a nicety just how low a price he could quote on Henry Schrimm’s stickers, so as to leave a margin of profit for Henry after his own commissions were paid. The following morning Sam arrayed himself with more than ordinary care and promptly at ten o’clock he seized his cane and started for the door. Vhere are you going?” demanded. “‘T guess I would take a little walk in the park,” he said to his daughter in tremulous tones, and Babette eyed him somewhat suspiciously. “Furthermore,” he said boldly, “if you want to come with me you could do so. The way you are looking so yellow lately, Babette, a little walk in the park wouldn’t do you no harm. Sam well knew that his daughter was ad- dicted to the practice of facial massage and he felt sure that any reference to yellowness would drive Babette to her dressing table and keep her safely engaged with mirror and cold cream until past noon. “Don’t stay out long,” she said, and Sam nodded. “IT would be back when I am hungry,” he replied; “and maybe I would take a look-in at Mrs. Krakauer. If you get anxious about me telephone her.” Ten minutes later he called at the cigar store on Lenox Avenue and secured his samples, after which he rang up Mrs. Schrimm. “Hello, Henrietta!’’ he shouted. ‘This is Sam—yes, Sam Gembitz. What is the matter? Nothing is the matter. Huh? Sure, I feel all right. I give you a scare? Why should I give you a scare, Henrietta? Sure, we are old friends; but that ain’t the point, Henrietta. I want to ask you you should do me something as a favor. You should please be so good and ring up Mrs. Krakauer, which you should tell her, if Babette rings her up and asks for me any time between now and six o’clock tonight, she should say I was there, but I just left. Did you get that straight? All right. Goodby.” Babette He heaved a sigh of relief as he paid for the telephone call and pocketed a handful of cheap cigars. “Don’t you want a boy to he ‘Ip you carry them samples, Mr. Gembitz?”’ proprietor asked. **Do I look like I wanted a boy to help me carry samples?" Sam retorted indignantly, EVENING POST

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Descriptions, Los Angeles, Calif. EVENING POST and a moment later he swung aboard an eastbound crosstown car. It was past noon when Sam entered Henry Schrimm’s showroom and his face bore a broad, triumphant grin. “Well, Henry,”’ he shouted, ‘‘what did Itold you? Toa feller w hich he is knowing how to sell goods there ain’t no such things as stickers.” “Did you get rid of ’em?” Sam shook his head. “No, Henry,” he said, “I didn’t get rid of ’em—I sold ’em; and, furthermore, Henry, I sold four hundred dollars’ worth more just like ’em to Mr. Rosett, of the Rochelle Department Store, which you should send him right away a couple sample garments of them 1040’s.” “What d’ye mean, 1040’s?” Henry asked. ‘I ain’t got no such lot number in my place.”’ “No, I know you ain’t; but I mean our style 1040—that is to say, Gembitz Brothers’ style 1040.” Henry blushed. 7 don’ t know what you're talking about at all,”’ he said. “*No?” Sam retorted slyly. ‘Well, I'll describe it to you, Henry. It’s what you would call a princess dress in tailor-made effects. The waist’s got lapels of the same goods, with a little braid on to it, two plaits in the middle and one on each shoulder; yoke and collar of silk net; and ——” “You mean my style number Henry asked. “TI don’t mean nothing, Henry,” Sam declared, ‘‘because you shouldn’t throw me no bluffs, Henry. I seen one of them garments in your cutting room only yester- day, Henry, which, if it wasn’t made up in my old factory, I would eat it, Henry and Doctor Eichendorfer says I got to be careful with my diet at that.” Henry shrugged. _ “Well,” he began, if en “Sure, there ain’t no harm, Henry,” Sam said, ‘“‘ because them garments is going like hot cakes. A big concern like Falk- statter, Fein & Company takes over three thousand dollars’ worth from the boys for their stores in Sarahcuse, Rochester and Buffalo.” “Falkstatter, Fein & Company!” Henry cried. ‘‘Does them boys of yours sell Henry asked. 2018?” “there ain’t no harm | Falkstatter, Fein & Company?” **Sure,”” Sam answered. “Why not?” you heard?” “T ain’t heard nothing,’’ Sam replied; “but I know that concern for twenty years since already, Henry, and they always pay prompt to the day.” “Sure, I know,” Henry said; ‘but only this morning I seen Sol Klinger in the sub- way and Sol tells me Simon Falkstatter committed suicide last night.” “Committed suicide!’ Sam “What for?” “IT don’t know what for,’’ Henry replied; “but nobody commits suicide for pleasure, Mr. Gembitz, and if a man is in business, like Falkstatter, when Marshall Field’s was new beginners already, Mr. Gembitz, and he sees he is got to bust up, Mr. Gembitz, what should he do? Sam rose to his feet and seized his hat and cane. “Going home so soon, Mr. Gembitz?”’ Henry asked. ‘No, T ain’t going home, Henry,”’ Sam replied. ‘I’m going over to see my boys I guess they need me.”’ He started for the door, but as he reached it he paused. “By the way, Henry,” he said, ‘“‘on my way down I stopped in to see that new concern there on Fifth Avenue— Weldon, Jones & Company—and you should send ‘em up also a couple of them princess dresses in brown and smoke. I'll see you tomorrow. 2 ‘Do you think you could get down again ?” Henry asked. “Why not?” Henry repeated. ‘ Ain’t gasped. tomorrow : “I don’t know, Henry; but Ja lies could get me here I guess I could,” Sam replied. ‘Because, the way my children fixes me lately, I am beginning to be such a liar that you could really say I am an expert.” Vv EN minutes later, Sam Gembitz walked into the elevator of his late place of business and smiled affably at the elevator boy, who returned his greeting with a perfunctory ned. **Well, what's new around here, Louis?”’ , Sam asked. April 22,1911 “T dunno, Mr. Gembitz,” the elevator boy said. “‘I am only just coming back from my lunch.” “*T mean what happens since I am going away, Louis?”’ Sam continued. ‘“*T didn’t know you went away at all, Mr. Gembitz,” the elevator boy replied. “‘ Dummer Esel!”’ Sam exclaimed. “‘ Don’t you know I was sick and I am going away from here schon three months ago pretty near?” The elevator boy stopped the car at Gembitz Brothers’ floor and spat deliber- ately. “In the building is twenty tenants, Mr. Gembitz,”” he said, ‘‘and, the way them fellers is sitting up all hours of the night, shikkering and gambling, if I would keep track which of ’em is sick and which ain’t sick, Mr. Gembitz, I wouldn’t got no time to run the elevator at all.’”’ If the elevator boy’s indifference made Sam waver in the belief that he was sorely missed downtown the appearance of his late showroom convinced him of his mis- take. The yellow-pine fixtures had dis- appeared and in place of his old walnut table there had been installed three rolltop desks of the latest Wall Street design. At the largest of these sat Max, who wheeled about suddenly as his father entered. “What are you doing down here?” he demanded savagely. ‘Ain’ t I got no right in my own business at all? as Sam asked mildly. “Sidney,” Max cried, and in response his youngest brother appeared. **Put on your hat and take the old man home,” he said. *‘One minute, Sidney,” Sam said. ‘In the first place, Max, before we talk about going home, I want to ask you a ques- tion: How much does Falkstatter, Fein & C ompany owe us?’ *Us?” Max repeated. **Well—you?” Sam replied. ““What’s that your business?"’ Max retorted. “What is that my gasped. ‘‘A question! Did you ever hear the like, Sidney? He asks me what it is my business supposing Falkstatter, Fein ¢é Company owes us a whole lot of money! Ain’t that a fine way for him to talk Sidney?” Sidney’s pasty face colored and he bi his lips nervously. ** Max is right, popper,”’ he said. “ You ain’t got no call to come down here and interfere in our affairs. I'll put on my hat and go right home with you.” It was now Sam’s turn to blush and he did so to the point of growing purple with rage le Don’t you trouble yourse ‘lf, * he eried; “ because I ain’t going: home! ; “What d’ye mean, y’ain’t going home? Max said threateningly. “IT mean what I say!” Sam declared. “IT mean I ain’t going home never again. You are throwing me out of my business, Max, and you would soon try to throw me out of my home, too, if I couldn’t protect myse lf. But I ain’t so old and I ain’t so sick but what I could take care of myself, Max.” “Why, Doctor Eichendorfer says — Sidney began. “Doctor Eichendorfer!”’ Sam roared “Who is Doctor Eichendorfer? He is a doctor, not a lawyer, Max, and maybe he knows about kidneys, Max; but he don't know nothing about business, Max! And so help me, Max, I would give you till Wednesday afternoon three o’ciock; if you don’t send me a certified check for five thousand dollars over to Henry Schrimm place I would go right down and see Henry D. Feldman, and I would bust your bus! ness—my business! —open from front to rear, so that there wouldn't be a penny left for nobody—except Henry D. Feldman Here he drew a deep breath. ‘*And, furthermore, Max,” he con- cluded, as he made for the door, ‘don’t try any monkey business with spreading report I am gone crazy or anything, because | know that’s just what you would do, Max! And if you would, Max, instead of five thousand dollars I would want ten thousand dollars. And if I wouldn’t get it, Max, Henry D. Feldmz an would —so what is the difference?’ He paused with his hand on the elevator bell and faced his sons again. “Solomon was right, Max,” he con- cluded. ‘‘He was an old-timer, Max; but just the same, he knew what he was talking about when he said that you bring up a business?”’ Sam

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It is small, very small— you can easily carry it in your traveling bag. Price $1.75 (Iu Canada, duty extra). . y t ify ve y t end . ‘ t any y We ( . 7 : ng case, $3. J r Tatt r Wr tor int x 1 gi ption of Junior Tatto« THE AVEN ae ee: a : Now ven 139 Hamitton S1 \ aeaceteecenl ini ,SHORT-STORY WRITING { i ft Short Story taug \ J Berg Esenwein, maiter Lippincott’ s Magazine. | THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL | Mr. Fsenwe Besse Place, Springfield, Mass Always Ready THE SATURDAY child in the way he should go and when he gets old he bites you like a serpent’s tooth yet! At this juncture the elevator door opened and Sam delivered his ultimatum. ‘But you got a different proposition here, boys,” he said; “and before you get through with me I would show you that oncet in a while a father could got a serpent’s tooth too—and don’t you forget it!” “Mr. Gembitz,”’ the elevator boy inter- rupted, “there is here in the building already twenty tenants; and other people as yourself wants to ride in the elevator too, Mr. Gembitz.”’ Thus admonished, Sam entered the car and a moment later he found himself on the sidewalk. Instinctively he walked toward the subway station, although he had intended to return to Henry Schrimm’s office; but, before he again became con- scious of his surroundings, he was seated in a Lenox Avenue express with an early edition of the evening paper held upside down before him. ** Nah, well,” he said to himself, ‘‘ what is the difference? I wou Idn’t try to do no more business today.” He straightened up the paper and at once commenced to study the financial page. Unknown to his children, he had long rented a safe-deposit box, in which reposed ten first-mortgage bonds of a trunkline railroad, together with a few shares of stock purchased by him during the Northern Pacific panic. He noted, with a satisfied grin, that the stock showed a profit of fifty peints, while the bonds had advanced three- eighths of a point. ‘Three-eighths ain’t much,” he mut- tered as he sat still while the train left One Hundred and Sixteenth Street station, **but there is a whole lot of rabonim which would marry you for less than thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents.” He threw the paper to the floor as the train stopped at One Hundred and Twenty- fifth Street and, without a moment’s hesi- tation, ascended to the street level and walked two blocks north to One Hundred and Twenty-seventh Street. There he rang the basement bell of an old-fashioned brownstone residence and Mrs. Schrimm in person opened the door. When | observed her visitor she shook her head slowly from side to side and emitted inar- ticulate sounds through her nose, indicative of extreme commiseration. ‘**Ain’t you going to get the devil when Babette sees you!” she said at last. “ Mrs. Krakauer tells her six times over the ’phone already you just went home.” **Could I help it what that woman tells Babette?”” Sam asked. “And, anyhow, Henrietta, what do I care what Mrs. Krakauer tells Babette or what Babette tells Mrs. Krakauer? And, furthermore, Henrietta, Babette could never give me the devil no more!” ““No?” Mrs. Schrimm said as she led the way to the dining room. ‘ You're talking awful big, Sam, for a feller which he never calls his soul his own in his own home yet.” “Them times is past, Henrietta,’”? Sam answered as he sat down and removed his hat. ‘Today things begin differently for me, Henrietta; because, Henrietta, you and me is old enough to know our own business, understand me—and if I would say ‘black’ you wouldn’t say ‘white.’ And if you would say ‘ black’ I would say ‘ black’”’ Mrs. Schrimm looked hard at Sam and then she sat down on the sofa. ““What d’ye mean, black?” she gasped. “T’m only talking in a manner of speak- ing, Henrietta,” Sam explained. ‘ What I mean is this.” He pulled an old envelope out of his pocket and explored his waistcoat for a stump of leadpencil. ““What I mean is,” he continued, wet- ting the blunt point with his tongue, ‘“*ten bonds from Canadian Western, first mortgage from gold, mit a garantirt from the Michigan Midland Railroad, ten thou- sand dollars, interest at six per cent —is six hundred dollars a year, ain’t it?” **Ye-ee-s,” Mrs. Schrimm said _ hesita- tingly. ‘“‘Und?” nd,” Sam said triumphantly, “fifty shares from Central Pacific at 154 apiece is seventy-seven hundred dollars, with divi- dends since thirty years they are paying it at four per cent, is two hundred dollars a year more, ain’t it?”’ Mrs. Schrimm nodded. “What has all this got to do with me, Sam?” she asked. Sam cleared his throat. EVENING POST BROWNIES. Frankly, the original Brownie idea was to make a small camera on the Kodak prin- ciple that would teach the youngsters to take pictures. This meant making many cameras and making them simply, but making them 5 so good that their owners would be enthusi- ob astic. The first Brownie made 24% x 2% pictures and sold for a dollar. It was made so well that the inevitable happened. Other and bigger Brownies for bigger people simply had to follow. They are made in the Kodak factories under Kodak superintendence by Kodak workmen. means honest workmanship. Habit with these people That’s why the Brownie, a low priced camera, has been and 1s a SUCCESS. No. 24 Folding Pocket Brownie A truly pocket camera for 2" x4% picture , loading in daylight with Kodak him cartridges Capacity 12 exposure withoutreloading. 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50 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Swoboda Physiological Exercise Without Apparatus or Drugs UILDS vigorous brains, superb, energetic bodies, developing great nervous force, strong muscles, vig- orous heart, creating a perfect circulation, overcoming general debility, lack of ambition, lack of vitality by revitalizing, regenerating, rebuilding, and developing the body, brain and nerves to their highest power.

When I say that I give something different, some- thing new, more scientific, more rational and effective and immeasurably superior to anything ever before de- vised for the uplifting of the human body to a higher plane and restoring its health, I am only repeating what thousands of prominent men and women of every country on the face of the earth, who have profited by my treat- ment, are saying for me voluntarily. MY PHYSIOLOGICAL TREATMENT is based upon definite laws, heretofore almost universally ignored. It is based upon absolutely correct scientific facts which when applied to the physical organism lead to the inevitable possession of a vigorous mind, strong and well developed body, high vitality, great endurance, powerful nervous force and priceless regularity of all the functions. If you will follow my treatment for a few weeks, I will guarantee you such an immedi- ate return to body and brain vigor as to con- vince you that no matter in what branch of industry you may be active, whether indoors or outdoors, ill or well, whether engaged in mental or physical labor, the SWOBODA TREATMENT solves the problem of disease resistance and full attainment of brain and body power and development. DRUGS OFTEN DECREASE THE CAPACITY OF THE BODY TO MAINTAIN ITSELF IN HEALTH AND STRENGTH fo be weil and strong, you must have greater nervous force, more and better blood. No pupil of mine needs to digest his food with pepsin. or assist Nature with a dose of physic, nor take tonics toexcite enfeebled and disorganized nerves, Causing thereby deficient nervous force will give you a vigorous appetite, and a healthy and capable digestive system to obey it, fill your arteries with rich blood, develop sound lungs to keep it rich, a strong heart to regulate your circulation and a liver that will work as Nature designed it should, and a healthy nervous system which will supply you with ideal physical and mental energy When the average person's

health fails he invariably seeks at once for a magic cure in drugs. Temporary

relief often deceives him into the belief that a cure is effected, but with each succeeding dose the effect of a ug is les ened until eventually it loses its effect entirely, and the body and nervous force have been rably "T HE sw B OD A "1 R E ATMENT strer gthe ns the brain, nerves sand all the internal organs of the body therefore increasing the | as well as develo; ping the nervous for« It increases the capacity for mental physical labor, neutralizing the effe ft excesses your daily work and life a ple asure mproving the memory, gives clear and quicker instead of a areden ry. SWOBODA TREATMENT A PROVEN ONE f reept ion aud make

| stands,’ *‘A wife should know how her husband he said huskily. ‘‘Ain’t it so, Henrietta, leben?” Mrs. Schrimm nodded again. “Did you speak to Henry anything, Sam?” she asked. “TI didn’t say nothing to Henry yet,” | Sam replied; “but if he’s satisfied with My treatment is noexperiment. I have been giving it successfully to pupils all over the world for the past seventeen I have among my pupils hundreds of doctors, judges, senators, congressmen, members | ot cabinet, ambassad governors, thousands of business men, farmers, mechanics and laborers, and almost mn equal number of women , WHAT OTHERS HAVE TO SAY: 1—"' Effect was almost beyond belie 13 ** Chest measurement increased 5'4 inches in 60 days.’ 2 Restored from Nervous Prost aaa in 90 days "' 14—‘* Muscles develo; to a remarkable degree.’ 3—'' Dees Wonders.’ 15—*' Ten minutes of your treatment better than hours of 4 Liver now works like a clock."’ any other 5 Gives Nervous Dyspeptic perfect health 6—"‘All your promises have been fulfilled 7—*' Bwoboda Treatment an intense pleasure '' 6—"' Very first lesson worked magically 9—'' Thought it impossible to get such results 10—** Considers it a great discovery "' 11—"' All ran down — built up in a month 12—‘' Almost a skeleton — increased weight 65 pounds "’

The SWOBODA TREATMENT is the most condensed form of exercise possible. The Physiological effect obtained from ten minutes of its use is startling, invigorating and satistving The with complete success by mail, accord instruction is given idual condition requires nd demand My pupils rang trom fourteen to eighty-six and include both men and women ngly asthe ind e in age I have to offer you the most convincing evidence ever offered in support of any treatment in the history of the world The information which I send free will be a revela tien and education to you WRITE FOR IT AND MY GUARANTEE TODAY Addres ’ Alois P. Swoboda, “Wane b ce”

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the business I done for him this morning I would make him a partnership proposition.” “But, listen here to me, Sam,” Mrs. Schrimm protested. ‘‘Me I am already fifty-five years old; and a man like you which you got money, understand me, if you want to get married you could find plenty girls forty years old which would only be glad they should marry you— good- looking girls, too, Sam.” “* Koosh!”’ Sam cried, for he had noted a tear steal from thee orner of Mrs. Schrimm’s eye. He rose from his chair and seated himself on the sofa beside her. *‘ You don’t know what you are talking about,” he said as he clasped her hand. “Good looks to some people is red cheeks and black hair, Henrietta; but with me it is different. The best-look’ng woman in the whole world to me, Henrietta, is got gray hair, with good brains underneath—and she is also a little fat, too, understand me; but the heart is big underneath and the hands is red, but they got red doing mitzvahs for other people, Henrietta.” He paused and cleared his throat again. “And so, Henrietta,”’ he concluded, ‘if you want me to marry a good-looking girl—this afternoon yet we could go down- town and get the license.” Mrs. Schrimm sat still for two minutes and then she disengaged her hand from Sam’s eager clasp. “All I got to do is to put on a clean waist,”’ she said, “‘and I would get my hat on in ten minutes.” vi HE fact of the matter is,’’ Max Gembitz said, two days later, “we ain’t got the ready money.” Sam Gembitz nodded. He sat at a desk in Henry Schrimm’s office—a new desk of the latest Wall Street design; and on the third finger of his left hand a plain gold band was surmounted by a three-carat diamond ring, the gift of the bride. ““No?” he said, with a rising inflection. *“And you know as well as I do, popper, we was always a little short this time of the year in our business,” Max continued. “Our business!’”’ Sam repeated. “You mean your business, Max.” ““What difference does it make?’’ Max asked. “7 makes a whole lot Max,” Sam declared; of difference, ‘*because, if I would | bea partner in your business, Max, I would Cincinnati ‘ practically got to be one of my own competitors.” “One of your own competitors!”” Max cried. ‘‘What d’ye mean?”’ For answer Sam handed his son the following card: | SAMUEL GEMBITZ HENRY SCHRIMM | | | | | | GEMBITZ & SCHRIMM | CLOAKS @ SUITS WEST NINETEENTH STREET New YorK Max gazed at the card for five minutes and then he placed it in his waistcoat pocket. “So you are out to do us said bitterly. _ What are you talking about —out to do you?” Sam replied. “* How could an old- timer like me do three up-to-date fellers like you and Sidney and Lester? I’m a back number, Max. I ain’t got gumption enough to make up a whole lot of garments, all in one style, pastel shades, and sell ’em all to a concern which is on its last legs, Max. I couldn’t play this here Baytzimmer feller’s pool, Max, and I couldn’t sit up all hours of the night eating lobsters and oysters and ham and bac on in the Harlem Winter Garden, Max.” He paused to indulge in a malicious grin. “Furthermore, Max,” he continued, “‘how could a poor, sick old man compete with a lot of healthy young fellers like you boys? I've got Bright’s Disease, Max, and I could drop down in the street any minute. And if you don’t believe me, Max, you should ask Doctor Eichendorfer. He will tell you the same.” Max what?” April 22,1911 Max made no reply, but took up his ha from the top of Sam’s desk. Jait a minute, Max,” Sam said. “Don’t be in such a hurry, Max, because, after all, you boys is my sons any how; and so I got a proposition to make to you. He pointed to a chair and Max sat down. “First, Max,” he went on, “I wouldn’t ask you for cash. What I want is you should give me a note at one year for five thousand dollars, without interest.’ “So far as I could see,” Max inter- rupted, “‘we wouldn’t be in no better con- dition to pay you five thousand dollars in one year as we are today.” “*T didn’t think you would be,” Sam said, “but I figured that all out; and if, before the end of one year, you three boys would turn around and go to work and get a decent, respectable feller which he would marry Babette and make a home for her, understand me, I would give you back your note.” “But how Max exclaimed. “T leave that to you,” Sam replied; “because, anyhow, Max, there’s plenty fellers which is designers oder bookkeepers which would marry Babette in a minute if they could get a partnership in an old, established concern like yours.” eould we do that?” _“But Babette don’t want to get mar- ried,”” Max declared. **Don’t she?” Sam retorted. ‘Well, if a woman stands hours and hours in front of the glass and rubs her face mit cold cream and Gott weiss what else, Max, if she don’t want to get married I'd like to know what she does want.” Again Max rose to his feet. “T’ll tell the boys what you say,” he murmured. “*Sure,”’ Sam said heartily, ‘‘and tell ‘em also they should drop in oncet in a while and see mommer and me up in One Hundred and Twenty-seventh Street.” Max nodded. ‘And tell Babette to come also,” added; but Max shook his head. “I’m afraid she wouldn’t do it,’”’ he de- clared. ‘She says yesterday she wouldn't speak to you again so long as you live.” Sam emitted a sigh that was a trifle too emphatic in its tremulousness. ‘I’m sorry she feels that way, Max,” he said; ‘“‘but it’s an old saying and a true one, Max: you couldn’t make no omelets without beating eggs.” Sam Solomon’s Pills BOSTON beans. CuicaGo —If theshoe fits it’s made to order. NEw YoRK—One touch of Nature makes the whole world sin. PHILADELPHIA — Familiarity breeds drowsi- ness. We live and move and have our RENO—A fool and his honey are soon parted. ACTRESS — Mind your he’s and cues. AERONAUT—I'd rather be Wright than President. Boy — Keep thy tongue from evil and thy lips from girls. BARTENDER—A soft trade. DEBUTANTE— Better to have a short than never to have loved a tall. DocTOR drink turneth away Where there’s a pill there’s a pay. : DENTIST — Patients and long-suffering. DRESSMAKER — Figures don’t lie. EpiITtoR—The more paste the less speed. GAMBLER — A rolling bone gathers no los Gossip—‘One touch of rumor makes th whole world chin. GROCER — Honest tea is the best policy. LAWYER — Where there’s a will there’s a Iray. OLD MAIpD— Never too old to yearn. PHILANTHROPIST-- With all my goodly words I thee endow. POLICEMAN~—God help themselves. POLITICIAN — Profit is without honor in this country. PREACHER — The wages of gin is breath. RAILROAD MAN — They also serve who only stand the freight. ScHOLAR—A word to the wise is repented. SociETY MAN—An ounce of convention is worth a peund of character. STAR BOARDER — Be ye therefore breakfast. SUFFRAGETTE — The thing of duty is to Jaw those who help forever TRAVELER— Look before you sleep. Wipow — True love never dyes. — Harold Collins Wa e.. _

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. — Caesar” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Giving Hostages to That Guarantee to Consumers which ts called “‘Advertising” “O THIS, then, is to Consumers / Not to se/Z Advertising Lo But, we want to perform ¢ We are just big enough now, we the general benefit of a Cause we hei We want to show people way it lrade-Marked”’ products than the Not because the popularizing ot | them any more desirable, Not that their greater frestige, th better, wear better or look better than «# But, because the Manufacturer who track tises an article thereby Proves Ars own practically puts up a Bord to vouch te Now you, Good Peopk who unadvertised, should know /Ads Manufactured Products vary with cannery, mill or factory in the Crops may be light one scason the material in ratio. Labor Strikes may affect output of the woods, and so raise the price Mines may close down or run out In certain articles All this means that a Manutacturet roods can quictly take out for advance of guality in his costs, to maintain constant, deficiencies in the product Signing t B' I, when he 7yade-marks his pre it, by which act the Consumer ca When he dvertises his Vrade-n Gives Hostages to Ciesat puts uy] Advertisers know that th to any Consumer, through advertisin is in it, for 7ztroduction alone He therefore knows that his ulti be cause, article being sound enough, satisfactory enough, and to command repeat purchases trom tl through his advertising In no other way can he get his Ad the st repeat pure has after Advertising has once ‘n/roducead s that result fron Lfdsve think, in themselves By Lord & Thomas } though that is frankly our business vy duty today to do something wWilruist irtily believe in is wiser and safer to buy inadvertised kind roducts, through Advertisins to Consumers makes rough Advertising, nadvertised produc ts ol marks and extensively Ad faith in the rit msume merchandise Merit Of thal articl advertised ditferent seasons, as they nature of things another, with come | heavy price of mills one season, create a scarcit and so affect the value flor similar so Ve ana them tast rol V ¢ of metals u ldvertised makes ed who sells “zxadvertised and unbranded ir quantity enough to compensate a liberal profit He can afford to do this because h so he cannot be held directly sesponsible woods are aol to ¢ “Mnrecognt onsumers for occusponal he Bond dluct he practically siga nam sh him if he does not play }yi n Pun | marked product he goes further pat forfeit a large sum of money of a Track costs practically a// the e first sal nate profit depends entirely upon good value enor | who bought it ¢ Same person marked Arti him and ‘ fy kk all ul ke Wel profit there Iie ieh, first verusing money back except throug ithe merit of the ts themselyve them Moreover, he knows that to lower the quality of 1 marked Product, even when his costs are h er, Wil art of the patronage he | bui ip, (at | i\ Xp ears of Advertising Because he knows that Consumers are quick i Product they contimuous/y buy, and having once lost cx are harder and more expensive to 7¢ through Ady through msistently ood gq ty So you see here ‘ t fheiently a ; at all umes, a sv tor both Consumer lever a foffery as to quality, quantity or cl 1] Manutacturer has sfaked his entire Advert may! $ 000 to $1,000,000) upon th ia Su rs, Whom | | led to expect cert qu litne he has clearl lefined in cold type He dare not lamper with that judgment and ay ished it ven if he were disposed to do He | put himse ny ; 1 such a o/ ft t | quality, 1 he | Wi id | | i ll ca tl lett The Reason-W hy 5}. \1 | la ante Luct Hi \ oO the ¢ 1] me \ “ ind as ~ ~ ia ) ( } i } | \ \l | NO \\ " I Ww ‘ \ ( LA be { \ \ } wr i ¢ Le i | til I \ Ix ‘ 1 Aad , And } : I t | \ } } ; \l Ma \ t bye t | ( \ y } ! " { { he es) M. ) ) f we { iter i " \dvertised Track 1} i i? ‘ i i ‘ e proba i } f70n WH ludence wey ( i / ' —_—r Prac wirked Pre incl Re | Merel j | 1} pra At if | 7 | 1 ! ] } ( ( eal | | ry Manu 7 ) V1 / veral econdary ty | tiles ! hen it l ~~. ws Sa oes > i me ———

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ue ‘Make way for the

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2 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 22,1911 BILLY FORTUNE AND THE ABLE-MINDED LADY (Continued from Page 21 litter of variety in it. And I ain’t been livin’ up to it. One man can’t. It’s goin’ to need two of ’em, and you’re the other one. You listen now.” So I lit in and told him. He was one of the kind you can tell things to. I told it as good as I could—stickin’ right to the plain truth, but puttin’ in some fancy touches to fill in and keep his attention from strayin’ off in the brush. It never straggled none. Right from the jump of the first word I had him listenin’. Amused, too, he was. Part of the time he was still, with just his eyes lively; and part of the | time he was chucklin’ soft to himself, as if the fun of it was soakin’ into his mind; and part of the time he was rockin’ in the saddle and slappin’ his leg and lettin’ go with that big, roarin’ laugh of his, till I couldn’t have asked him to be any better tickled. **Oh, Billy, it’s good!” he says, when I'd got done with tellin’ him about what I’d just said to the nigger. ‘‘It’s rich, Billy! But don’t let’s get in too much of a rush with it and ruin it. Let’s get it ribbed up good. Wait till we talk about it.” And after we’d rode a ways, “‘ Ain’t it funny,” says he, ‘‘the way things shift? Why, this mornin’ before I run into you I felt as if Destiny had me down on my back with her thumb in my eye; and I wasn’t caring a whoop how soon she gouged it out. And now here’s somethin’ worth livin’ for again. Ain’t it buliy?”” He kept comin’ back to it, every little bit, till we was pretty near home; and then he says: “Say, ain’t it good to have something on your mind?- something to make you lose interest in yourself, I mean. Don’t you get all out of patience with associating with yourself? I do. It’s worse than that even. I’m like a kid going into a dark room when it comes to bein’ alone with myself. I’d rather not. But, thank the Lord, here’s something to cinch our attention on to!” But we wasn’t the only ones around the ranch that night that had something on our minds The Daphne girl she was out in the yard feedin’ the widow’s chickens when Ben and me rode up. I hoped she’d wait a minute, but she didn’t. She just give us a quick look and a high sign to me with her little hand, and then drifted up to the house. We didn’t set eyes on her again till we'd got through at the barn and give ourselves a little sl ckin’ up and went to supper. The Able-Minded Lady was fee‘in’ pretty good about somethin’, because the tang was gone out of her voice and she was talkin’ slow and mel!ow, with a sort of a spring thaw softenin’ up her eyes and face. That was the way she acted toward Ben, too, when I brought him in and told her about him. She didn’t have a word of a kick to make, but had him come and set down beside her at the table and com- menced to put him through his catechism about how long he’d been associatin’ with cows, and what work he’d done on the big round-ups, and if he was a good hand with alfalfa, and the like of that. He seemed to know the answers all right and they was gettin’ along fine together. She must have thought he was an awful nice, bashful, respectful man, the way he spoke soft to her and kept his eyes mostly on his victuals; but I could see by the look of him he was studyin’ her close. But, anyway, they was as friendly as a couple of kittens with a big saucer of milk. It was different from the way she had hired me. I quit payin’ atten- tion to them after they’d once got started. It was Miss Daphne Meadows that did it. She’d come to the table with her pretty cheeks the color of a rosy sunrise and her pretty eyes full of funny dancing lights, like when a breath of warm wind runs over a patch of sunny water w ith the blue sky showin’ in it. “Pretty” ’s a terrible poor word, ain’t it? I keep sayin’ it about her, but you can’t make it mean anything but just “pretty.” It had suited her good ep when I’d seen her the other times, but she was 2 heap more than that now. If I knew the right word for her I'd tell it to you, but it ain’t in my spellin’ -book. Did you ever see a witch- fairy? I guess mebbe that’s the way they look times when they’ re feelin’ just right. She was—oh, shucks! I can’t say it. She was awful pretty. “Yes, missy!” I says to myself when I first caught sight of her. I judged it ‘vas

because there was a new man around. But it didn’t seem to be that. She hardly noticed Ben at all when he was introduced to her, except to give him the littlest bit of a nod and a short look at his red head. After that it was me she noticed—just me. Her place was straight across the table from mine. I’d come in hungry as a bear at the breakin’ up of winter; but supper didn’t seem to be what she’d come for, because in the middle of my first plateful I looked over at her, and there she was leanin’ back in her chair and foolin’ with her fork and dimplin’ right at me. I’d thought I was kind of used to her by this time, but the fresh loveliness of her fair made me blink. ‘Well, gee whiz!” says I to myself. I couldn’t do nothin’ but just stare at her. ‘You Billy!’’ I says. “‘Just look there at what you’re missin’. That’s the girl that coaxed you to make love to her and you’ve been puttin’ it off.” I had, too, these last three or four days, just on account of comin’ home so dead tired I couldn’t seem able to raise the am- bition. A man hates to start a piece of love-makin’ when he knows he’s lable to go off sound asleep before he gets to the middle of it—especially if it’s meant to fool folks that’s as good judges as the Able- Minded Lady was. So I hadn’t got no further along with the business than just to grin at her as foolish as I could whenever I caught the widow lookin’ at us, and try to hold her hand a few times, and give her my blue silk handkerchief for around her neck, and a few little things like that—no better than a rank amateur. I don’t know what she’d been used to before—mebbe it satisfied her; but now that I come to think about it I wasn’t satisfied. “Wake up!” says I to myself. “Billy, you’ve got to show the lady what class you're in.” So I looked back at her; and after that we looked and looked. That’s pretty near all you can do when there’s a big table between you. We talked some, too, but it didn’t amount to much, except for the sound of her happy little cooin’ laugh bub- blin’ all through it. Then after a bit when my coffee was gone she went out to the kitchen to get me some more; and when she come back she brought a big plateful of cake and put it down in front of me. Then she set down in the chair right beside me, movin’ over so close that her little sleev e brushed against my arm. “T made this cake, Billy,” says she. ‘I made it for you. It’ 8 angel- -food. Did you ever eat any before? I didn’t look at the cake; I was lookin’ down in her lovely, shinin’ eyes. ‘I've been eatin’ my whole supper in heaven ever since you come down,” I says to her. I didn’t hoiler it out loud neither. I wasn’t tryin’ to make the Able-Minded Lady hear. I didn’t seem to want anybody to hear but just that fluffy little bit of a girl. She was leanin’ over toward me till the sweetness of her was makin’ me drunk. ““Now, Billy!”’ she says to me in a rich, soft little whisper. She wasn’t mad at me. She reached over and got a piece of cake and broke off a little scrap. ‘‘ Here,’’ says she, “let me give it to you so you'll get the good of it. Open your mouth.” She fed me the whole slice that way, breakin’ off bites that wasn’t bigger than crumbs. Do you admire angel-food cake? I don’t as a general thing. It’s too much like just thinkin’ about eatin’; it don’t give you no satisfaction. But the way I got that piece I wasn’t findin’ no fault with it—every bite bringin’ the tips of her soft pink fingers up against my lips, with her laughin’ her low, soft, teasin’ laugh. I’d have been right willin’ to have that slice last for weeks and weeks. But it didn’t. A whole lot too quick to suit me we got down to the last bit. When she give it to me I caught the end of her pretty finger between my teeth, bitin’ on it gen tle. Honest, right that minute I wasn't play -actin’ neither. I'd forgot. ‘Billy! Ouch!’’shesays. That brought me out of it. I let go and took a quick look over at the widow with a sort of a cold scare on me. I’d clean forgot she was around. But I needn’t have worried. For all she was noticin’, me and the girl wasn’t there. She’d got through with her supper and pushed back her plate, and she was talkin’ to Ben. She wasn’t talkin’ about the cow

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Knock-Proof and Shock-Proof When you travel, you wanta trunk that will goto the end of the world with you if need be and come back home victorious, though perhaps battle-scarred. A trunk that will laugh at baggage-smashers. A well-made, light-weight, watertight trunk with strong hinges and sturdy locks that will safeguard anything you entrust to its capacious depths. You want a G. & S. Neverbreak Trunk. The utmost value at any price you wish to pay. Look for our trade mark on the top near the lock. It is there for your protection. Write for**Cupid In A Trunk” — a clever travel story in booklet form containing illustrations and descriptions of G. & S. Never- break Trunks. We will tell you of the dealer who can fit you out. L. GOLDSMITH & SON,1 Cherry St., Newark, N. J. This is Model No. 478 LaFrance | ain, ee ! ¢ ‘Al | l ° " 1 {) + . (| | hi ’ 4 * The ‘Dealer, The Shoe, | . and The Fit f y The dealer W ho sells La Franc e © {] shoes does not try to palm oft l] ¢ an inferior make on you tor ‘ (] three reasons: . * | A (7) He ts *honest. | a + (2) He can fit you quicker i (] and better with La France 4 than with any other shoe (») He wants to satisty you ~*~ and sell you more shoe i a WILLIAMS, CLARK & CO. 377 Washington Street a —_ Lynn, Mass. —"s Makes and bu per week, G and casts no norodor, Une led for Homes, Stores, Hotels, Ch irches, Public Halls, ete. Over 200 styles. Every lamp warranted, Agents wanted. Write for catalog THE BEST LIGHT CO. 25 E, Sth St CANTON, 0 5 THE SATURDAY | business; she was tellin’ him some history about her first husband. Why do you reckon it is that when a woman has had several she mostly turns back to the first one when she gets a romantic spell? Don’t that seem sort of ridiculous? Anyway, she was doin’ it; and Ben was listenin’ as if there wasn’t but one thing in the world he cared much about and that thing was | the first husbands of big, sunburnt widows. He wasn’t tryin’ to talk any; he was just listenin’. If he wanted something to cinch his attention on to he was behavin’ as if he’d found it. He was plumb absorbed. I'd missed seein’ the way it had started, but he’d got further along with her in half an hour than I had in a whole week. Any- body could have told she was thinkin’ he was just an awful nice man. Yes, sir, I was safe to go on with my foolishness. But I didn’t. When I looked back to the girl I’d remembered, like pickin’ up a tight rein again after it’s been slack. You've got the Old Nick in you to- night,” I says. ‘* What's ailin’ you?” She puckered up her mouth and made a little face at me. ‘‘ That's a horrid way to talk to me,” says she. ‘“‘Don’t you like me this way?”’ And then before she'd give me time to say anything she bent over and whispered, so close that her warm breath touched my cheek. “Listen, Billy,”’ she says; ‘‘can you keep asecret? You're sure? Well, then—I'll tell you one when the time comes.’ And that was all. ‘Well, what do you think about her?" I says to Ben, when we was out in the bunkhouse and was startin’ a little seven- up before bedtime. He'd been slow workin’ around to the talk, but I could see he was doin’ some thinkin’ and I wanted to yor him up. And what do you guess he said to me? It was his deal, but he put the cards down on the table and begun to pack the ashes in his pipe. “*She’s a fine, substantial woman,” says he, without a flicker of a smile. “What?” saysI. “‘Substantial’? That girl?” “Oh, the girl!’ says he. ‘‘She’s a cute little trick. It was the other one I was thinking about. She’s the right sort. It kind of rests a man to meet a woman like her after he’s been knocking around the way I have for so long.” “Rests him?” says I. that -—rests him?”’ “Why, yes,” says he, real gentle and seri- ous. ‘Don’t you think so? She's healthy and strong, and an extra good cook, and oh, you know—comfortable and homelike. If I could think it would be my. luck to settle down sometime with a wife of her sort I’d feel a lot more settled in my mind.” “Sufferin’ Peter, Ben!"’ says I. ‘You don’t have to be a darn fool just because you. happen to know how. A wife? Like her? W hy, Ben His solemness commenced to break up in his eyes in a comical twinkle and then he started his boomin’ laugh that made the windows rattle. “Yes, sir,”’ says he after a bit, “she’s certainly the sort for me. Look here.” He picked up the cards again and begun to ruffle "em for the deal after he’d give the deck a quick lookin’ through. ‘Look here now,” says he, “if I turn the jack of hearts I’m going to court the Widow McGee. “Do you mean Watch close, Billy, because the hand’s quicker than the eye.” He dealt ’em out to us and then—I don’t know how he done it—the card he faced was the jack of hearts “Good!” says he. “It was me simple before, Billy. The way to make it a real good play is to ¢ omplic ate it some. ‘T his’Il help a lot, won’t it? We've got to keep her young at he rt till the other thing's settled.’ It didn’t look as if it was going to be much of a job, that part of it. After a bit I started up to the house for a drink from the kitchen bucket and the Able-Minded Lady was goin’ around finishing up the last of her work before she put the light out. I'd never heard her singin’ before, but she was doin’ it now, mostly to he rself, so I had to listen hard to hear what it was. This was the way it went: | Hikkety-Ike, he’s a funny man. Hikkety-Ike loves a girl named Ann. Hikkety-Ike, what in sin’s the use? You haven't got any good excuse. Does that sound to you like a love song? It did to me somehow. Anyway, ! didn’t bother her at it; I just went off to bed dry. (TO BE CONTINUED) EVENING POST 53 SAVE YOUR WIFE From the Drudgery of lroning Day. With THE IMPERIAL SELF-HEATING FLAT IRON She can do her work in half the time, better and easier, at one-tenth the cost of the old way. Besides saving her strength, health and nerves. - How can a woman be sweet and gentle and pretty after ironing all day over ahot stove? ‘Uhink of the steps she takes back and forth from stove to work! — It’s miles, besides the labor of pushing a heavy iron The IMPERIAL SELF -HI ATING Fi AT IRON heats itself from the inst.ée with gasoline or denatured alcohol. Better and cheaper than gas or electricity No wire oe tie in the way No chang rons or fussing with half cold flat iror PALL THE TIME. HEATINSTANTLY REG ATED. Cool handle WANITY Use a the tarch you want You can ive it to a perfect glos HO l Always clean, no wipin Burns 5 hours for Il cent lorless. Lig At home or tray 1 hotel rooms or camp. Always read i ‘ t i get a meal on it Rese ria iteelf in three months. MONEY BACK GU ew mete Sent FREE eitn hae o IMPERIAL BRASS MANUFACTURING CO., Dept. 24, 450 to 460 So. Jefferson St., Chicago, Ill. Costs little. Explanation of Map In Your Climate, You Can Be Sure of But One Paint Pp tar ga ‘ ar clin ate cr dure. J ( Y | «quest past has | due to \& rance that fact Climate Will has Deen t worst ener It I ill cerned climate 1 il humidity ( how ' , iry or how damp is the ati phere ma de . A Beak for You LINCOLN PAINT AND COLOR CO., Address ppeent 20, Lincela, Neb. Factories: Lincoln, Neb., and Dallas, Texas. rig 1910 iP

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 22,191 Carborundum Sharpening Stones Have Revolutionized Tool Sharpening ARBORUNDUM is intensely hard and sharp—as hard and sharp as a diamond. It does not merely rub the edge of the tool back and forth until it gradually wears away—Carborundum cuss the steel—cuts clean and smooth, putting an edge on the tool in half the time required by the old time sharpening stones—and doing it immeasurably better. You will never be troubled with wire or saw edges if you use Carborundum. The New Round Combination Stone for sharpening carpenters’ and mechanics’ tools is a distinct advance in sharpening practice. The round shape allows for the rotary motion so necessary in sharpening chisels, planer irons and so forth, and at the same time gives more than double the actual sharpening surtace of an ordinary oblong stone. One side of the round stone 1s moderately coarse for rough work —the other side smooth tor bringing the tool to a keen lasting edge. The price either from your Hardware Dealer or direct by mail is $1.00 Ask for Round Combination Stone No. 107-A / - Carborandum sharpening stones are made in thousands of shapes and sizes and grits for all sharpening purposes. ‘There are special stones for Surgeons, for Dentists, for Sportsmen, for Printers, for Engravers, for Machinists, Mechanics and Carpenters. “There are razor hones for professional and private use that are the most remarkable hones ever produced. And there is a wonderful little Pocket Stone for every man’s use — put up in neat case that we are offering just to introduce Carborundum to you. It’s great for sharpening pocket knives,ink erasers, etc. Send for it today —by mail 15c. Carborundum sharpening stones are sold by Hardware Dealers everywhere. The Carborundum Company, Niagara Falls, N. Y. * ‘ The One Underwear Which Leaves Out the Troubles is j i UPERIOR UNION SUITS correct the mistakes of both EO the mis-shapen union suit and the old style two-piece garment. They are the advanced thought, the new idea, the perfect con- ception of easy, comfortable, healthful, absorbent, elastic, lux- urious underwear. They fit—fit all over—the kind of real fit that makes itself felt— and you know it with the first touch. That’s why they please Automatic in adjustment. Ventilating in texture, permitting free action to the pores and easy play to the muscles, with perfected lap (that cannot gap )—shoulders, crotch and reinforced button- holes—no vexations anywhere. A SUPERIOR UNION SUIT never binds, bulges, bags, sags, hikes or hunches—it is the Union Suit with the troubles left out. , SUPERIOR UNION SUITS for Spring and G: Summer are sold by retailers everywhere at me $1.00 $1.50 $2.00 $2.50 $3.00 and $3.50 Ask your dealer to show you SUPERIOR UNION SUITS. Do not accept substitutes. If you cannot obtain SUPERIORS in your vicin- ity, write us, and we will forward postpaid our free booklet showing SUPERIOR styles and samples of fabrics. Regular style Back view of athletic style showing the **lap without the gap’’ showing perfect all-over fit THE SUPERIOR UNDERWEAR CO. 1008 River St., Piqua, Ohio

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“Giving Hostages to Caesar ase: ( Continued These are the residue after careful selection for their first grade (or Advertised brand) eliminated in order to make this latter grade wniformly good so as to live up to the Advertising without endangering 7/s market and its ** Hostage’’ to Consumers Unadvertised brands or grades naturally vary widely in their quality from time to time Jecause, with these there is no check upon the Manufacturer, excepting through the Retailer. Of course you now and then get a really good product among these secondary brands or goods This is due in some instances to an occasional surplus stock ot good material which must be used up at times when demand is relatively slack Best grade may then be put into secondary or unadvertised lines, but, the very zea? package you purchase of these wnadvertised grades under same label, may be made from an entirely different lot of materials, vastly inferior in quality, and possibiy less in quantity per package Have you noticed that? Uniformity YE. the cause of all this variability and uncertainty of quality is clear enough, when you think it over No real vesponsihility attaches to the wnadvertised product The Manutacturer of that has no Advertising Appropriation aé stake behind its quality He has not given any ‘Hostages to C wsar He can start another unadver tised brand, of same kind, to morrow, at practically no expense but for new labels, 7/ the existing brand be killed for protit through inferior quality All of which is everlasting! different with the ddvertised brand, if (lat be robbed for prohit Because, tue Manufacturer can not, in any ove season of ‘rob bing,’ recoup himself for the loss of a market wih Consumers, Which has been built up, at large expense, through several seasons of strong Advertising. Moreover he Axvows that only the continuous approval, demand, and appreciation of Consumers, for his Advertised brand, can give him contro! over his reasonable profits and his future trade expan- sion. So—the Manufacturer who once Advertises his brand of Goods, in a sufficient Way lo In fluence Ci menor rs, may be trusted to take mighty good care of his market He may be relied upon to ‘stand by” the guality and value in his ddvertised brand, whatever he may do to manipu late an extra profit on his wzadvey fised brands or secondary grades ‘This situation is a good thing for Consumers to understand And the Consumer's attitude is a mighty good thing for A/Zanu facturers to conside This we will Prove to their satisfaction if they write us for certain evidence. Address Lord & Thomas (Advertising Agents), Trude Building —Chicago, Hl. THE SATURDAY THE SINS OF PRINCE SARADINE Coatinued from Page !7 leaning on their oars; and too early to anticipate any disastrous issue of it. For the two men were singularly well matched, the prince using his skill with a sort of cynical confidence, the Sicilian using his with a murderous care. Few finer fencing matches can ever have been seen in crowded amphitheaters than that which tinkled and sparkled on that forgotten island in the reedy river. The dizzy fight was balanced so long that hope began to revive in the protesting priest; by all common probabil- ity Paul must soon come back with the police. It would be some comfort even if Flambeau came back from his fishing; for Flambeau, physically speaking, was worth four other men. But there was no sign of Flambeau and, what was much queerer, no sign of Paul or the police. No other raft or stick was left to float on; in that lost island, in that vast, nameless pool, they were cut off as on a rock in the Pacific. Almost as he had the thought, the ring- ing of the rapiers quickened to,a rattle; the prince’s arms flew up and the point shot out behind, be.ween his shoulderblades. He went over with a great whirling movement, almost like one throwing the half of a boy’s cartwheel. The sword flew from his hand like a shooting star and dived into the distant river; and he himself sank with so earth-shaking a subsidence that he broke a big rose-tree with his body and shook up into the sky a cloud of red earth ~— like the smoke of some heathen sacrifice. The Sicilian had made a blood-offering to the ghost of his father. The priest was instantly on his knees by the corpse — but only to make sure that it was a corpse. As he was still trying some last hopeless tests he heard for the first time voices from farther up the river and saw a police boat shoot up to the landing stage, with constables and other important people, including the excited Paul. The little priest rose with a distinctly dubious grimace. ‘Now, why on earth,” he muttered “‘why on earth couldn't he have come before?”’ Some seven minutes later the island was occupied by an invasion of townsfolk and police; the latter had put their hands on the victorious duelist, ritually reminding him that anything he said would be used against him. “T shall not say anything,” said the monomaniac, with a wonderful and peace- ful face. “I shall never say anything any more. I am very happy and I want only to be hanged.” Then he shut his mouth as they led him away; and it is the strange but certain truth that he never opened it again in this world, except to say *‘ Guilty!” at his trial. Father Brown had stared at the suddenly crowded garden, the arrest of the man of blood, the carrying away of the corpse after its examination by the doctor, rather as one Watches the breakup of some ugly dream; he was motionless, like a man in a nightmare. He gave his name and address 4s a witness, but declined their offer of a boat to the shore and remained alone in the island garden, gazing at the broken rose- bush and the whole green theater of that swift and inexplicable tragedy. The light died along the river; mist rose in the marshy banks; a few belated birds flitted fitfully across. Stuck stubbornly in his subconsciousness which was an unusually lively one —was an unspeakable certainty that there was something still unexplained. This sense that had clung to him all day could not be fuller explained by his fancy about “looking-glass land.’”” Somehow he had not seen the real story, but some game or mask; and yet people do not get run through the body for the sake of a charade! As he sat on the steps of the landing stage ruminating he grew conscious of the tall, dark streak of a sail coming silently down the shining river and sprang to his feet with such a backrush of feeling that he almost wept. “Flambeau!” he cried, and shook his friend by both hands again and again, much to the astonishment of that sports- man as he came on Shore with his fishing tackle. * Flambe au!” he said. ‘‘So you're not killed?” *Killed!” ‘peated the angler in great astonishme My “Why should | be killed?” EVENING POST T will run your sewing machine, cream freezer, any small machinery about & Nothing complicated about Western Th Electric household motors. Simply connect them 3H light socket and turn the te washing machine- to the nearest electric Remember the name **Western Electric’? when ti you buy a motor. ire known in every trade Made in all types and sizes There is a Western Electric Motor Agent near you of Household If you cannot place him write our nearest house for The Western Electric Company Furnishes Equipment for Every Electrical Need WESTERN ELECTRIC COMPANY “1s . * gs kK oi oe ie as ee Sa practically no attention. ay i a8 industrial purposes “aa Phey cut down power ay 1 quality and quantity of } | “pel? Small Type t { } Motor b 5 iM ! OS Aig ". wl Saint Louis San Fran Se me se City I Angele ca . Denver Seat "TE! Dall Salt Lake ¢ eh, Omaha I’ hs hele ‘ \ ‘ "1 | esbur yd 1 “VULEPWONt oun MeARESI nous” ~ = wa 23i2 eer ST eS ¥ Thef rapt isin the ss — pee? PL C di} ra Ya rk “MOTOR LUBRICATION” Y furs and clothing against moths Is ust and — oar MAk PIEDMONT RED CEDAR CHEBTCO Dept 3 Is Your Water Supply | areca ? leseri = oklet of the System of Water Supply Water Under Pressure i ring e ' Better Equipment For Less Money recomue ns tree of cost oF W New Catalog The Dayton Pump & Mfg. Co., Box 901, Dayton, Ohio Rug Camels Curlains Blankets | dealers" pro given tindieg Mill ly “i i “Sper == ce c ay we We Pay Freight e le ut $3.75 Our Br nese Rue. t 4it.,greate b $1.86. Splendid ¥ Brussels Rug, 9x!’ f $11. | Invincible Vel vets t $16 tandart Azmincters ax it, $18.60 Lace Curtains ,« Tapestry Curtains Wilton Rugs, Lipo- | leume at M W rite jay for our NEW It TRATED CATALO n 14 ent free. Shows latest UNITED MILLS MFO CO 2450-2462 Jasper St., Phila { ‘|

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Save the Dime and rh Jeopardize “+ the Dollar? \ The this year hort-sighted man says, until prices come down.”’ such a man 1 than of His by waiting the dollars he depreciate wisdom in dollars Materials are higher than they should be thinking more of the dimes he Is Is rec koned THE SATURDAY am not going to paint my house I intend to wait imagines he may save when his buildings his short-sightedness to lose dimes, sure No thrifty houseowner reasons that way. He says, ““My house must have the new coat of paint that is coming to it, even if the cost is four or five dollars more than usual My house represents an invest- ment, which must be protected Besides, it 4 our home; we want it to look as W ell ids possible 5 Any houseowne! his local dealer price who wants to do a little fivuring should yet from s on the following ingredients 100 Ibs. “‘ Dutch Boy Painter’ 4 gallons pure lioseed oil 1 gallon turpentine 1 pint turpentine drier em He should then compare would think of using, and all the white lead ‘ $ | This makes 8 gallons genuine old ened paint while this with the price of any other paint he keep in mind the superior spreading power of old-fashioned lead and oil paint. OUR FREE PAINTING HELPS We try to b to those cheine of service tor Thhise ’ i your community, men who use our about to paint, ellaneous painting directions, and names of ** Blue List”’ “6 > ” Dutch Boy Painter We will if asked, Painters Ask for send you, white lead ‘Helps No. 453.’ Phat will include everything TO PAINTERS: Ii you are a skilled white-leader and use “ Dutch Boy Painter ite lea end yur name for our “ Painters’ Blue List Write us for Blue I Cir ar No. 4 It gives particular NATIONAL LEAD COMPANY York Boston Buffalo Cincinnati Chicago Cleveland St. Lou San Francisco (John T. Lewis & Bros, Co., Philadelphia) (National Lead & Oil Co., Pittsburgh) The Duntley Cleaner Demonstrated FREE In Your Own Home You can pay for itin small monthly pay- A posta! card will bring full details. Agents Wanted Everywhere Duntley Mfg.Co., Dept.11, Chicago J [desi est Pocket How to Win at AUCTION BRIDGE by Charles Stuart Street The 1s Bridge author Contains (by special permission) Auction Bridge Laws of the Whist Club of New York cz PATENTS ranklin H Hough, Loan & Trust Bldg Washington DC ments t 251 Fifth Ave. New York City “Ppa, 4; No attorney's fee until patent i . lowed. Write for COCGATE'S. =" RIBBON = DENTAL cReEAM J am : THIS TRIAL Bag TUBE is for you. We willsend it for 4cents. Write for it that you may know the delicious flavor and efficiency of Ribbon Dental Cream. COLGATE & CO. Dept. P 199 Fulton Street New York Schools 928 Chicago Opera Hi k SHORTHAND IN 30 DAYS Boyd Syliabic System—weitten with only nine characters. No positions''-— no ‘‘ ruled Mine” no “shading ''— no ‘word signs’’—no ** cold notes.’’ Speedy, practical system that can be } learned in 30 days of home study, utilizing spare time. For lescriptive matter, tree oddone Chicago Correspondence louse Block, Chicago, I)) or, Use the Dime -~. to Insure the Dollar? EVENING POST “Oh, because nearly everybody else is, said his companion rather wildly. ‘‘Sara- dine has been murdered, and Antonelli wants to be hanged, and his mother’s fainted—and I, for one, don’t know whether I’m in this world or the next. But, thank God, you’re in the same one!”” And he took the bewildered Flambeau’s arm. As they turned from the landing stage they came under the eaves of the low bam- boo house and looked in through one of the windows, as they had done on their first arrival. They beheld a lamplit interior well calculated to arrest their eyes. The table in the long dining room had been laid for dinner when Saradine’s destroyer had fallen like a stormbolt on the island. The dinner was now in placid progress; for Mrs Anthony sat somewhat sullenly at the foot of the table, while at the head of it wa Mr. Paul, the majordomo. With a gesture of powerful impatience Flambeau rattled at the window ind wrenched it open. “Well!” he cried. “I can understand you may need some refreshment; but really, to steal your master’s din iner wh hil he lies murdered in the garden “T have stolen a great many things in long and pleasant life,’ replied the strange old gentleman piacidly; ‘this dinner of the few things I have not stolen. dinner and this house and garden happen to belong to me. A thought flashed across face. “* You mean to say, the will of Prince Sar idine “T am Prince Saradine,” said man, munching a salted almond. “You are what?’’ Father Brown repeated. “Paul, Prince Saradine, d vos ordres,”’ said the venerable person politely, lift ng a glass of sherry. ‘“‘I live here very quietly, being a domestic kind of fellow; and for the sake of modesty I am called Mr. Paul, to distinguish me from my unfortunate brother, Mr. Stephen. He died, I hear, recently —in the garden. Of course it is not my fault ‘f enemies pursue him to this place. It is owing to the regrettable irreg- ularity of his life. He was not domestic.” Flambeau’s * he be gan, “that the old He relapsed into silence and continued to | gaze at the opposite wall just above the bowed and somber head of the woman. They saw plainly the family likeness that had haunted them in the dead man. Then his old shoulders began to heave and shake a little, as if he were choking; but his face did not alter. ‘Look!” cried Flambeau, after a pause; ‘he’s laughing!” “Come away!” was quite white. house of hell. boat again.” Night had sunk on rushes and river by the time they had pushed off from the island and they went downstream in the dark, warming themselves with two big cigars that glowed like crimson ship’s lanterns. Father Brown took his cigar out of his mouth and said: said Father Brown, who *“Come away from this Let us get into an honest “T suppose you can guess the whole story now? After all, it’s a primitive story: A man hadtwoenemies. He wasa and so he discovered that two wise man; enemies are better than one. “IT do not follow that,” Flambeau. “Oh, it’s really simple,” rejoined his friend. ‘‘Simple, though anything but in- nocent. Both the Saradines were scamps, but Paul, the elder, was the sort of scamp that gets to the top; and Stephen, the cap- tain, was the sort that sinks to the bottom. This squalid officer fell from beggar to black- mailer and one black day he got his hold upon his brother the prince. Obviously it was fcr no light matter; for Prince Paul Saradine was frankly ‘fast’ and had no reputation to lose as to the mere sins of society. In plain fact, it was a hanging matter, and Stephen literally had a rope round his brother’s neck. He had some- how discovered the truth about the Sicilian affair and could prove that Paul murdered old Antonelli in the mountains. The cap- tain raked in the hush money he avily for ten years, until even the prince’s splendid fortune began to look a little foolish. “But Prince Saradine bore another burden besides his bloodsucking brother Stephen. He knew that the son of Anton- elli, a mere child at the time of the murder, had been trained in savage Sicilian loyalty and lived only to avenge his father—not with the gibbet—for he lacked Stephen’s legal proof—but with the old weapons of vendetta. The boy had practiced arms with a deadly perfection; and about the timethat answered April 22,1951 Try This Test in a “Wear-Ever” Aluminum Utensil J mick Pour one pint « low fir anduithout sti ng let them guarter pint, Lhe milk wu nme not be wched ECAUSE Aluminum heats quicker and PB etains heat longer than other materials of which cooking utensils are made, you can save at least tive minutes’ cooking each meal—oo hours off your year’s fuel “Wear-Ever” Aluminum Cooking food too, and expense for replacing ute out or burnt out. They are practi **Wear-Ever” ware cannot rust strong, light to han and mo num there is no danger of poisor compounds forming with acid fruit Rep! that wear out with utensils tt at “* Wear-Ever.” alumi or tood ace utetisis Ask vour dealer for *“ Wear- Ever” Ute: _ it he cannot supply you with ° ween Ever” w one-quart saucepan pictured a “ you prepaid if you w enclose u i Canadian —_ WEAR EVER so Siu Street, TA 2 Co Sts sig leg QE e/ = TRADE MARK A Put Your Blankets Away ina Wayne Wardrobe Be. for so | a re taken t - Now an kee; a r t r a ' free from 1 i i t yinaW g iH t e k k t r PS a ES L - 2 ma ba a RS Write for Book ‘‘ How to Care for Clothes f fpra tely tf pt of ' seeuvese Convenient Shopping Coupon ***seee9 P ‘ Wayne Paper Goods Co , Dept. D, Fort Wayne, Ind ¢ \ No 8 t $1.00 3000 GUMMED LABELS, Pees iches, printed to order and Send for Catalog. Sue Label Co., Philadelphia, Pa.

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Write us now TYPEWRITERS DISTRIBUTING SYNDICATE 719 Masonic Temple, Chicago THE SATURDAY he was old enough to use them Prinee Paul Saradine began—as the society papers said—-to travel. The fact is he began to flee for his life, passing from place to place like a hunted criminal, but with one re- lentless man upon his trail. That was Prince Paul’s position and by no means a pretty one. The more money he spent on eluding Antonelli, the less he had to silence Stephen. The more he gave to silence Stephen, the less chance there was of finally escaping Antonelli. Then it was that he showed himself a great man—a genius like Napoleon. “Instead of resisting his two antag- onists, he surrendered suddenly to both of them. He gave way like a Japanese wrestler and his foes fell prostrate before him. He gave up the race round the world and he gave up his address to young Anto- nelli; then he gave up everything to his brother. He sent Stephen money enough for smart clothes and easy travel, with a letter saying roughly: ‘This is all I have left. You have cleaned me out. I still have a little house in Norfolk, with serv- ants and a cellar; and if you want more from me you must take that. Come and take possession if you like; and I will live there quietly as your friend or agent, or anything.’ He knew that the Sicilian had never seen the Saradine brothers, save, perhaps, in pictures; he knew they were somewhat alike, both having gray pointed beards. Then he shaved his own face and waited. The trap worked. The unhappy captain in his new clothes entered the house in triump »h as a prince and walked upon the Sic ilian’ s sword. ‘There was one hitch—and it is to the honor of human nature. Evil spirits like Saradine often blunder by never expecting the virtues of mankind. He took it for granted that the Sicilian’s blow when it came would be dark, violent and nameless, like the blow it avenged; that the victim would be knifed at night or shot from be- hind a hedge—and so die without speech. It was a bad minute for Prince Paul when Antonelli’s chivalry proposed a formal duel, with all its possible explanations. It was then that I found him putt'ng off in his boat with wild eyes. He was fleeing bare- headed in an open boat before Antonelli should learn who he was. “But, however agitated, he was not hopeless. He knew the adventurer ‘and he knew the fanatic. It was quite probable that Stephen, the adventurer, would hold his tongue through his mere _histrionic pleasure in playing a part, his lust for clinging to his new cozy quarters, his rascal’s trust in luck and his fine fencing. It was certain that Antonelli, the fanatic, would hold his tongue and be hanged with- out telling tales of his family. Paul hung about on the river until he knew the fight was over. Then he roused the town, brought the police, saw his two vanquished enemies taken away forever and sat down smiling to his dinner.” “Laughing! God help us! beau, with a strong shudder. get suc *h ideas from Satan?”’ “He got that idea from you,” the priest. “God forbid!”’ ejaculated Flambeau. “From me! What do you mean?” The priest pulled a visiting-card from his pocket and held it up in the faint glow of his cigar; it was scrawled with green ink. “Don’t you remember his original invitation to you?” he asked—‘‘and the compliment to your criminal exploit ‘that trick of yours,’ he says, ‘of getting one detective to arrest the other’? He has just copied your trick. With an enemy on each side of him, he slipped swiftly out of the way and let them collide and kill each other.” Flambeau tore Prince Saradine’s card from the priest’s hands and rent it savagely in smi all piee es. ‘There’s the last of that old skull and crossbones,”” he said as he scattered the pieces upon the dark and disappearing waves of the stream; “ but I should think it would poison the fishes.” The last gleam of white card and green ink was drowned and darkened; a faint and vibrant color as of morning changed the sky, and the moon behind the grasses grew paler. They drifted in silence. “Father,” said Flambeau sudde nly, ‘do you think it was all a dream? The priest shook his head, whether in dissent or agnosticism, but remained mute. ” said Flam- ‘Do the y answered Editor's Note—This is the fourth of a new series of tales by Mr. Chesterton in which Father Brow: isthe hero, The fifth w.ll appear in an early issue EVENING POST face pulled and scratched After Shaving Use MENNEN’S ey Toilet Powder insist GERHARD MENNEN COMPANY, Newark, N.J re BOT Fr th. _ [WHAT YOU INVENT: aah 4h L.7i VT Your Ideas May Bring You a Fortune t Patent Obtained or Our Fee Returned H. ELLIS CHANDLEE & CO. £1 F Street, Washington, D.C Let us send you perfect shaves than you would believe possible Fill out the coupon, and we will se nd you by return mail a Gem Damaskeene Blade. If you are satished that it is a better blade than you have ever use d before, go to your de ale rar d insist on a genuine package containing seven Gem Damaskeene Blades for 35c. 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on THE SATURDAY The Vacuum Cleaner You Cannot Compare T is useless to compare the Sturtevant with any other vacuum cleaner. It is made in its own way. It has none of those parts that make a vacuum cleaner wear out. No leather bellows, no rubberdiaphragms, no pumps, pistons or gears. Nothing buta high-pressure fan, a motor and a dust receptacle. There is a lifetime of perfect serv- ice in the Sturtevant. The Sturtevant does its work in its own way—quietly, swiftly, searchingly. Yet it is the machine that found the way to avoid the slightest injury to the most delicate fabric. A house cleaned by the Sturtevant is unmistakable. ‘There is a fresh- ness and brightness, because the hidden, interior dirt is removed. The air itself is purihed, because there is no dust. In using the Sturtevant the machine is almost forgotten—one is con- scious only of the results. There are no adjustments, no “getting started.’ ‘This almost automatic ease of operation is not the least point for the woman user to consider. Send for our Booklet 77 We offer unusual agency connections to dealers of high standing. B. F. STURTEVANT COMPANY, —_ Park, Mass. 50 Church Street, New York; 135 North Third Sect, Pail ia; $30 South Clinton Street, ( 3 29 West Third t Picest urg, Pa.; 1006 Loar a : ild Wa 0 bows ypolitan Building g. Rochester, N. ¥ P 2 300 Fullerte on Bu 6 Pear) Street Hart ord Sturtevant Electric Vacuum Cleaner Price, delivered, $130 You can sharpen your pencil inthree seconds without seriously interrupting dictation if it is a Blaisdell. A pin,apen ora knife point will doit Salespeople —avoid soiled hands and soiling goods. Blaisdell Paper Pencils do not fail you at critical moments. When dull they sharpen instantly without muss or fuss Blaisdell Offer No. 1, 10¢—an assortment of 3 high grade lead pencils. Offer No. 2, 25¢—an assortment of 3 high grade pencils and 3 crayons. Ofter No. 3, S0c—an assortment of 6 high grade pencils and 6 crayons BLAISDELL PAPER PENCIL CO., 4500 Wayne Ave., Phila., Pa e a complete line of eraser Paper Pencil are sharpened ina jiffy by simply loosening and pulling off a ry str ve Nowhittling. Nodirt. (Seeillustrationatleft Blaisdell Black Lead Paper Pencils are made in all grades and all degrees of hardness, with or without rubber tips. 5 cent each, 2 for b« 3 for 5c, and 1 cent each, Blaisdell Paper Pencils are most economical. The leads be not break or wiaste ir rpening. They can be used dow » the shortest stu If your stationer « wot» coat t 1s for one of our Special Sample Offers ALESPEOPLE ‘Get This Personal /( Adding Machine = 6a The CALCUMETER «# 20 Days whe Trial at whele- se offices are sale agent s price, one AMERICAN Motorcycle or Btcvete | a pooper we freight Wr offer and « and say whether 3 1 wa cycle or bicycle. Do it “ American Motor Oycle ¢ Co., 215 American Bldg Caseage n W rite for poe sts nothing unless kept @ 2 and Free Trial Forn Herbert North Morse, _. 27 Greer Building Rind Trenton N J EVENING POST THE COMPOSITE CITIZEN (Concluded from Page 1&8) | | not surprising that special sessions of legis- latures are sometimes called to correct the errors of regular sessions; but under direct legislation it has not been necessary to call | special sessions or special electionsin Oregon | | Direct to correct errors of the people. Under this system there is no opportu- nity for secret manipulation by a committee. A bill proposed under the initiative cannot be amended by the insertion of a “joker” just before the vote is taken and then rushed through without careful consideration, as is often the case with bills passed by legisla- tures. A bill proposed under the initiative must be filed four months before election and the people have full copies of it, with arguments for and against, fifty-five days before election. There is no possibility of deception or trickery. A measure against general welfare or even of doubtful effect will be defeated as certainly as election day comes. On the other hand, legislation that is clearly in the interest of general welfare will be adopted and the people will get the benefit. At the recent election in Oregon, thirty-two measures were submitted and only nine adopted, while twenty-three were defeated. The people will refrain from vot- ing upon a measure or they will vote in the negative unless convinced that its adoption | will be for the general welfare. The initiative develops and educates the entire community, for it affords the ad- | vanced thinker an opportunity to place his | ideas clearly before all the people and induces them to study the subject-matter and express their views regarding it. Where | the initiative and referendum do not exist there is slight encouragement for the people | to give attention to governmental prob- lems, for their power usually is limited to choosing between two candidates, each of | whom has been nominated by a convention | but where | controlled by political bosses; the initiative exists, as in Oregon, practi- cally every citizen studies important ques- | tions of government. do not read the pamphlets sent them; yet the number of these is no greater in pro- portion than the members of a legislature who do not study the bills introduced, but vote blindly when the roll is called. Of course, the chief purpose of the initia- tive and referendum is to enable the people Doubtless some few | to secure desired laws the legislature re- | fuses to enact and to defeat laws passed | by the legislature against general welfare. Experience in Oregon demonstrates that direct legislation is successful in this respect ; but, aside from this, direct legislation is worth the time and money expended if nothing be taken into consideration but the educational influence upon the people. The responsibility placed upon every voter necessarily makes him a more thoughtful, careful, independent, conscientious and patriotic citizen. The opportunity that direct legislation affords the individual has been amply illus- trated in Oregon. The leader in the cam- paign for the adoption of the initiative and referendum was W. S. U’Ren, an Oregon City lawyer. He is a careful student of governmental problems, high in his ideals, patient and persistent in his efforts. After the adoption of the initiative and refer- endum, he became leader of the People’s Power League and as such formulated the direct primary law, the corrupt practices act, the recall and other reform measures Though he had the advice and assistance of his associates in the league, his was the mind and force that kept up the work until what is known asthe “‘ Oregon System ”’ had been brought to its present form. In view of the results that have followed the Oregon demonstration in popular government, I had no hesitancy in saying to Theodore Roosevelt several months ago that, not- withstanding the fact that the Colonel] is the most prominent figure before the world | today, he has had less definite influence | upon government than has W. S. U’Ren. | What has taken place in Oregon can be accomplished in every other state. The initiative and referendum do not supplant or supersede the legislature. Direct legis- lation merely affords the people an op- portunity to act where the legislature fails to represent the wishes of the people. legislation establishes intellectual leadership and makes general welfare rather than selfish interest the motive power of | government. April 22,1911 rorsneim of SHOE LOOK FOR NAME IN SHOE _—_— The Drexel French Calf Custom Oxford, $6.00. Ease and elegance ‘stand out” in the Florsheim Shoe. Com- fort features —‘‘ Nat- ural Shape’’ lasts and ‘Hugtite’’ heels avoid chafing and pinching. Ask your dealer about The Florst Shoe, of send the amount, and we w have our nearest dealer fill your order Mast Styles SS. 00 and $6.00 Write for our booklet, ** The Shoeman,”’ showing styles that are different. The Florsheim Shoe Company Chicago, U.S. A. OLD HICKORY mlhe Ideal Out door TURAINEe Table $6.50 Rocker $4.75 Tabourette $2.50 For Your Lawn and Porch Chair $4 one logical choice, genuine, han “Old Hicker ch The rich tone of the natural b ark finis} and the graceful outlines will t any surroundin W ook FREE “The old Hickory C Chair Company MARTINSVILLE, IND _ § # ArtheBest Furhiture Stores BUSINE®: y nking ments, a nting tficet snagemen’ Business Law plete, et Administration Study by Mail $2000 to $5 eee yearl; ‘Home Study ring 6p tspertati and 100 pp | La Salle escnsion Ualveniiy, Box 4014, Gitenes. ili.

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TEALLLLLLA LL LALLA THE SATURDAY EVENING POST She Did It With JAP-A-LAC Her picture frames were tarnished, and the white peeped through the gold, And here and there you could detect a slightly greenish mold. She gilded them with JAP-A-LAC and now they’re spick and span; You can’t imagine how much you can do with one small can. She Did It With JAP-A-LAC Her baby’s go-cart was a sight, the hood was scratched and gray, The varnish on the body and the wheels had worn away. It showed its months of service in the sun and pouring rain, But she painted it with JAP-A-LAC and now it’s new again. She Did It With JAP-A-LAC Her bed room radiator didn’t match her dainty walls; ’Twas painted red, just like the radiators in the halls She bought some silver JAP-A-LAC and set to work one night, And now you ought to see it—it’s an actual delight. She Did It With JAP-A-LAC Her china closet didn’t match her dining-set at all; She couldn't spare the money for new furniture that fall; She bought a can of JAP-A-LAC, and nobody can tell That the china closet isn't of mahog- any as well. She Did It With JAP-A-LAC She bought at second-hand an iron bedstead for a song; "Twas scarred and scratched and dingy, but it wasn’t so for long. She enameled it with JAP-A-LAC (it comes in silver, white and gold), And now it looks as well as on the day it was first sold. OUR home will look as though it had been refurnished instead of retinished. A little bit of time, a little care in application, and a little bit of Jap-a-lac will work wonders. Anybody can use it on anything made of wood or metal, PAL Made in 18 colors and natural (clear) renews everything from cellar to garret L A varnish, a stain, and an enamel, all in one; therefore, saves at least one operation and at least one extra cost Hundreds of articles which you now throw away as ruined, can be made like new with a single coat. Send for a book that tells how to get value out of your household throwaways Jap-a-lac is for sale by paint, hardware and drug stores everywhere. All sizes, in U. S. 20c to $3.00— in Canada (Imperial Measure THE GLIDDEN VARNISH CO.,Cleveland, U.S.A.,Toronto,Canada 25c to $3.50 Branches: New York, Chicago She Did It With JAP-A-LAC The oilcloth on her pantry shelves had peeled and cracked and split, And though she washed it regularly, the oilcloth smelled a bit. She bought a can of Jap-a-lac, and now you ought to see Her pantry; it’s as wholesome and attractive as can be. She Did It With JAP-A-LAC Her porch chairs lost their varnish and the wood showed through in spots; She noticed the enamel had chipped off the children’s cots. The benches in the garden had all faded in the rain, So she painted them with JAP-A-LAC and now they’re new again. She Did It With JAP-A-LAC She had an ugly hall rack; it was scratched and dull and old; In former years such furniture she tired of and sold. But since she knows of Jap-a-lac, she bought a little can Of oak, and in an evening had the hall rack spick and span. She Did It With JAP-A-LAC Her library was a hodge-podge—things of cherry, birch and oak, The rocking chair was shabby and the bookcase was a joke. But now the room is charming; every piece is Flemish black; She did it without help with just one can of JAP-A-LAC. She Did It With JAP-A-LAC Her hardwood floors were marred and dim, and marked with nails and heels; She knew that Jap-a-lac is sure—it never cracks or peels; She knew it is elastic; that it stays smooth, clean and bright, So she set to work and had her floor restored in one short night.

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60 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

April 22,191

The Thing Now is the Electric Stove O GET the most out of living nowadays calls for electric current in the home. When a woman finds out what she can do with an electric table stove, her eagerness to use it is expressed in many little refinements on family custom. At breakfast it is at her nght hand. It cooks the eggs and bacon and makes the toast, to serve piping hot as they are done. With a Westinghouse Electric Toaster-Stove break- fast is no longer a cut-and-dried affair. Individual Westinghouse Electric & Manufacturing Co. Pittsburg Sales offices in 40 American cities references may be readily catered to. A different 88 for every day in the week is an easy matter. For cook’s day out, after theatre suppers, evening companies, the electric stove makes the most delightful things. And it is so easily handled that you hardly need an apron over your best frock. See your lighting company at once and have them send one to your home. Or let us know about it and we will have a near-by dealer send one to you. The one practical electric table stove is the Westinghouse Electric Toaster-Stove. Price Six Dollars and upward excepting in Canada and west of the Mississippi. Can be used on any electric light connection. Heats at the turn of the switch. Be sure the stove is stamped with the Westinghouse name. Westinghouse make other electric things for the home. Irons, Chafing Dishes, Bottle Warmers and so forth. Send for a booklet about them to “‘ Westinghouse Dept. of Publicity, Pittsburg.” Representatives all over the world

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WHERE IT WAS THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 7) in December. She wanted her folks back in Orange, Ne aw Jersey, to buy new things and send ’em out. She was earnest about it. She was a nice-lookin’ girl. I remember that ride. Tamaracks was all yello’ and sheddin’, makin’ yello’ patches on the snow with their needles, but the pines was that green they was black a little ways off, and the wind smelt of ‘em strong. “T wanted particularly to replace the glass decanter,’’ she says, “‘but it only made him rude to me. I had to tell him it was a very strange thing that the only gentleman in the valley should be the one person who had been rude.” Goodness to gracious!” ‘‘what did he say?” ‘That I was the only lady in the valley, and that explained it.” “Well,” I says, “he’s never apologized us handsome as that to me.’ So we both laughs. “But,” she says just before we got home, “he ought not to tease those poor old men.” Well, he’ s not done it lately—not in my hearin’,”’ I ~—. It happened Edmund had done it. Couldn’t keep his mouth shut about the schoolhouse question. It was the old men’s duty, he claimed, to give their land for the schoolhouse. Edmund was awful about people’s duty. He brung it up, though, in a new way. He thought he was makin’ a joke. Hands out the pieces of the decanter to Jake and Baldy, and tells °em they done that damage and it was their business to make it good; so when they, who had never seen the decanter before, didn’t make out what he was drivin’ at, Edmund tells ’em they’re the final cause. He explains how if they’d given their land the schoolhouse would have been built and no accidents would have occurred. Edmund meant that to be funny, but Jake and Baldy went off cursin’ him and the school and the whole valley, and wasn’t a bit grateful for learnin’ what a final cause is. But back they comes in a day or two as usual, as if no words had passed, and they buy their truck to go trappin’. Takes ’em all day, but Edmund is wonderful patient. So they can’t start that day. So they comes back next day to pack up and start. And it was then that Washington, D. C comes up again. The Siwash was a day overdue with the mail, and some of the Texans was assembled at the store to see the mail arrive. They expected no letters, but it was somethin’ to do and they always done it—assembled and stood around in- side the store and out. Then today they had more to do, for there was Kultus Jake and Frisco Baldy and their horses, packin’ up their stuff. That gave everybody a chance to make remarks and be wise. They hardly noticed the mail when it did come about ten o'clock, they was so busy tellin’ the old men the best way to do everythin’ —best trap, best bait, best way to make a set-—-when Edmund he begins to lecture. He comes out with a letter in his hand and holds it up. That’s the sub- ject of the lecture. Letter has come to the wrong Beekman. It was mailed at Port- land, Awregon, and addressed to ‘‘ Beek- man, Massachusetts,” and it has come out of its way to ‘“‘Beekman, Washington,” thereby losin’ a lot of time, of course. For it had went over the Northern Pacific on its right way as far as Spokane, anc then had come back geen Coulee City away up here, and it would get to Beekman, Massachusetts, ahead two weeks late. “Tt all comes,”’ says Edmund, “of havin’ places of the same name. That ought to be against the law.’’” He told us there was nine Beekmans. He took it to heart heavy, as usual. ‘“‘As the country grows and settles up,” he says, “they'll keep on namin’ places Beekman... There'll be a hundred Beekmans before we're through. It ought to be a state’s-prison offense.” “In that case,” says a Texas parent, ‘you couldn’t call this te rritory Washing- ton. I shouts out " “I guess this is a free country,” says another, “*T guess,”’ says another, “‘the folks that live in a place has the right to call that place what they see fit.” Poor Edmund! It wasn’t no use him explainin’ the confusion it made. ““There’s forty-eight places named Wash- ington now,” says he. “I’ve looked it up. There ought to be just one. The capital of the United States. And the map is pitted with ‘em like smallpox.” “Washington, D. C., Maryland,” says Frisco Baldy, haulin’ in slack on the diamond hitch. “Virginia,” says Kultus Jake, « the other side ef the pack. Edmund he just give’em both a witherin’ look, and he whirls back into the store and gets to work at his desk Wouldn't come out to tell the old men Paar dby when they started off up the river, although he was grubstakin’ em for nothin’. They didn’t know that, of course. Expected to pay him in furs when they come back. “You'll not get very far today,” says an onlooker to the ‘departin’ unipers. “You “he makin’ a late start. “Camp at Early Winter,” one of ‘em Says. E arly Winter was a creek that come into the main stream about halfway to the Robinson Cabin. J Vake la-k hya cole snass,”” Says the Siwash mail-c urrier. “Oh, no, it ain’t,”” says a Texan, lookin’ the weather up and down. “Well, 1 think maybe it will,” says another, sweepin’ his eyes around the sky. **And maybe it won't.” So that sets ‘em discussin’ the proba- bilities of a big snow and if Siwashes knowed about such things more’n white men did. They concluded Siwashes was inferior to white men in every respect, and it wasn’t goin’ to snow. **Good luck!” one of "em calls out. But Kultus Jake and Frisco Baldy was by that time on the bridge over the North Fork, and couldn’t hear him. No more events took place that day. The kids finished their school and went home. Miss Carey she went home. Ed- mund opened the windows and swept the floor. A few folks bought things durin’ the day, or came to buy and didn’t, and some had letters to go out next day. There was always a little more hustle round mail times. But a lonesome winter softness filled the valley and seemed to make y’u hear the stove plainer. The trunks of the trees kind of appeared more silent. Every- thin’ was quieter. I remember Edmund looked out of the door about sundown and said the Siwash had been right, there was goin’ to be a big snow. Even his voice sounded quieter in the clouded-over light, and Edmund’s voice was always deep— the voice of a man who was all man. Lyin’ in bed that night I never knowed the dark could be so still. Funny thing was, I heard the rapids under the bridge all of a sudden. Of course they’d been goin’ right on all the time. What makes y’u notice things and not notice ’em? It got very solemn, that room did, in the dark. Those old men was too old to go off into the mountains. Then I heard the little sound of the snowflakes around on the cabin. They must have started fallin’ pretty late, for next mornin’ it wasn’t deep, not four inches yet, but it was keepin’ on. Old man Parrigin come in about nine, and he says he had told everybody yesterday a storm was comin’. As a matter of fact, he’d been one of the surest no storm was comin’. It makes Edmund look sour at him. And by and by another prophet drops in, and he says he had offered to bet it would snow. And by eleven o’clock the fifth Texan had come along to sit around the stove; and he says—like every one of ’em hz id done be- fore him—that anybody could have told it was goin’ to snow. Oh, not one of ’em had ever doubted it for a minute! It gets too much for Edmund.to bear, and he pushes up his spectacles high on his forehead and looks at me, mournful as anythin’. “Last Fourth of July,’’ says he to me, ‘‘I said it was going to snow today.” Old man Parrigin he starts laughin’ at that. He come from New York state and he could see a joke, even when Edmund made it. But when y’u make that kind of a joke to a Texan —the kind of Texan that moves away from Texas—he says you're insultin’ him. Around the stove they all looks dignified and spits without words. We could hear the rapids, and indoors the kids was singin’ some kind of Christmas chorus Miss Carey was teachin’ to ’em. Their voices come to us through a couple of shut doors. One of the Texans as had been insulted by Edmund’s joke now asserts his self-respect by changin’ the subject. “Washington, D. C.,” says he, “is in Pennsylvania.” EVENING POST them. Chalmers Talk Number Eight IMPLICITY is a supreme vir- tue in both men and machines. Chalmers cars are simple. are simple in construction; to operate. It’s no trick to learn to drive a Chalmers. 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BEECH-NUT PEANUT BUTTER Codfish Balls Fish Hash Creamed Fish CONVENIENT Salad Fish Souffle Fa Fish Chowder You will find Burnham & Morrill Fish Flakes a revelation for making many dainty fish dishes. Codfish — cooked — mildly salted —a few hours after taken trom the ocean sennpiliatels packed in our new sanitary parchment-lined — extra coated tins — no solder — no acid — no waste — no spoilage — ready for instant use. Really fresh Grocers everywhere sell Burnham & Morrill Fish Flakes—or send 10c. and a regular lUc. tin will be sent you. It costs us 18c. to do this, but we want every housewife to know Burnham & Morrill Fish Flakes at once. 10c. and 15c. sizes (Except in Far West) Book of Special Recipes Free BURNHAM & MORRILL CO., Portland, Me., U.S. A. SECURED OR OUR FEE RETURNED @&) PRINT FOR YOURSELF PD)ATENT “) Cards, circulars, be newspaper. Press Larger e pap §5 . NS, $18, Rotary $60. Save money. Print for others Send sketch for free search of Patent Office Records. How te big. profit. All easy, rules sent. Write fac Obtain a Patent and What to Invent with list of inventions tory for press catalog, TYPE, cards, paper Wanted anc prizes offered for inventions sent free. Patents ad THE PRESS CO., Meriden, Connecticut "sed free YInROR J EVANS @ CO , Washington, D. C cases Ps >. ~ | some more. Edmund he sighs heavy and goes on postin’ up his ledger. Old man Parrigin gives me a nudge. ‘I wonder if Miss Carey would hold a night school?” says he, and winks. The fellars around the stove they spits They was afraid. That’s what was the matter. Plain it was there had been talk among ’em, ridin’ away yes- terday after Edmund’s remarks. Maybe some of ’em knowed their geography cor- rect on that point, but they didn’t feel they knowed it correct enough to insist upon it in the presence of witnesses. Anyway they drops it now, and after some further spit- tin’ they changes the subject again. “There'll be plenty snow at the Robin- son Cabin,” says one. “Plenty at Early Winter by now,” another says. “Oh, they’ll get through,” says a third. Old man Parrigin holds up his hand. ““What’s that?”’ he says. So we all pricks up our ears. The snow had the valley pretty well muffled, but there did seem to be some- thin’. So a fellar looks out and he says it’s somebody comin’ acrost the bridge. Hard to tell who it was for the snow. But next minute he got nearer, and it was Frisco Baldy, walkin’ his horse turruble slow. | takes a chair. **Somethin’s happened, And we all crowds out. “More horses on the bridge,’ says Parrigin. We could all see ’em. It was pack- horses creepin’ along. Behind ’em trailed a man ridin’, and that was Kultus Jake. “Then what has happened?” some- body says. Baldy he arrives first, snow on his hat two inches deep. He gets down and jumps some to shake off the snow, and then walks in through us and goes to the stove and Not a word said. Pack- ” says somebody. | horses they arrives and stands around all | over snow— stand sad and hangdog, like | they was guilty and had gave up denyin’ it. | Jake comes along a mile an hour, same as | Baldy; and he gets down and jumps the | snow off, and same as Baldy he passes | through us and goes to the stove. But he puts it between him and Baldy. Sits down and don’t look at Baldy. So we all comes back in and sits down, too—except Ed- mund. He goes behind his desk and stands up there with his spectacles pushed high. “Well?” he says. Baldy’s lips move, but nothin’ sounds. “Well?” Edmund repeats. ‘Was the trail snowed up? Anybody dead?” Jake clears his throat, but that’s all. Then Baldy manages to talk. “No,” he says, kind of croakin’; ‘“‘trail wasn’t snowed up.” “Not then, it wasn’t,” says Jake. | “ Nobody’s dead. Up flares Edmund’s temper. He swings a big hammer down on the counter with a bang, and he lets out one swear as thorough and nd as any Western man. Y'‘u’d been seared yourself if he’d aimed it at you. After all, Edmund had grubstaked *em, though they didn’t know it. The hammer and the oath dislodges Jake’s voice. ‘*That man,” says he, noddin’ con- temptuous acrost the stove at Baldy “that man claims it’s in Maryland.” I have explained to y’u that Edmund was an unexpected person in his ways. looked for more hammer and more blas- phemy. They had let Washington, D. C., | break up their winter’s trappin’. But Edmund he slowly relaxes on the hammer, and he.just stands and stands and keeps | alookin’ at ’em, merely inter-ested—more and more inter-ested. And they sits blinkin’ at him. Won't look at each other. Then a Texan speaks. “I have said right along that it was in Pennsylvania.” There’s times when things get altogether beyond any daily feelin’s a man commonly has. I didn’t want to lay down on the flour-sacks this time. Didn’t want to laugh at all. And Edmund wasn’t a bit mad. Even old man Parrigin makes no symptoms except of further inquiry. And the Texans, of course, was merely anxious to have a point settled that some of ’em had been disputin’ over. “T wish you would tell me all about it,” says Edmund. Violets ain’t milder than he was. Well, that was exactly what they couldn’t do, y’u see. When they first come in and saw how we was ail anxious over watchin’ ‘em arrive I expect it came home to ‘em, I expect it shamed ’em. They took in then the way they and their actions April 22,191 would look to the valley, and talkin’ came hard to ’em. But once they got started they was soon screechin’ at each other as usual, and forgot appearances. They had got to Early Winter, they had camped at Early Winter, but on the way there the argument had come up. Must have growed pretty warm by bedtime, for it had lasted through their sleep so they wasn’t speakin’ to each other at breakfast. Y’u see, alone up there with the snow there wasn’t nothin’ new to change the subject for ’em. It stayed right with ’em, and after breakfast it bruck out worse than ever, Jake for Virginia «and Baldy for Maryland, and they had it all the time they was packin’, givin’ each other proofs where it was; and when they was ready to go they wouldn’t live with each other any more, wouldn’t camp, wouldn’t trap, wouldn’t speak—and so they had come home! So there they was, and there we was, and there it was. They’d simmered down again now, after tearin’ loose and tellin’ all about it. They was quiet. They sat with the stove between ’em and just blinked on and on. Snow fallin’; rapids soundin’; nothin’ else durin’ it must have been all of a minute—and it felt like ten. And outside in the snow one o’ them horses gives a long, weary, hungry neigh. That horse breakin’ in bust somethin’ inside of me and Parrigin and Edmund. Edmund he gives a kind of youp! Par- rigin curls over on the counter, and I’d have laid right down on the sacks, only I wasn’t near ’em, and so I leaned up against the shelves. Nobody else did nothin’, because Jake and Baldy hadn't any heart left after seein’ themselves in their true light, and the other Texans they was bein’ very careful now about their geography they was savin’ it up, they wasn’t givin’ any of it away, not even to charity. “This is a great valley,” says Edmund, behind his desk. ‘‘It has song and story whipped to a finish.”” Then he fixes his big glum eyes on Kultus Jake and Frisco Baldy. ‘‘Don’t think,” says he, “you'll draw me into your argument. But you hold the record. Wherever Washington is, it would have stayed there till spring. Your words haven’t moved it anywhere else. But you have lost your winter over this. Couldn’t you have waited and come home with your load of furs, and been a success instead of a failure? For you can’t turn around and go back into the moun- tains now; you’d never get half way, and unless unusual weather follows this soon the passes will be choked for the next three months.” Edmund stops with that. It was fairly hard on the poor old blinkin’ junipers but y’u’ll notice Edmund hadn’t told ’em a word about the grubstakin’. “If every- body will come in here,”’ he says, “‘ perhaps we can find some child to settle the question.” He opens the door and we all shambles in through after him to the schoolroom. Miss Carey she rises from her chair, and of course she don’t know what to make of it. “Miss Carey,” says Edmund, ‘will some of your scholars kindly tell us what the capital of the United States is, and where it is? Miss Carey she looks at the kids sittin’ around the table fixed for’em. Gosh, y’u'd ought to have seen the hands fly up all over the room! “*Everybody may answer,” says Miss Carey. And out they yells it. It was like the chorus they was practicin’ for Christmas. Oh, she had 'em trained! There was long breaths of relief drawn among the men standin’ sheepish by the door—two or three regular sighs come out from that crowd “Thank you, Miss Carey,’ says Ed- mund, “and please excuse us for troubling you.”” So he leads the way back into the store and goes behind his desk. “Well, I'll be late for dinner,” Texan. **I told y’u where it was,”’ says another. One by one they shuffles out, Jake and Baldy mixed in with them, and they swings up onto their horses and slowly goes away up the river and down the river and acrost the bridge —till y’u could see none of ’em no more through the fallin’ snow; and in the store was just Edmund writin’, and me lookin’ at him, and the sound of the rapids. Did Edmund talk then? That wouldn't have been Edmund. Nothin’ was said in that store by him or me for—well, it must have been quite a while before the door says the

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The kids had gone home early for fear of the snow, So Edmund he smiles perfectly peaceful and tells her about it. So, of course, she thinks it very comic and she laughs hearty — but all of a sudden she remembers and expresses sympathy for Edmund’s misplaced generosity. “Don’t let that trouble you,” says he, gay enough. “I meant to grubstake ’em, and I will. It shall not cost ’em a cent. Don’t tell the poor old idiots.” So that was that. But the poor old idiots had somethin’ more to say. They had a thought. It snowed away all that night —a great big snow — but next mornin’ it had quit and there was promise of its turnin’ into a fine large day. The kids had come to school pretty late, but they come. And then into the store walks Kultus Jake and Frisco Baldy. * Well?” says Edmund. at each other. “Could we step into the schoolroom just a minute?”’ says Jake then. Edmund he looks surprised, but asks no questions, and in we all goes. Miss Carey she gets up again. “‘Any more information? ““No,” says Jake. ““Not today,” says Baldy. “We,” says Jake, “ well — we Baldy gets restless and he “Put your schoolhouse on our says he. “*We want to give it to y’u,” “Coal and all,”’ says Jake. There was a pink color went over Miss Carey’s face, and her eyes has tears in ’em. “Folks ought to know geography,” says Jake. “We want the kids in this valley to know it,”” says Baldy. “Knowledge will save ’em from mis- takes,’’ says Jake. And then Miss Carey she speaks at last. “Thank you,” she says. “Is this potlatch?’ jokin’. “‘ Kultue potlatch!” says both of 'em. Would y’u think it?—after that day I never heard ’em scrappin’ together again. Maybe they did sometimes, but not in my hearin’. Their experience seemed to have changed ’em somehow. In the store I'd catch ’em lookin’ at each other. Their eyes was gentle. I think—yes, I think they knowed that it was coming, that goodby was on its way to them. The schoolhouse was built in the spring; and after the school got into it, now and again Jake and Baldy would sneak up to the door, look in and take a back seat. And one of ’em would say he'd like to ask the kids a question: Where was Washington, D.C.? And when the answer came Jake and Baldy they’d laugh like they’d split and sneak out again. One day in the store we heard the knockin’ sound of a boat bein’ rowed over the river, and Baldy- came into the store alone. He walks to Edmund, but he looks down on the floor. *‘Jake’s sick,” says he. ‘Jake’s sick.” Oh, he knowed what it meant. There was no doctor in the valley, but what could a doctor do? In about three days we had Baldy sick too. The tie be- tween ’em was the tie of life, of a Saturday and Baldy died Monday. ‘They must be buried by the school- house,’ says Miss Carey. And everybody went. And then up comes the question what to put on the headboard? It brought up some thing none of us had thought of. ‘Why, we don’teven know their names! says Miss Carey, very soft. We didn’t know anything. They had come into the valley, they had made the valley laugh, they were gone. That was all. Not a fact or a birthplace or anythin’ to put over them that would tell who they had been. But Miss Carey wasn’t goin’ to let it be like that. she got it right. She found a bit of poetry and she had the board painted, and it was this way: ‘‘Jake and Baldy. Our Frie ” Their heart was free from mi: alice, and all their anger was excess of love.’ And then along in July Edmund got married to Miss Carey. They was sure a he appy two! ot y’u still the oldest man in the val- ley?” I asks Edmund one day in the store. About three and a half,”’ says Edmund, solemn and deep. But then he laughs. Oh, yes; their happiness filled that store, Maybe And they looks ” says she. we'd steps up. land,” says Baldy. inquires Edmund, that’s why I left the valley. 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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST NO HILL TOO STEEP 6c Invested Makes a. Ihat sounds almost unbelievable t's fuse -—a proved fact teen of ordinary sugar and the wonderful Empire Candy Floss Machine and do it every eight A race track, @ rus #100 00 a Day | maker, An! it keep after year wit no ex money-m aking 77" is unity Loday is the day tc ¢ tacts. Write to ‘Dept B s wonder money- $ enormous profit year E ght years of big Stevens Mig. & Sepoly Co., 1223 Wabash Ave. Chicago, lil, J Steel Fishin Rods BOOK GIVE GIV The = nds ben ati : fully illustrated book, Tricks and Knacks Louaf of Fishing,’ written : ert fishermen, tained free trom where One cog an or to ea my a Bristol” Rod during 1911 Writefor Free Catalogue Mention your local fishing tackle dealer's name § that if he has run short of books w ply him with a free copy tor you when you buy your *Bristel’’ Rod. Be sure that you get a genuine “*Bristol"’ with the name stamped on the reel seat The Horton Mig. Co. 96 Horton St., Bristol, Coan. Woman Has Been a Slave to the bu rde ns of household dru migery for 80 long that the appearance of t $6.00 “Alca” Hand Vacuum Cleaner mine relief t BENT AND ACHING BACKS stiffened limbs and . “*‘Alea’’ nishes Dirt . auses of nose and so liable to ate The “‘Alca’’ leaves no kes an easy duty 0 of housework We wi sh ica’* with soundant in structions as to the easy handling of it on fits price. Absolute many aranty goes with it, of c rs Agente = wis. ing territory contracts them at a we ial Test Price ALCA VACUUM CLEANER CO 362W Soth St., New York City April 22, 194i Scott Paper Towels are so cleanly (not a soiled spot on them) and they leave the skin so delightfully soft, that after you’ve thought of the fabric towel menace, you always want the Scoflissue “Don’t Wipe—Use like a Blotter” **Scott’’ Paper Towels are made of ex- tra heavy crépe paper, and are exception- ally absorbent. They are clean and white. Ask your Dealer for the Intrcductory Parcel 75 Extra Heavy White Tissue $2 Towels and a od ne send us $2 (if west of the Mississipy gether with your dealer's name and we prepaid 750 **ScotTissue’’ Towels with a fixture. After ft you are not satisfied, we will cheerfully retund your m An exceptionally interesting proposition for large consumers who write us Representative Druggists, Grocer and Dealers wanted everywhere Scott Paper Company esate ary © “WALDORF” and “‘SANI-TISSUE the t Paper, and yo Wh hygienic specialties 10c each. 2 dozen $2 664 Glenwood Ave., Philadelphia, Pa. Emergency Tire Protection Motorists can spare themselves delays and annoyance by learning the quick, easy,simple methods of effect- ively repairing cuts, punctures, blowouts, rim-cuts. Twenty miles from a repair shop, with a crippled tire— at thut state of the tour these in expensive Goodyear accessorie become tremendously va/nab/e to the motorist. of They will get the car hom with but a few moments’ delay Goodyear Protection Patches are for u when the cut is clear through the casing. An outside boot fit firmly over the casing and laces over the rim with a thong. An inside patch, snugly fitted inside the casing protects the inner tube and the tire’s fabric If it’s arim cut, simply fit a handy Goodyear Rim -¢ Patch inside the casing — and the journey is resumed _ Goodyear Quick Repair Gum will quickly heal a ut in the tread or inner tube. The easiest, quickest, surest way pat ch inner tubes is with the G Self-Cuve Repair Outs The pa require no cement Our /nside Tire Prot » fh el po weG “tps. Sifter t garage man can get a ful hi im you want Geodyear accessories. Write today aflets of The GoodyearTire & Rubber Co, Senses St., Aes, 0. We sell direct, saving you $20.00 on a canoe. A'l canoes cedar ana copper fastened. We make all sizes and styles, also power canoes. Write for free catalog giving prices with retailer’s profit cut out. We are the largust manufacturers of canoes in the world DETROIT BOAT CO., 113 Bellevue Ave. Detroit, Mich An Education Without Cash THE SATURDAY EVENING Post offers a tull course, all expenses paid, in any college, con- servatory or business school in the country in return for a little work done in leisure hours. address THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY, Philadelphia Fine Rugs i=" Old Carpet ENG@ORTIO’ RUG MILL || sEND FOR 3045-47-49-51 Boudinot St.. Phila. || CATALOGUE If you are intere AGENTS, MAKE BIG MONET! Taking orders from retail merchants for our famous Ch al Chewing Gum. Build a permanent business Benefit by reor - rs. Easy under our ‘‘dealer -operative plan We help yo Write for free particular send 5 1 Stamps for sample packag BOSTON CHICLECO.,15 Bryan t St., Malden, Massa. \ _—

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-~ \ OU IVILIZED man, bound for to be a heathen, turns with a generous en- thusiasm to the hardships and depri- vations of the camp; but sometimes not more than a few days have passed before he is willing to turn back again to the flesh- pots of the city. Bad cooking in camp has spoiled many a vacation and caused many a backsliding from the outdoor creed. Yet there is no particular use in being un- comfortable in camp, or in having bad or indigestible food. A woman is the worst camp. cook, negro the best, yourself the next best. The Indian is often dirty, the French-Canadian often lazy. Indeed, the average man of any color or race who is willing to go out as a camp cook was, in all likelihood, never cut out for the most exalted ranks of life. There is something wrong with his mentality or he wouldn’t be a cook. Thus once, on a bear hunt, we took on as pot-wrangler a man who had been cooking for a hay camp. He was strong on biscuits indeed, seemed to be cooking biscuits almost all the time, undeterred by the fact that nobody seemed to care for biscuits. At length, when the flour was nearly all gone, the matter was investigated. We found, behind a con- venient brush-pile, all sorts, sizes and con- ditions of biscuits, several thousands of them apparently --a total industrial waste that represented three or four sacks of flour. ‘‘What on earth made you cook so many biscuits, Abe?”’ we asked him. “Why, what’s the matter?” was his answer. “I’ve always been used to cook- ing just about that many. ‘’Tain’t my fault if you didn’t eat ’em all.” “But about how many do you call a batch, Abe?” we expostulated. “Well, there was twenty-two men in the hay camp, and you see I sort of got the habit of cookin’ biscuits enough for twenty-two.” ‘*But there are only four in our party!” “That ain’t my fault, Mister,” Abe answered firmly. ‘“‘There could ’a’ been twenty-two, fur’s I cared.” Nor could he ever understand why any reasonable human being should expect an able-bodied cook to provide biscuits for fewer than twenty-two men at a sitting. Cooking Concerning Kettles and Cook:Stoves A considerable experience with rough-toss artists—Aleut, Cree, Blackfoot, Mexican, Canadian, Choctaw, Cracker and Cajun has forced me to at least a rudimentary knowledge of camp cooking. Indeed, any one who goes much out-of-doors can re- member an endless monotony of bad cooks and bad cookery. How shines a good cook in a naughty world! One may sleep cold or wet, tents may leak, paddles be lost, horses go astray, rifles become rusty, yet all, all is forgotten under the magic of a good meal in camp. That good meal is your due if you go to live in the open, even if you have to make it yourself. It is the tenderfoot who delights in being uncomfortable. The men who live out-of- doors exult in no hardships that can be avoided. Therefore, since the best trips are those where a very few— perhaps two, perhaps one —make up the party, you yourself will, in all likelihood, make your best cook in camp. There are several ways of making a fire for cooking in camp, much depending on time and place. Of course if you are camp- ing in an Indian lodge or teepee—the best of all outdoor houses, though the least portable—you cook on the ground in the middle of your house and let the smoke blow where it listeth. Your kettles hang suspended from crosspieces lashed to the teepee poles. You sit on the edge of the bed as you cook, and when you have eaten all you like you simply fall over and go to sleep. In‘cold weather you must cook in- doors, even in camp. In narts of Alaska the weather is so wet in thc hunting season that you will exult in finding a native hut that will keep the rain off your fire. Sometimes you may be obliged to stretch a tent-fly above your fire to keep it from drowning out. In no case, let us hope, unless you are on the Alaskan coast where wood is very poor and carce, will you im Camp stoop to the artifice of the camp stove; that is to say, unless you are living out in the wintertime in a very cold country, when a stove of some sort may be nec essary in shack or wall-tent. The typical camp cook's fire is flat down on the ground, just alittle way from the tent. At such a fire you may declare your alle- giance to one of two schools—the one that cooks from hooks and poles, and the one that cooks close down to the coals. The man who is traveling fast by wagon, canoe or snowshoe, and is not pausing for a per- manent encampment, may throw together a loose heap of wood, Indian fashion, and suspend over its fire his kettle, dangling at the end of a long pole the butt of which is stuck under a log or stump. This is the way one boils his kettle when the snow is deep. It is the Indian fashion Let us, on the contrary, suppose that you are ina permanent camp, engaged in the delightful pastime of dawdling, tinker- ing and piffling about. In this case you may, perhaps, discard hooks and pole al- most entirely, and concern yourself with the camp oven, the camp kettle and the camp coffee-pot in somewhat even ratio. You may even use a collapsible range made of steel bars to serve as support for your pots and pans over the fire. Much delight comes from inventions of this na- ture. The best camp stove I recall in my experience was made of an old gun-barrel, plugged up at the breech and then bored with two or three holes that admitted some bent steel wires which served as arms to, carry coffee-pot and water-kettle. We simply drove this spike down into the ground and built the fire aro.nd it. When the coffee-pot boiled over we simply swung its arm around and let it cool away from the fire. The First Ingredients This, however, made no provision for oven or frying-pan. For the use of these two essential tools you can make a range for yourself in five minutes’ time, on which you can do as good cooking as any camp cook in the world can on any sort of camp stove. Simply cut for yourself a couple of little logs six or eight feet long and six or seven inches thick, of some green wood. Bed them a few inches apart, closer at one end than at the other, and make your fire between. Cook over the coals, whose heat will be well confined. Your pans will sit on top of the two logs, or you can put two or three steel bars across if you want to be really gay. of the woods. It draws better if you let a little air in now and then by raising an end of a side log. For kindling your fire, birch bark is best if you can get it. Shavings will do, or straw from around a bottle, but paper has ever been held unprofessional in camp. Get your kindling wood from the dead limbs of standing trees. Your firewood proper you can find in similar fashion, and it need not be more than two inches or so in diameter and a foot or two in length. Don’t pick up wet or rotten wood from the ground. Hickory bark makes a splendid hot fire. Black birch is a good camp wood, and hick- ory woula be good if we could find or afford it, or dry oak, yellow birch or beech. In short, any good, sound, dry wood will do if you do not get too much of it. Your fire is to be very small, and you are to cook on the coals. more smoke than can be helped. What shall you cook? First, of course, tea or coffee, one of these being indispensa- ble. Set your pot or kettle over your fire at the outset, for smoke will not hurt it, nor heat. When the water boils cast in a hand- ful of tea. Let it flutter a while, then re- meve the pot and drink your tea as quickly asyoucan. The size of the handful of tea, or thesize of the kettle, seems really to make very little difference. As to coffee, perhaps you have it ready ground in a water-tight can or an air-tight rubber bag. Your kettle will hold, say, a quart, a quart and a half, or two quarts. There are, say, four of you in party, and you are drinking from enamel-ware cups that hold half as much as a big tin cup. Dip one of these Cups In. the coffee bag This is the authentic fireplace | Also, you are to cook with no | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 65 I-OF-DOORS Which ALADDIN House IS YOURS? You will find one at least of these 70 real houses that will completely meet your desires. The Aladdin method enables you to buy all the maternal for a complete house direct from the onginal produc er. It saves fou profits on the lumber, mill-work, hardware AND LABOR You keep the middlemen’s prohts in your own pocket. NOT PORTAARLI can build an ALADDIN house yourself Every piece ol lumber in an Aladdin house is cut out in our mill by ¢ xpert workmen and hited, Asawisnot required in any part of the work. 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Here’s what you get with each ALADDIN House A. complete house means all lumber cut to fit accurately for the founda- tion timbers, the joists, studding and rafters, the siding, the flooring; the porch timber » joists, flooring, columns, railing, steps; roof she athing, half glass for outside and paneled for all inside openings, with glass in place; shingles : door $, window sash, inside and outside window tnm and inside and outside door trim, moulded base board for all inside rooms, weather moulding for trimming all outside doors and windows, all hardware, mortised locks for all inside doors; handsome burnished art brass locks and hinges for outside doors; nails for entire house, paint for two coats, inside and outside, and plaster board for lining entire house inmde, taking place of lath and plaster, Kalsomine for finishing all inside walls and cedings. Aladdin houses are ~~ under | ap tive g covers safe arrival of allt material. Our large catalog gives complete informa- tion on 70 different houses from 2 to 12 rooms and from $98 up. Send stamp today for Catalog W NORTH AMERICAN CONSTRUCTION CO. Bay City, Michigan Mi at Bay City; Houston, Texa Toronto, ( windows, | [Instruction Book Try a real shave rt FREE witha/| |". real man’s | razor —the Torrey blade that cuts the beard clean and close without a pull built to et the most ting require ondition and t w not irritate the icate SkIl Torrey Razors RE} 8 C Johnson & Ven Racine, Wis or WATCH ON \ TIME A WEEK Write for ie aA ap { “Short Talks! Long Terms” W ee poms Bee) €S WATCSS& DIAMOND aoe Pes: SONMENTS Cc ! Vv to ind r rata The new Torrey Honing Strop as no equal \ The J. R. Torrey Razor Company \ Dept. Y Worcester, Mass. gages. 206 W. 42nd ‘St, NEW YORK $ | - k dob . per Georgia State Savings Ass’ a \ od W L at, 5 York Street Savannah, Ga , . \ *

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i | THE SATURDAY S Speedwell “ Duckboat”—$2750 A radically new body style THE SPEEDWELL A pleasure car—in the truest sense So perfect is Speedwell design—so excellent is the work- manship on the car—that the pleasures of motoring are brought up to the highest degree. Speedwell owners travel in a car that is supremely comfortable to ride in. Tours are never marred by mechanical difficulties. Nothing short of a violent accident can put this car out of commission. Another instance of Speedwell sturdiness Fas ‘Here is a car tr «at no man has ever worn ont” A few weeks agu we recounted the happy adventures of a car that, in the darkness of a night tour, plunged into a deep ditch and came away practically unharmed. This was not an iso- lated case—we can recount many more equally ‘‘fortunate’’ accidents of which the following isone: A party of five, in a Speedwell car, traveling over a road slicktrom continued rains, skidded in crossinga small bridge and upset into the creek below. To quote the owner— Outside of a tew scratches none was hurt, although we all got a good ducking *" Now for the part the Speedwell played —we left her in the creek from 5 o'clock one evening until 2 p. m. the next day before we could get her out, and notwithstanding the fact that the magneto was under the water all the time, as well as the carburetor being full of water, when we got her out, after we had primed her, she started on the first turn and came to Bluefield on her own power.’ Send for Pleasure Car hterature Mr. Businessman— --this word is to you ——— We build Speedwell Trucks as well as Speedwell Pleasure Car in 2, 4 and § Ton capacities. Phey are trucks of quality —not an ounce of cast iron in them — the best steels procurable are none too good for Speedwell standards. Send for Truck literature The Speedwell Motor Car Company Essex Avenue, Dayton, Ohio | cooks make this mistake. EVENING POST | and cast the contents on top of the boiling | Water. It will foam up and flurry over. Push the pot a little to one side, then back again over the coals, letting the coffee boil | up three or four times. Then remove your coffee from the fire, pour on a half cup of cold water to settle it, and drink it as hot as possible. There are all sorts of directions about using a tablespoonful to the cup, and | one for the pot, and all that sort of thing, but the teacup is more efficient as a measure. You can put your coffee in cold water and let it come to a boil if you like, in which case you get more of the secondary and side flavors of the berry. Drip coffee can be made in camp if you care to bother with it, of course, but it is not typical camp coffee. If you can drink your tea or coffee without sugar or milk, you are cut- ting down your camp supplies just that much. Condensed milk, however, is useful in other phases of your menu. Your first essay being simple, you now resort to the frying-pan, which is by no means criminal in camp if you know how to use it. The chief thing to remember is that little fat and cold fat in the frying-pan mean greasy and soggy food, whereas deep fat and screeching hot fat mean just the opposite. The right theory of cooking meat or fish is to sear the outer tissue and keep in the juices and keep out the grease. The covering of hot grease does this at once. A half bed of cold grease does noth- ing of thesert. The frying-pan is too much maligned. In it you can do filets or tender- loins as well as they can be handled in the best hotel kitchen in the world. Did you ever try cutlets of wild turkey cooked in the despised spider? Camp-Made Bread The frying-pan comes into play as the fire begins to burn down and after it has expended much of its heat against the coffee-pot. Doubtless now you wish to fry some bacon. Your commonest fault will be that of cutting your bacon too thick and of cooking it too long. Nearly all camp Cut your bacon thin and even, leave it in the hot pan for but a moment, and before it gets brown and hard remove it to the hot plate near by. It will continue to cook in its own heat, will brown sufficiently and will be tastefu! | although limp and almost white when first removed from the pan. Camp bread is one of the tests of the outdoor cook. Very often it cannot be leavened bread, and it is either the flap- jack cooked in the frying-pan or the ban- nock cake leaned up before the fire, the ingredients being flour, water and salt, with at most the addition of a little baking powder. The Indian mixes his dough with water in the top of his flour sack, rolls a | lump of dough on the end of a stick and roasts it at the fire. The modern man per- force resorts to bannocks, because he has | not, or thinks he has not, any oven. Yet | you can purchase a sheet-iron oven made of two deep pressed-steel-pans; or you can make an oven of your own, even if you have nothing better than two deep tin dishes, one to go on top of the other. In the recent field maneuvers of the army at San Antonio | twenty thousand loaves of bread, each weighing two pounds, were cooked daily for the troops, and all of them were cooked in sheet-iron ovens which were collapsible and packed in handily with the other utensils. Suppose, now, that you have mixed up your flour, water and salt, with the amount of baking powder that the directions on | your particular can tell you you should use, and that you propose staggering the imagination of your friends by real bis- cuits, and not bannocks. After you have rolled out and patted these biscuits into shape, put them in a pan that is small enough to go inside the two big steel pans that make your oven. You must remem- ber now that you are working on a descend- ing scale of heat. You do not put your oven across the two logs, but you rake out a few coals from the fire-bed, along with some hot ashes. Do not even put the bottom of your oven flat down on this. If you have not a little grill with legs, to support your pans, arrange some stones so that the bottom of the oven will be three or four inches above the fire. You are not going to cook by contact now, but by hot air. You do not even let the bottom of your biscuit- pan sit down flat on the bottom of your oven, but you place it on a few small stones or a couple of iron supports, to leave an air chamber all the way around April 22,1911 the inner pan. The hot envelope of air is to cook these biscuits. Put on the top of the oven, which fits over the lower half, and scatter some coals or hot ashes on top of it. The commonest fault is to have too much heat in cooking bread, and the beginner nearly always burns his first few batches. Take it slowly, use little heat, and remem- ber that the theory of the camp oven is that of the envelope of hot air, and not of contact with the fire. Fifteen minutes will very likely finish your biscuits. It took, perhaps, ten minutes to make your coffee and five to fry your bacon. Now if you have butter and jam you can make a very decent meal, even though eggs, ham and other possibilities are absent and though you have no game of any sort as yet. Game can be cooked better in camp than in any café in the world. A teal duck, a grouse, a prairie chicken, a squirrel, a rab- bit and cutlets of any sort of venison can be cooked quickly, simply and deliciously. Game is better for hanging at least over- night. Split your bird up the back, flatten it with the side of the ax, salt and pepper it and broil it over the coals, which have now burned down low between your logs. Don’t mind the burning of the bones as that serves to cook the meat. cooking and the browning, and finish off with a little more salt and pepper. For this work you ought to have a broiler, the kind that clamps down in two halves, one on each side of your bird. Broiled meat is the best meat. Fish is very much more difficult to cook than game. As the usual fault in cooking game is to cook it too much, so fish usually is cooked too little—and half-cooked fish is far worse than nothing. The main thing is to have plenty of grease in the frying-pan and to have it hot and to keep it hot. Let the fish fry and not stew. Keep it loose when it starts to stick to the pan, turn it from time to time, and keep the piece pressed flat and covered as much as pos- sible with the grease. Give it time and be patient. When the tine of your fork will go in without any gritty feeling your fish is nearly done. Some finicky persons decry the use of pork or bacon in camp cooking, and prefer olive oil. Brook trout can be cooked deli- ciously in olive oil. Most directions tell you to roll your trout or your cutlets of bass or pike in egg and cracker crumbs. You are more apt to be successful, especially with large pieces of fish, if you do not bread them in this manner, but cook them au naturel. If the fish are very small the cracker dust or cornmeal is desirab: . Catering to the Epicure You can make a splendid dish of fish out of little ring perch not longer than your finger, with their heads off. Roll these little fellows in a mixture of salt and pepper in a plate, dust them well with meal or cracker dust, fry them, a dozen or two in a pan at once, and you will find them very sweet and delicate. Fish require plenty of salt and pepper, and the best plan is to apply these when you first put in the pan. Rub a mixture of salt and pepper along the backbone of the goggle-eye or croppie that you are frying, and use plenty on the out- side of the fish as well. A good pan of fried fish costs a lot of bacon fat, but if you have nerve enough and time enough you will find that fish is fine. Of course, you will read all sorts of things about wrapping fish up in leaves of paper and clay and roasting thera under the ashes. It can he done, but these stunts ,are more often failures than otherwise. Thus far you have bailed, baked and fried. There remains that useful adjunct of the camp table, the stew-pot, not in the least to be despised. The Indian fries very little and stews a great deal in his cookery The theory of the stew-kettle is: a slow fire, a low fire and a long fire. The usual mistake is that of trying to cook the stew too soon or of using too much heat and too little water. Continual care and stirring are the only real safeguards for the open kettk If you have in your kit two kettles, a big one and a small one, you can fill the big one with water, put a few stones at the bottom and set your stew-kettle in on top of these stones. This will lessen the danger of burning, and is a good idea especially in cooking cereals. The ideal dish is the big camp stew of meat, game, birds, rice, potatoes, onions anything you happen to have— with abun- dant salt and pepper added thereto, and perhaps a dash of sherry, or even a touch Add butter to finish the:

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of chilli sauce. It is hard to go wrong if you give your stew plenty of time and plenty of water. An hour or two will not be too much; in fact, you can keep on cooking your stew day after day, adding to it and eating from it as you like. Elk, moose, sheep, deer, even bear will do, with rice, onions, dumplings and the like. Large ducks can be roasted in the same oven that you have used for baking your bread. Your rule as to the oven is now re- versed, for in cooking a bird you want sharp heat and continued heat, so that the outer tissues may be seared as soon as possible. Your good cook never roasts a canvasback over fifteen minutes—some say five—but that takes heat. The bean-pot is one of the reliances of the plain woodsman, as is the bannock. Take, say, two quarts of beans to three pounds of salt pork. That means a big kettle, for beans swell alot. Soak the beans ove rnight andin the morning put themin a kettle with the pork, just cover the whole with water, and put over a slow and steady fire, with the cover on the kettle. Skim the scum from the top frequently. Beans burn very readily and require considerable attention. You want alow and steady fire and you cannot cook a pot of beans in less than an hour or two. Better more time than less. It takes about half an hour for potatoes to boil enough, an hour and a half or more for beans, nearly two hours for cabbage or cauliflower, carrots or parsnips. You can- not bake a potato well in less than half to three-quarters of an hour. You can roast them under the ashes after a fashion, but usually you burn them. The best way is to make a pit some distance from the fire and heat it up for a half hour or so with coals or ashes before you put in your potatoes. Leave the potatoes in from half an hour to an hour. Test them with the fork tine. The old-time bean-hole that you read about in books on camp cooking is some- times not feasible. Keep in mind now the idea of a hot-air envelope and of the double oven or kettle. Put your pot of beans on top of some stones, over coals or ashes, shut the big pot down over the top of this and pile up your coals and embers on the out- side and on the top. Keep in the heat all youcan. This isthe principle of the fireless cooker, to some extent. There are, of course, prepared cereals that can without much trouble be made into desserts, but few old-timers care for many cereals; they adhere rather to rice than oatmeal. You can make very good rice patties, frying them for breakfast or using them for after-dinner dessert, em- ploying the rice that you have boiled earlier in the day. Also, you can make very good pancakes. A French pancake, Ger- man pancake, Swiss pancake or Swedish pancake is much the same thing in either case, and is made of flour and egg batter rolled thin and wide, the whole cooked quickly in a large pan and served with lemon and sugar or rolled with marmalade. Where to Keep Meat and Fish The ordinary pancake formula is: a small-sized can of condensed milk, three cups of flour, half a cup of cornmeal, two eggs, a pinch of salt and a teaspoonful of baking powder. Be careful, however, to mix the milk and eggs together with some water in one vessel, while you keep the other ingredients in another. Having stirred each mixture, pour them together and continue stirring until all lumps dis- appear. A little syrup will make the cakes brown better, but be careful not tolet them have too much, or it will make them stick to the griddle or pan. Keep the latter well greased, of course. If you wish to preserve meat or even fish for later use cut into thin spirals and dry over asmoke. A rack is not difficult to arrange. In the mountain climate you can cure meat in the sun, but usually it is better to smoke it a little. There are few ptomaines in camp, but if you are using frozen fish thaw it out in cold water before you cook it. Never cook in atin can. When you open any can of fruit or vegetables pour out all the con- tents and throw the can away, else you may get badly poisoned. Especially is this true as to tinned meats. Your butter ought to be kept covered in the spring. Your fish should be kept as cool as possible, screened with cheesecloth. There are very few flies twenty feet up in the air, and really the best place for fresh meat is in a sack at the top of a very tall pole. THE SATURDAY Of course, the average city outfitter will try to sell you a great many camp imple- ments and camp rations that you will not need. Let the army take care of the con- densed food and emergency rations, and content yourself with a little chocolate and a few pounds of raisins. Some sort of acid fruit you ought to havein yourkit. Asack of dried prunes is as good as anything; dried apricots also are good. The con- densed and desiccated stuff is usually better left at home. Don’t overlook which are healthful in camp. Potatoes are heavy, but very good. Rice, onions and potatoes are staple. Some sugar you ought to have, especially in cold weather. Grub lists vary a great deal; but suppose you are four in party and are out for two weeks, you might try this scale: Flour, twenty-five pounds; cornmeal, ten pounds; rice, six pounds; beans, six pounds; sugar, fifteen pounds; baking powder, two tins; coffee, six pounds; tea, one pound; salt, two pounds; bacon, ten pounds; pork, five pounds; butter, six pounds; onions, a half bushel. Other vegetables get as you can. If you need milk six tins. Have a couple of pounds of raisins, for they make a good dessert when boiled with rice. Your camp outfit is simple. You need a real ax, a large kettle, a small kettle, a coffee-pot and two pans made ovenwise. All of these things are better if made of pressed steel. Your table cutlery is better of cheap plated stuff than of steel, which rusts more easily. Your tin cups ought to have the handles cut so they will nest together. You can use your own method of arranging a longer handle to your steel frying-pan. It isan advantage to havetwo onions, take frying-pans. Have a half dozen tin plates, the deeper the better; they sometimes help in cooking. Better have a box for your cooking utensils and a couple of bags for the grub list. Have a file to keep ax and butcher-knife sharp. A Dutch oven is good, but with the sheet-iron oven above mentioned you can do without the Dutch oven very well A Specimen Bill of Fare merit of the camp cuisine is that it is made up of absolutely fresh material. Your game and fish are better than you can get at home, and your vege- tables, if any, are also fresher. Very often you can get watercress if you can do no better for a salad. One has known wild onions to be used successfully in camps, a sort of shallot that has clusters of bulbs at the top. A friend, who had a French cook in camp on an oasis of the Sahara, once was served something that his man called salade au naturel. He had made it out of the leaves of the nearest tree. He was French, and that was all he had. There is something of a knack in wash- ing dishes in camp. The frying-pan is a continual trouble. To clean it, boil some water in it and clean as much as possible. Then heat hot over the fire, and dash with cold water to loosen the scale. Too much of this will spring the bottom of a light pan. Scour once in a while with sand or ashes. Keep the coffee-pot clean if you expect to have good coffee. Supposing you are cook in camp, and are obliged to make the most of it. You might try a daily menu like this if you are in per- manent camp and have plenty of time: Breakfast — batter cakes and syrup, or rice cakes, broiled bird or fish, eggs if possible, French fried potatoes if possible, coffee, butter, a touch of marmalade or jam. Luncheon—a broiled bird or fish, toast made on the gridiron, butter with a jam or preserve, cress salad, coffee or tea. You can, perhaps, make a chowder of fish and game and vegetables, or serve your pot stew now if you ave had time during the morning to prepare it. There may be some dumplings in the pot. If you have had time you also may have a roast bird now. You can make a brown gravy with flour and water, adding a dash of sherry and some paprika. Dinner—a_ baked or broiled fowl, fish, beans now if the kettle is done, pota- toes baked or roasted, tea or coffee, a dessert of rice pudding or a pancake rolled with jelly or jam. It is impossible to be cheerful when you are cooking in camp, but you can be clean, even to your dishrags and towels. More- over, you are certain to be respected. No one will dare to kick too much at the cook, for fear of the cook’s resignation and a consequent election for another cook. This leaves you considerable latitude. The great roasted or broiled game or | EVENING POST as ea See Elastica is mar-proof, even on playroom floors if Even on stairways which are constantly tramped, Elastica endures ome Floors Don’t Mar You see some floors marred by heels and casters —spotted by water—cracked and unsightly You see other floors, after long, hard unbroken use, maintain an lustre. One has been covered with common floor varnish—the other with Elastica Floor Finish. Due to the Oil Of all the ingredients, it isthe oil in thevarnish which makes a mar-proof, water-proof, durable floor finish. We have solved the problem of making a floor finish quick-drying, hard-drying, yet very elastic. We have done this by incorporating in its composition the requisite amount of properly treated oil. ‘The secret is ours alone, result is Elastica the you will consider for you once make a test. Nothing Can Mar Heels leave no more impression on Elastica than on a rubber mat. The only finish floors after Casters leave no trace. Hammers can’t break it—water can’t dis- color it A sheet of paper coated with Elastica can be crumpled into a ball without cracking the We shall this to you when you write us finish prove There is no constant renewal, as with wax as with common floor varnish no frequent retouching, Ihe finish remains smooth and unblem- ished, even with the hardest wear But beware of the word ‘elastic There Elastica Floor Finish For Any Floor Elastica is not only for natural wood floors. It is for painted floors, Is only one too. Paint must be protected if you are going to walk on it. it is also for linoleum or oil-cloth—to multiply the wear Every uncar peted floor should be covered with this water-proof finish which noth- ing can mat FLOOR FINISH Look for this Trade Things We Send Free If you’ll send us your name and address we will send you these three things free First, a book, ‘‘How to Finish Floors,"’ with a wealth of expert suggestions about finishing old and new floors Second, samples of Elastica on paper, with which you can make the sort of tests. Third, a handsome bookmark—just to repay yourtrouble. Write us a postal- now be you forget it CTANDARD WARNISH WORKS Beside severest lore Elastica Floor Fin ve n inula ture Elastica No. 1, for exterior use —Elastica No. 2, for interior use tinette White Enan for interior and exterio oration —K leartone St and other Architectur Finishe Ask e! Send for Booklet Number 106 “Elastica Stands the Rocks j '

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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Stats eye eye HE motor truck is not a disturbing element in your business. Itis new and different, but most adaptable, and within a week it will have become a factor in your business. Like all other new ideas, it may meet opposition at first from employees, but this opposition is based upon a lack of knowledge, which is quickly overcome the in- stant they have the opportunity to use this new method of transportation. q@ Trucks like the White do not even disturb the because team-drivers, owing to the simplicity White Trucks O secure the results wanted by everyone, the White Trucks are superbly built of the best materials that science has evolved, including a variety of the highest grade of steel alloys and the heat treatment of them. No factory in the world is better equipped to build thoroughly than the White—nor has had more or longer experi- ence in manufacturing. Of course, it is true that ali the superb building in the world wouldn't. pro- duce such a high type of truck as the White unless the design was right, but the White engine is well designed and represents the latest thought of the foremost designers of the world. Its simplicity speaks for itself—any man, whether mechanically The White “4 Motor Trucks Do Not Disturb Your Present Business Conditions ee __ a —o = OS 889 EAST 7oth STREET, CLEVELAND = and ease of handling, any man intelligent enough to be a good team-driver will make a successful White motor driver in a week, trained by our in- structors. White Trucks, therefore, fit into your organization without friction—without disturb- ance, and immediately begin the work of reducing the cost of cartage, or extending the field of your delivery system, or both. q White trucks secure such results because every truck replaces two, three or four teams, according to the capacity of the truck. pUMIN eatinen’ Compan’ Superbly Built inclined or not, understands this simplicity and ac- cessibility of parts. As in all mechanics, so here, the simplest is best, and in this regard the White engine may be said to be almost in a class by itself for efficiency. The secret of getting all the power in the gasoline is locked up in the White gasoline motor, and the performance of the White Trucks in every market, in every city of the country, is the silent, positive proof of it. @ If you can make use of one truck or a dozen, let us know your needs and we will submit a solution of the problem. A catalogue of our trucks will be sent for the asking, with a list of the owners in your territory and the testimonials of some of the largest users in the world. Company IS SSSEeEE2eELadeEe 3) cicaatnabananant agave aigaegaaaaaaaeeeeia FAP eeeale

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