The Saturday Evening Post 1915-08-14: Vol 188 Iss 7

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST An Illustz@ Pek/lsA Z . Founded A° Die W/ ty Benj. (Ag tiin AUGUST14,195 # _—«s&R "Y_ 5&aLHE COPY DRAWN BY SARAH S. STILWELL WEBER ’ pete “- In This Number: THE GRAY DAWN-—By Stewart Edward White HOW ABOUT RUSSIA? By Samuel G. Blythe

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(FEI EEE ACER IN DS “ NNN ENN Ya) NNN Ze Leader HIS is a reproduction of the first ad- vertisement of a popular-priced light- weight six; a six weighing less than 3000 pounds and ’ selling for less than $2000. It sounded the opening of a new era in the automobile industry, the Era of Light Sixes. It announced the new Chandler at $1785. It announced a car destined to become quickly recognized as one of America’s really great automobiles. Exhibited in Chicago at the time of the Automo- bile Show, February, 1913, Chandler pioneered the way for light-six domination in public popularity. And Chandler pioneered with a car so good, so right, that —not- withstanding the influx of other light sixes that soon rushed into the market—we have maintained Chandler leadership with this model and grown to a production of Ten Thousand cars for this year. And now— CHANDLER SIX $1295 Z j : \ ’ \ : | | | N : Ss , : = Standing pat on this model, as far as all its essential features of design and construc- tion are concerned, devoting to it all the Chandler mechanical genius, refining it and beautifying it and adding to it always the newest features of equipment, we have been enabled to make extraordinary price reduc- tions from season to season and still give greater value. From $1785 this price last year went down to $1595. And this year down to $1295. W hat other car of like size and character has caught up with the Chandler price!

No Other Car for Less than $2000 Gives You All These Features Bosch magneto ond Bosch spark plugs; Gray & Davis electric generator and Gray & Davis electric starting motor; Rayfield double-jet carburetor ; genuine Mayo Mercedes type radiator ; cast aluminum motor base extending from frame to frame; three silent and enclosed chains for driving motor shafts; imported annular ball bearings; silent worm-bevel rear axle; auxiliary seats in tonneau of touring car are instantly adjustable and fold away entirely out of sight in back of front seat ; genuine hand-buffed leather upholstery ; Stewart vacuum gasoline feed ; Golde patent one-man top, covered with genuine Neverleek; Jiffy curtains; Stewart -Warner magnetic speedometer; Firestone d table rims; complete incidental equipment; and the Marvelous Chandler Motor! CHANDLER MOTOR CAR CO.,

New York City Office: 1890 Broadway. OE OOD I ISAO ON A ES BNO SO A A BO In practical effect, Chandler offers you a $1785 car for $1295. And we ask you to try to match its value in cars that sell for hundreds more. Look them all over, all the well-known makes. Study them carefully. Compare them part by part with the Chandler. Com- pare them with the Chandler for comfort and power and snap and finish and style. Then you will realize how much it means to you as a purchaser that the Chandler was right in the first place and that the Chandler manufacturing policy has been a policy of devotion to this one model. Seven Passenger Touring Car or Handsome Roadster, $1295 See the Chandler at your dealer’s without delay, or write for new catalog now.

——— 508-538 E. 131st St., Cleveland, Ohio Cable Address: Chanmotor. ON PE Tee ee ae at LA A Hd A 4 NNN AYN NSN A AA Eo A eX I SSA SANT, <~

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HE correct styles in men’s clothes for Fall are now made public for the first time. They are illus- trated in our new Fall Style Book.

In addition to being a cor- Surety Brand Clothes For Young Men and Men Who Stay Young

rect-style guide, it contains a pictorial review of America’s wonder spots: The Grand Canyon, Pike’s Peak, Niagara Falls, Lookout Mountain, Yellowstone, Quebec, Glacier Park, Washington, D. C., etc. i a i ey oa Society Brand styles come from the gifted hand of the young man’s style authority. For the past ten years this man has been regarded as master in this line. His clothes appeal to men of all ages—for most men now want to stay young. He combines youthful snap with conservative style in an inimitable manner. His clothes never include fads or extremes. Yet they have marked individuality. Old Faithful Geyser, Yellowstone Na This Page From Our Fall Style Book Illustrates the New ‘‘Poole,’’ the Leading Model for Fall 1915 sold by the best dealer in

These styles—these exclu sive rich fabrics—ring true to the demands of good taste. In them you find every attractive feature that the world’s best tailors can pro vide.

SOU rely Brand Clothes are your town in standard all wool fabrics for $20 to $40. You will find our “‘ Double Service”’ label on suits at $30 and upward. Look for it—for it marks special woolen fabrics, made from the longest, strongest and most elastic wool that grows. Send for a copy of our Style Book. We'll send with it the name and address of the merchant in your town who can show you these clothes. Society Brand Clothes are made in Chicago by ALFRED DECKER & COHN MADE IN MONTREAL FOR CANADA BY CIETY BRA cLoTHi LIMITED

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 14, 1915 gy Fifty Horse Power Seven Passenger SIX $1050 | There has never been a car of such POWER at so low a price. There has never been a car of such QUALITY at so low a price. Studebaker has set a new standard in motor car values in offering a car of such power, quality and size at $1050. See this car before you buy. Four Cylinder Models Six Cylinder Models Touring Car, 7-Passenger £ Touring Car, 7-Passenger Roadster, 3-Passenger Roadster, 3-Passenger Landau-Roadster, 3-Passenger Landau-Roadster, 3-Passenger . . . Coupé, 4-Passenger 1550 Limousine, ToPassenger = . . fw kth 2250 . B. Detroit Canadian Prices Canadian Prices Touring Car, 7-Passenger Roadster, 3-Passenger Landau-Roadster, 3-Passenger Touring Car, 7-Passenger Roadster, 3-Passenger Landau-Roadster, 3-Passenger F. O. B. Walkerville Write at once for catalog illustrating 1916 models and specifications in detail STUDEBAKER South Bend, Indiana Detroit, Michigan Walkerville, Ontario Address all correspondence to Detroit

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Published Weekly Company independence Square Philadelphia London: 6,Henrietta Street Covent Garden,W.C. Volume i188 THE GRAY DAWN By Stewart Edward White N THE veranda of the Bella Union Hotel, San Francisco, a man sat en- joying his morning pipe. The Bella Union overlooked the Plaza of that day, a dusty, un- kempt open space, later to be swept and graded and dignified into Portsmouth Square. The man was at the younger fringe of middle life. He was dressed neatly and carefully in the fash- ionable costume of the time, which was the year of grace 1852. As to countenance he was square and solid; as to physique he was the same; as to expression he inclined toward the quietly humorous; in general he would strike the observer as deliber- ately, philosophically competent. A large pair of steel-bound spec- tacles sat halfway down his nose. Sometimes he read his paper through their lenses; and some- times, forgetting, he read over the tops of their bows. The newspaper he held was an ex- traordinary document. It con- sisted of four large pages. The outside page was filled solidly with short eight or ten line ad- vertisements; the second page grudgingly vouchsafed a single column of news items; the third page warmed to a column of edi- torial and another of news; all the rest of the space on these and the entire fourth page was again crowded close with the short advertisements. They told the arrival of ships, the consignment of goods, the movements of real estate, the sales of stock, but mainly of auctions. The man paid little attention to the scanty news and none at all to the edi- torials. His name was John Sherwood, and he was a power- ful and respected public gambler. Theapproach across the Plaza of a group of men caused him to lay aside his paper and with it his spectacles. The doffing of the lat- ter strangely changed his whole expression. The philosophical, middle-aged quietude fell from him. He became younger, keener, more alert. It was as if he had removed a disguise. The group approaching were all young men and all dressed in the height of fashion. At that rather picturesque time this implied the flat-brimmed beaver hat; the long swallow-tail or skirted coat; the tight pantaloons; vari-colored, splendid, low-cut waistcoats of satin, of velvet or of brocade; high wing collars; varnished boots; many sparkling studs and cravat pins; rather longish hair; and whiskers cut close to the cheek or curling luxuriantly under the chin. They were prosperous, well-fed, arrogant-looking youths, carrying their crests high, the light of questing recklessness in their eyes, ready to laugh, drink or fight with anybody. At sight of Sherwood they waved friendly hands and canes and veered in his direction. “‘Yo’re just the man we are looking foh!”’ cried a tall, dark, graceful young fellow. “We are all 'specially needful of wisdom. The drinks are on someone, and we cain’t decide who.” John Sherwood, his keen eyes twinkling, set his chair down on four legs. “State your case, Cal,”’ he said. Cal waved a graceful hand at @ stout, burly, red-faced man, whcse thick, blunt fingers, square, blue jowl and tilted cigar gave the flavor of the professional politician. TELELVUSTTRA TE DO BY 3 a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Founded A°D' 1728 Sy Benj. Franklin PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST 14, 1915 HARVEY D “Well, Jack, When it Comes to That, We Did Elope, You'll Have to Acknowledge "’ The little group, their ¢ ye to proceed. went on in a drawling voice: “Yes, we couldn't get a } drills. Every Sunday we'd try a ol rigged a lightnin’ rod down to the ” pieces. He looked up at them with a at him accusingly. “John Webb,” said he, “ you forget t Copyright.1915, by The Curtis Publishing Company the United States and Great Britain Entered as Second Class Matier at th Sheriff on the vu WRN exclusive “ Pretty tily up.’ put rather the Bugle. Webb. Ny able,” “And dicially. that stone.” statement. “Well, then?” Bennett. case,” through her to hang her axle on new ( he me ter of her. No use, she tore limpid, ir inocent eye, at I came out here in 48 you expect me to believe that yarn?” “Well,” said Webb, gazing again at hi he went on with a perfectly solemn air of confidence long and told so many damn lies that now without some help I don’t know believe myself.” “Do we get that drink?” insis gar cigal ted Calhoun Bennett. assemblage that’s why him.’ But to catch Jo John fact that the mines and that he came hers “I did!” } ‘John Webb, Post-Office Department Ottawa, Canada Entered at the Philodelpha Post-Offic« as Second-Class Matter — Number 7 ne Webb re he xt res 4 ise mv bee! n’ privileges call reasonable large the flashily vidual, named Rowles mented Sherwood “Precisely, drinks Sheriff Webb, been chuckling cavernously ir side his bulky frame, a harsh and husky voic “I told them an innoc perience of mine, and they hold me up for drir KS object to giving them ¢ amount of drinks * he “agreed C 4 wh in 49, arrogates to himself the ire on spoke up in nt ex try ti ’ reason what I added has in a small, alert, dressed “He says he used to « “but I object to being held 1 OK, rvous indi , editor of stoutly asseverated “I said we a grindstone,” said Webb, it didn’t work.” “Weak said Sherwood ‘ tha what they used i t ase, We ¢ 1 L ig hn on end, “no; re ally I don’t “the fact is I've liv “Sounds perfectly said Sherwood that break 2 Rowlee went o “T have no difficulty lieving that,”’ said Sherwood ju “Your case weak yet, Cal.” “But he claims l twa lor “T did not!” discls indignantly An accusing groan did b wide, their nostrils distended, waited accusing tried to Ai “And that he baked a loaf o bre ad sO hard nobody could eat reason nobody “T tell you I didn’t sa thing of the kind,” roared Web! his bull voice overtopping a | could in i migt ha a grind ed Webi met this any Ou My challenged Calhoun ise her a yf ul Finally we laid her flat under i After an interval the sheriff, staring critically at the lighted end of hi but weak Webb gar

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“Oh, Lord, yes; you always get a drink.” “Weil, come on and get it then—you, too, of course, Mr. Sherwood.” The gambler arose and began leisurely to fold his paper and to put away his spectacles. “T see you got Mex Rvan off, Cal,” he ob- served. “You either had extraordinary luck or you're a mighty fine lawyer. Looked like a clear case to me. He just naturally went in and beat Rucker half to death in his own store. low did you do it?” “T assure yo’ it was no sinecure,”’ laughed the tall, dark youth. “I earned my fee.” “Yes,” grumbled Webb; “but he got six months—and I got to take care of him. Clut- tering up my jail with dirty beasts like Mex tyan! Could just as easy have turned him loose !”’ “That would have been a little too much! “It was takin’ some risk to let him off as easy as we did. It isn’t so long since the Vigilante “Oh, hell, we can handle that sort of trash snorted Webb. “Who. was backing Mex, anyway?” asked Rowilee curiously. “Better ask who had it in for Rucker,” sug- gested the fourth member of the group, a man who had not heretoforespoken. This was Dick Blatchford, a round-faced, rather corpulent, rather silent, jovial-looking individual, with a calculating humorous eye. He was magnifi- cently appareled, but rather untidy. “Well, I do ask it,” said Rowlee. But to this he got no response. “Come on, ain’t you got that valuable paper folded up yet?” rumbled Webb to Sherwood. They all turned down the high-pillared ve- randa toward the bar, talking idly and face- tiously of last night's wine and this morning's head. A door opened at their very elbow and in it a woman appeared. smiled Bennett. ” now, um HE was a slender woman of medium height, \) with a small, well-poised head on which the hair lay smooth and glossy. Her age was some- where between thirty and thirty-five years. A stranger would have been first of all impressed by the imperious carriage of her head and shoulders, the repose of her attitude. Become a friend or a longer acquaintance, he would have noticed more particularly her wide, low brow, her steady gray eyes, and her grave but humorous lips. But inevitably he would have gone back at last to her more general impression. Ben Sansome, the only man in town who did nothing, made society and dress a profession and the judgment of women a religion, had long since summed her up—‘“She carries her head charmingly.” This poised, wise serenity of carriage was well set off by the costume of the early fifties—a low collar, above which her neck rose like a flower stem; flowing sleeves; full skirts with many silken petticoats that whispered and rustled; low aandaled shoes, their ties crossed and re crossed round white, slender ankles. A cameo locket, hung on a heavy gold chain, rose and fell with her breast; a cameo brooch pinned together the folds of her bodice; massive and wide bracelets of gold clasped her wrists and vastly set off her rounded but slender forearms. She stood quite motionless in the doorway, nodding with a little smile in response to the men’s sweeping salutes. “You will excuse me, gentlemen, I am sure,”’ said Sher- wood formally, and instantly turned aside. The woman in the doorway thereupon preceded him down a narrow, bare, unlighted hallway, opened another door and entered a room. Sherwood followed, closing the door after him. “Want something, Patsy?” he inquired. The room was obviously one of the best of the Bella Union. That is to say, it was fairly large, the morning sun streamed in through its two windows and it contained a small iron stove. In all other respects it differed quite from any other hotel room ‘in the San Francisco of that time. A heavy carpet covered the floor; the upholstery was of leather or tapestry; wall paper adorned the walls; a large table supported a bronze lamp and numerous books and papers; a canary in a brass cage, hung in the sunshine of one of the windows, flitted from perch to perch, occa- sionally uttering a few liquid notes under its breath. “Just a little change, Jack, if you have some on you,” said the woman. Her speaking voice was rich and low. Sherwood thrust a forefinger into his waistcoat pocket and produced one of the hexagonal slugs of gold current at that time. “Oh, not so much!” she protested. “All I've got. What are you up to to-day, Patsy?” “T thought of going down to Yet Lee’s, unless there is something better to do.” “Th’ Panama Done Been Signated. Yes, Sah" SATURDAY EVENING POST “Doesn’t soundinspiring. Did yougo to that fair or bazaar thing yesterday?” She smiled with her lips, but her eyes darkened. “Yes, I went. It was not altogether enjoyable. I doubt if I'll try that sort of thing again.” Sherwood’s eye suddenly became cold and dangerous. “Tf they didn’t treat you right — She smiled, genuinely this time, at his sudden truculence. “They didn’t mob me,” she rejoined equably, “‘and, anyway, I suppose it is to be expected.” “Tt's that cat of Morrell’s?” he sur- mised. “Oh, she—and others. I ought not to have spoken of it, Jack. It’s really beneath the contempt of sensible peo- ple.” “T’'ll get Morrell, if he doesn’t make that woman behave,” said Sherwood, without attention to her last speech. She smiled at him again, entirely calm and reasonable. “And what good would it do to ‘get’ Morrell?” she asked. ‘Mrs. Morrell only stands for what most of them feel. I don’t care anyway. I get along splen- didly without them.” She sauntered over to the window, where she began idly to poke one finger at the cznary. “*For the life of me, Patsy,” confessed Sherwood, “I can’t see that they’re an inspiring lot anyway. From what little I’ve seen of them they haven’t more than an idea apiece. They’d bore me to death in a week.” “I know that. They'd bore me too. Don’t talk about them. When do they expect the Panama, do you know?” But with masculine persistence he re- fused to abandon the topic. “‘T must confess I don’t see the point,” he insisted. ‘‘You’ve got more brains Y than the whole lot of them together; . you've got more sense; you're a lot bet- ter looking” —he surveyed her, standing in the full light by the canary’s cage, her little, glossy head thrown back, her pink lips pouted teasingly at the charmed and agitated bird, her fine, clear features profiled in the gold of the sun- shine—‘“‘and you're a thoroughbred, egad! which most of them are not.” “Oh, thank you, kind sir!” She threw him a humorous glance. “But, of course, that is not the point.” “Oh, isn’t it? Well, perhaps you'll tell me the point.” She left the canary and came to face him. “I’m not respectable,” she said. At the word he exploded. “Respectable! What are you talking about? You talk as though—as though we weren’t marri«!, egad!”’ “Well, Jack,” she replied, a faint, mocking smile curving the corners of her mouth, “when it comes to that, we did elope, you'll have to acknowledge. And we weren’t mar- ried for quite a long time afterward.” “We got married as soon as we could, didn’t we?” he cried indignantly. ‘Was it our fault that we didn’t get married sooner? And what difference did it make anyway?” “Now don’t get all worked up,” she chided. “I’m just telling you why, in the eyes of some of these people, I’m not ‘respectable.’ You asked me, you know.” “Go on,” he conceded to this last. “Well, we ran away and weren’t married. That’s item one. Then perhaps you've forgotten that I sat on lookout for some of your games in the early days in the mining camps?” “Forgotten!” said Sherwood, the light of reminiscence springing to his eyes. The same light had come into hers. “Will you ever forget,’ she murmured, “the camps by the summer streams, the log towns, the lights, the smoke, the freedom, the comradeship ~ “Homesick for the old rough days?” he teased. “Kind of,” she confessed. “‘But it wasn’t ‘respect- able’—a —well a fairly good-looking woman in a miner’s saloon.” He flared again. “Do you mean to tell me they dare say “They dare say anything—behind our backs,” she said with cool contempt. ‘“‘It’s all driveling nonsense. I care nothing about it. But you asked me. Don't bother your head about it. Have you anything to suggest doing this morning instead of Yet Lee’s?” She turned away from him toward the door leading into another room. “I'll get my hat,” she said over her shoulder. ” August 14, 1915 “Look here, Patsy,” said Sherwood rather grimly: you want to get in with that lot, you shall.” She stopped at this and turned square round. “If I do—when I do—I will,” she replied. “‘But, John Sherwood, you mustn’t interfere, never in the world! Promise!’’ She stood there, almost menacing in her insist- ence, evidently resolved to nip this particularly masculine resolution in the bud. “Egad, Patsy,” cried Sherwood, “you are certainly a raving beauty!” He covered the ground between them in two strides and crushed her in hisarms. She threw her head back for his kiss. A knock sounded, and almost immediately a very black, very bullet-headed young negro thrust his head in at the door. “Sam,” said Sherwood deliberately, going to kill you!” “Yes, sah! Yes, sah!” agreed Sam heartily. “Well, what the devil do you want?” “Th’ Panama done been signaled. Yes, sah!” said the negro, but without following his head through the door. “Well, what the devil do you suppose I care, you black !” roared Sherwood. “And what do you mean com- “Tf ‘some day I’m limb! ing in here before you're told?” “Yes, sah. Yes, sah, dat’s right,” ducked Sam. I awdah the team, sah?” “T suppose we might as well go see her docked. Would you like it?” he asked his wife. “T’d love it.” “Then get the team. you.” “Shell And some day I’m going to kill mr RS. SHERWOOD prepared herself first of all by powdering her nose. This simple operation, could it have been seen by the “‘respectable”” members of the com- munity, would in itself have branded her as fast. In those days cosmetics of any sort were by most considered inven- tions of the devil. It took extraordinary firmness of character even to protect oneself against sunburn by any- thing more artificial than the shadow of a hat or a parasol. Then she assumed a fascinating little round hat that fitted well down over her small head. This, innocent of pins, was held on by an elastic at the back. A ribbon, hanging down directly in front, could be utilized to steady it in a breeze. “ All ready,” she announced, picking up a tiny parasol about big enough for a modern doll. “ You may carry my mantle.” Near the foot of the veranda steps waited Sam at the heads of a pair of beautiful, slim, satiny horses. Their bay coats had been groomed until they rippled and sparkled with every movement of the muscles beneath. Wide, red- lined nostrils softly expanded and contracted with a restrained eagerness; and soft eyes rolled in the direc- tion of the Sherwoods—keen, lithe, nervous, high-strung creatures, gently stamping little hoofs, impatiently tossing dainty heads, but nevertheless making no movement that would stir the vehicle that stood cramped at the steps. Their harness carried no blinders; their tails, undocked, swept the ground; but their heads were pulled into the air by the old, stupid, overhead checkreins until their noses pointed almost straight ahead. It gave them rather a haughty air. Sherwood stepped in first, took the reins in one hand and offered his other hand to his wife. Sam instantly left the horses’ heads to hold a wicker contrivance against the arc of the wheels. This was to protect skirts from dusty tires. Mrs. Sherwood settled as gracefully to her place as a butterfly on its flower. Sam snatched away the wicker guards. Sherwood spoke to the horses. With a purring little snort they moved smoothly away. The gossamerlike wheels threw the light from their swift spokes. Sam, half choked by the swirl of dust, gazed after them. Sherwood, leaning slightly forward against the first eagerness of the animals, showed a strong, competent, arresting figure, with his beaver hat, his keen, grim face, his snow-white linen and the blue of his brass-buttoned coat. The beautiful horses were stepping as one, a delight to the eye, making nothing whatever of the frail vehicle at their heels. But Sam’s eye lingered longest on the small, stately figure of his mistress. She sat very straight, her head high, the little parasol poised against the sun, the other hand clasping the hat ribbon. “Dem’s quality foh sure!” said Sam with conviction. Sherwood drove rapidly round the edge of the Plaza and so into Kearney Street. From here to the waterfront were by now many fireproof brick and stone structures, with double doors and iron shutters, like fortresses. So much had San Francisco learned from her five disastrous fires. The stone had come from China; the brick also from over- Down side streets one caught glimpses of huge ware- houses. Already in this year of 1852 men talked of the open-air auctions of three years before as of something in history inconceivably remote. The streets, where formerly mule teams had been drowned in mud, now were covered with planking. This made a fine, resounding pavement. Horses’ hoofs went merrily, klop, klop, klop, and the wheels rumbled a dull undertone. San Francisco had been very seas.

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proud of this pavement when it was new. She was very grateful for it even now; for in the upper part of town the mud and dust were still something awful. Unfortunately the planks were beginning to wear out in places; and a city government, trying to give the least possible for its taxes, had made no repairs. There were many holes, large and small—jagged, splintered, ugly holes, going down to indeterminate blackness either of depth or of mud. Pri- vate philanthropists had fenced or covered these. Private facetiousness had labeled most of them with signboards. There were rough pictures of disaster painted from the marking pot; and various screeds: “‘Head of Naviga- tion”; “No Bottom”; “Horse and Dray Lost Here”; “Take Soundings”; “Storage; Inquire Below’; “‘Good Fishing for Teal’’; and the like. Among these obstructions Sherwood guided his team skillfully, dodging not only them, but other vehicles dart- ing or crawling in the same direction. There were no rules of the road. Omnibuses careered along, every window rattling loudly; drays creaked and strained, their horses’ hoofs slipping against wet planks; horsemen threaded their way; nondescript delivery wagons tried to outrattle the omnibuses. The din was something extraordinary hoofs drumming, wheels rumbling, oaths and shouts, and from the sidewalks the blare and bray of brass bands in front of the various auction shops. Newsboys and boot- blacks darted in all directions, shouting raucously, as they do to-day. Cigar boys, an institution of the time, added to the hubbub. Everybody was going in the same direction, some sauntering with an air of leisure, some hurrying as though their fortunes were at stake. A wild shriek arose, and everybody made room for the steam sand shovel on its way to dump the sandhills into the bay. It was called the “steam paddy,” to distinguish it from the “hand paddy”"’—out of Cork or Dublin. It rumbled by on its track, very much like Juggernaut in its calm indifference as to how many it ran over. Sherwood’s horses looked at it nervously, askance; but he spoke to them, and though they trembled they stood Now they debouched on the Central Wharf, and the sound of the hoofs and the wheels changed its tone. Cen- tral Wharf extended a full mile into the bay. It was lined on either side its narrow roadway by small shacks in which were exposed fowls, fish, vegetables, candy. Some of them were [tiny saloons or gambling houses. But by far the majority were the cubicles where the Jewish slopsellers exposed their wares. Men returning from the mines here landed, and here replenished their wardrobes. Everything was exposed to view, like clothes hung out after a rain. The narrow way between this long row of shops was crowded almost dangerously. Magnificent dray horses, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST with long hair on the fetlocks above their hig heavy hoofs, bridling in conscious pride of silver-mounted harness and curled or braided manes, rose above the ruck as their ancestors the war horses must have risen in medieval battle. The crowd parted before them and closed in behind them. a little cleared space at picking its way circumspectly. From her point of Sherwood could see over the heads of peopl Here and there, too, a horseman could be seen, with his heels; or a private calash Mrs She sat very vantage on the elevated seat quiet, her body upright, but in the poised repose char acteristic of her. her nothing escaped her Many admiring glances were directed at Nevertheless, She saw and appreciated and enjoyed She seemed to be unconscious of them. miners in their brocaded or lad cotton-cl drunken met every phase of that heterogeneous crowd exaggeratedly rough Chinese; gorgeous Spaniards or Chileans; sober men, excited men; frantic runners for steamboats trying to push their way by; cigar boys darting about and miraculously worming their way through impenetrable places. clot hes; hotels or newsboys and Atop a portable pair of steps a pale, well-dressed young man was plying thimblerig on his knees with a gilt pea From an upturned keg a preacher was exhorting. And occasionally, through gaps between the shacks, she caught glimpses of blue water, or of ships at anchor, or, more often, of the tall pile drivers, whose hammers went steadily up and down. Sherwood guided his glossy team and light, spidery vehicle with the greatest delicacy and skill. He was wholly absorbed in his task. Suddenly up ahead a wild turmoil broke out. People crowded to right and left, clamoring, shouting, screaming. A runaway horse hitched to a licht buggy came careering down the way A collision seemed inevitable. Sherwood turned his horses’ heads directly at an open shop front. They hesi tated, their small pointed ears working nervously. Sher wood spoke to them. They moved forward quivering, picking their way daintily They stopped. The runaway hurtled by, missing the tail of the buggy by two feet. A moment later a grand crash marked the end of its career farther down the line. Again Sher- wood spoke to his horses and exerted the slightest pressure on the reins. Daintily, slowly, their ears twitching back and forth, their fine eyes rolling, they backed out of the opening. Throughout all this exciting little incident the woman had not altered her pose nor the expression of her face. Her head high, her eye ruminative, she had it all as one quite detached from possible consequences The little parasol did not change its angle. Only, quite Sherwood spoke again looked on deliberately, she had relinquished the ribbon by whic! . held on her hat and had placed her slender hand steadyingly on the side of the vehicle The bystanders, already leapjng down fron of refuge and again crowding the narrow way, directed admiring eyes toward the beautiful, nervous, docile horses the calm and dominatir £ man, and the poised, dainty cres ture at his side One drunken individual cheered her personally At this a faint shell-pink appeared in he cheeks, though she gave no other sign that she had heard Sherwood glanced down at her, amused voluble He had mysterious inner recess of his But now emerged the slopseller, very darted like a rat into some burrow; but now he filling the air wit}! laims, appeals for justice was out again, lamentations, Sherwood did not even glance toward him; but in the hie hy is very act of tooling rses into the roadway tossed the man some sil Immediately, with shouts and cheers and laughter, th« oodlums near by began a scramble end of the long wharf widened to a great square, tree of all buildings but a sort of warehouse near one end. Her a rope divided off a landing space. Close to the rope the multitude crowded, ready for its ente Here also stood in stately grandeur the three livery hacks of which San Francisco boasted. They were magnificent affairs, the rtainment like of which have never elsewhere been seen plying for public hire, brightly painted, highly varnished, lined wit) silks, trimmed with solid silver. The harnesses were heavily mounted with the same metal. On their boxes sat fashionable creatures, dressed not in livery but throughout in the very latest of the late styles, shod with varnished leather, gloved with softest kid to the Sherwood drove skillfully very edge of the roped space, pushing aside the crowd on foot. They growled at him savagely. He no attention to them, and they gave way. The buggy came The eyes, stamping, their little hoofs, neverthe to a stop horses, tossing their heads, rolling their x ese stood with out need of further attention. Now the br blast of sound; red with a sudden, overwhelming the runners fo With a vast white and green s bands bl: the crowd cheered 1 oisily > the hotels began to bark like a pack of dogs turmoil of paddle wheels, swirling of waters, bellowing of speaking trumpets, throwing of hand lines and scurrying of deck hands and dock hands, the Panama came to rest. After considerable delay the gang plank was placed. The passengers began to disembark facing the din much as they would have faced the buffeting of a strong wind. This was the cream of the entertainment for which the crowd had gathered; for which, indeed, th« had their excursion. Each ir received his meed of comment, sometimes audible an ' Sherwoods made dividual i by eat “They are All Afraid of Each Other, Because They Don't Know Anything About Each Other"’

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST no means always flattering. Certainly in variety both of character and of circumstance they offered plenty of material. From wild, half-civilized denizens of Louisiana’s canebrakes, clinging closely to their little bundles and their long rifles, to the most polished exquisites of fashion, they offered all grades ard intermediates. Some of them looked rather bewildered. Some seemed to know just what to do and where to go. Most dove into the crowd with the ap- parent idea of losing their identity as soon as possible. The three magnificent hacks were filled, and managed, with much plunging and excitement, to plow a way through the crowd and so depart. Amusing things happened, to which the Sherwoods called each other’s attention. Thus, a man burdened with a single valise ducked under the ropes near them. A paper boy happened to be standing near, The passenger offered the boy a fifty-cent piece. “ Here, boy,” said he, “just carry this valise for me.” The paper boy gravely contemplated the fifty cents, dove into his pocket and produced another. “Here, man,” said he, handing them both tothe traveler, “take this and carry it yourself.” One by one the omnibuses filled and departed. The stream of passengers down the gangplank had ceased. The crowd began to thin. Sherwood gathered his reins to go. Mrs. Sherwood suddenly laid her hand on his forearm. “Oh, the poor thing!"’ she cried, her voice thrilling with compassion. A young man and a steward were supporting a young girl down the gangplank. Evidently she was very weak and ill. Her face was chalky white, with dark rings under the eyes; her lips were pale and she leaned heavily on the men. Although she could not have heard Mrs. Sher- wood’s exclamation of pity, she happened to look up at that instant, revealing a pair of large, dark and appealing eyes. Her figure, too, dressed in a plain traveling frock, strikingly simple but bearing the unmistakable mark of distinction, was appealing, as were her exquisite, smooth baby skin and the downward-drooping, almost childlike, curves of her lips. The inequalities of the ribbed gangplank were sufficient to causé her to stumble. “She is very weak,” commented Mrs. Sherwood. “She is—or would be—remarkably pretty,” added Sherwood. “I wonder what ails her.” Arrived at the foot of the gangplank, the young man removed his hat with an air of perplexity and looked about him. He was of the rather florid, always boyish type, and the removal of his hat revealed a mat of close-curling brown hair, like a cap over his well-shaped head. The normal expression of his face was probably quizzically humorous, for already the little lines of habitual half- laughter were sketched about his eyes. “A plunger,” said John Sherwood to himself, out of his knowledge of men. Then as the young man glanced directly toward him, disclosing the color and expression of his eyes, “A plunger in something,” he amended, revising his first impression. But now the humorous element was quite in abeyance and a faint dismay had taken its place. One arm support- ing the drooping girl, he was looking up and down the wharf. Not a vehicle remained save the heavy drays, already backing up to receive their loads of freight. The deck hands had dropped and were coiling the line that had separated the crowd from the landing stage. With another exclamation the woman in the carriage rose, and before Sherwood could make a move to assist her, had poised on the rim of the wheel and leaped lightly to the doek. Like a thistledown she floated to the little group at the foot of the gangplank. The steward instantly gave way to her evident intention. She passed her arm round the girl’s waist. The three moved slowly toward the buggy, Mrs. Sherwood, her head bent charmingly forward, murmuring compassionate, broken little phrases, supporting the newcomer’s reviving footsteps. Sherwood, a faint, fond amusement lurking in the depths of his eyes, quietly cramped the wheels of the buggy. iv HALF-HOUR later the two men, having deposited the women safely in the Sherwoods’ rooms at the Bella Union, and having been unceremoniously dismissed by Mrs. Sherwood, strolled together to the veranda. They had not until now had a chance to exchange six words. The newcomer, whe announced himself as Milton Keith, from Baltimore, proved to have a likable and engaging personality. He was bubbling with interest and enthusi- asm; and these qualities, provided they are backed solidly, are always prepossessing. Sherwood, quietly studying him, concluded that such was the case. His jaw and mouth were eet in firm lines; his eyes, while dancing and mischievous, had depths of capability and reserves of forcefulness. But Sherwood was by inclination and by the necessities of his profession a close observer of men. Another, less practiced, might have seen here merely an eager, rather talkative, apparently volatile, very friendly and quite unreserved young man of twenty-five. Anyone, analytical or otherwise, could not have avoided feeling the attractive force of the youth’s personality, the friendly quality that is nine-tenths individual magnetism and one- tenth the cast of mind that initially takes for granted the other man’s friendliness. At the moment Keith was boyishly avid for the sights of the new city. In these days of long journeys so remote a place, in the must commonplace of circumstances, gath- ered to its reputation something of the fabulous. How much more true then of a city built from sand dunes in four years; five times swept by fire, yet rising again and better before its ashes were extinct; the resort of all the picturesque unknown races of the earth—the Chinaman, the Chilean, the Mexican, the Spaniard, the Islander, the Moor, the Turk—not to speak of ordinary foreigners from Russia, England, France, Belgium, Germany, Italy, and the out-of-the-way corners of Europe; the haunt of the wild and striking individuals of all these races: “Sydney ducks” from the criminal colonies; “‘shoulder strikers” direct from the tough wards of New York; long, lean, fever-gaunted crackers from the Georgia mountains or the Louisiana canebrakes; Pike County desperadoes; long- haired men from the trapping countries; hard-fisted, sar- donic state-of-Maine men fresh from their rivers; Indian fighters from the Western Reserve; grasping, shrewd, commercial Yankees; fire-eating Southern politicians; lawyers, doctors, merchants, chiefs and thiefs, the well- educated and the ignorant, the high-minded and the scala- wags, all dumped down together on a sand hill to work out their destinies; a city whose precedents, whose morals, whose laws were made or adapted on the spot; where might, in some form or another—revolver, money, influ- ence—made its only right; whose history ranged in three years the gamut of human passion, strife and develop- ment; whose background was the fabled El Dorado whence the gold in unending floods poured through its sluices. To the outside world tales of these things had come. They did not lose in the journey. The vast loom of actual occurrences rose above the horizon like mirages. Names and events borrowed a half-legendary quality from distances, as elsewhere from time. Keith had heard of Coleman, of Terry, of Broderick, Brannan, Gwin, Geary, as he had heard of the worthies of ancient history. He had visualized the fabled splendors of San Francisco’s great gambling houses, the excitements of her fervid fevered life, as he might have visualized the magnificences of pagan Rome; he had listened to tales of her street brawls, her vast projects, the buccaneering raids of her big men, her Vigilance Committee of the year before, as he would have listened to the stories of one of Napoleon’s veterans. Now by the simple process of a voyage that had seemed literally interminable, but now was past, he had landed in the very midst of fable. It was like dying, he told Sherwood eagerly, like going irretrievably to a new planet. All his old world now seemed as remote, as insubstantial, as phantomlike as this had seemed. “Even yet I can’t believe it’s all so,” he cried, walking excitedly back and forth and waving an extinct cigar. “I've got to see it, touch it! Why, I know it all in advance. That must be where the Jenny Lind Theater stood, before the fire—just opposite? I thought so! And the bay used to come up to Montgomery Street, only a block down! You see, I know it all! And when we came in, and I saw all those idle ships lying at anchor, just as they have lain since their crews deserted them in ’49 to go to the mines— and I know why they haven’t been used since, why they will continue to lie there at anchor until they rot or sink P “Do you?” said Sherwood, who was vastly amused and greatly taken by this fresh enthusiasm. “That is Coleman, Leader of the Vigilance Movement of Last Year" August 14, 1915 “Yes, the clipper ships!”” Keith swept on. “The first cargoes in this new market made the money—the fastest clippers—poor old hulks—but you brought in the Argo- nauts!”’ So he ran on, venting his impatience, so plainly divided between his sense of duty in staying near his wife and his great desire to slip the leash that Sherwood smiled to himself. Once again he mentioned Coleman and the Vigi- lantes of ’51. “‘I suppose he’s round here. I may see him?” “Oh, yes,” said Sherwood, “‘you'll see him. But if you would accept a bit of advice, go slow. You must remember that such a movement makes enemies, arouses opposition. A great many excellent people—whom you will know—are a little doubtful about all that. I know them all. They are among the most influential members of the bar.”” He glanced at a large watch. “Just at this hour we might find them at the Monumental engine house. What do yousay?” “T should like nothing better!” cried Keith. “Your wife’s illness is not likely to require immediate attendance?’ suggested Sherwood inquiringly. “She’s only seasick—horrible voyage—she’s always under the weather on shipboard—three weeks of it from Panama. Nan’s as strong as a horse,” replied Keith with obvious impatience. They walked across the Plaza to the Monumental fire- engine house, a square brick structure of two stories, with wide folding doors, and a bell cupola apart. Keith paused to admire the engine. It was of the type usual in those days, consisting of a water box with inlet and outlet con- nections, a pump atop, and parallel pump rails on either side, by the hand manipulation of which the water was thrown with force from the box. The vehicle was drawn by means of a long rope carried on a drum. This could be slacked off at need to accommodate as high as a hundred men or as few as would suffice to move her. So far this engine differed in no manner from those Keith had seen in the East. But this machine belonged to a volunteer com- pany, one of many, and all rivals. It was gayly colored. On the sides of its water box were scenic paintings of some little merit. The woodwork was all mahogany. Its brass ornamentation was heavy and brought to a high state of polish. From a light rack along its center dangled two beautifully chased speaking trumpets and a row of heavy red-leather helmets. Axes nestled in sockets. A screaming gilt eagle with wings outspread hovered atop. Alongside the engine stood the hook-and-ladder truck and the hose cart. These smaller and less important vehicles were painted in the same scheme of color, were equally glittering and polished. Keith commented on all this admiringly. “Yes,” said Sherwood; “‘you see, since the big fires it has become a good deal a matter of pride. There are eleven volunteer companies, and they are great rivalsin everything political and social as well as in the line of regular business, so to speak. Mighty efficient. You'll have to join a com- pany, of course, and you better look round a little before deciding. Each represents something different, some dif- ferent element. They are really as much clubs as fire companies.” They mounted to the upper story, where Keith found him- self in a long room comfortably fitted with chairs, tables, books and papers. A double door showed a billiard table in action. Sherwood indicated a closed door across the hall. “Card rooms,” said he briefly. The air was blue with smoke and noisy with rather vocif- erative conversation and laughter. Several groups of men were gathered in little knots. A negro in white duck moved here and there carrying a tray. Sherwood promptly introduced Keith to many of these men; and he was as promptly asked to name his drink. Keith caught few of the names, but he liked the hearty, instant cordiality. Remarking on the beauty and order of the machines, loud cries arose for “Taylor! Bert Taylor!” After a moment’s delay a short, stocky, very red-faced man with rather a fussy manner came forward. “Mr. Keith,” said a tall, dark youth with a pronounced Southern accent, “I want foh to make you acquainted with Mr. Taylor. Mr. Taylor is at once the patron saint of the Monumentals, but to a large extent its ‘angel’ as well. I hope you understand the theatrical significance of that term, suh. He is motheh, fatheh, guardeen and dry nurse to every stick, stone and brick, every piece of wood, brass or rubbah, every inch of hose, and every man and Irishman on these premises.” Taylor had turned an embarrassed brick red. “Mr. Keith,” went on the dark youth explana- torily, “was just sayin’ that though he had inspected care- fully many fire equipments, professional and amateur, he had nevah feasted his eyes on so complete an outfit as that of our Monumentals.” Keith had not said all this, but possibly he had meant it. The brick-red, stocky little man was so plainly embar- rassed and anxious to depart that Keith racked his brains for something to say. All he could remember was the manufacturer’s nameplate on the machine downstairs. “T see you have selected the Hunaman engine, sir,” said he. The little man’s eye brightened. (Continued on Page 38)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST le ANGLE OF REFRACTION HE climax of the dramatic B iF @l kk I Sal @ cS} On the stage a small group w: spectacle, Torello, comes V re eric rving Ja er Om gatiered about the stricke tar when Adalieta, the bride, ILLUSTRATED Br CLARENCE uN DERWOOD On her-knees his wife was repeat recognizing the ring the stranger conceals ing over and over again, “ This is Fanni in the cup he tenders her at her marriage Fannie! as though her name must call feast, springs forward and throws herself him back. But he gave no sigr into his arms, crying: “This is my lord! ‘There is something pressing on the This is truly Torello!” brain,” said Doctor Vossberg, an old Searelle, the actor-manager who had mounted the sumptuous production, was frequently spoken of as a man obsessed by one idea—himself. In reality Searelle was obsessed by the idea of the dramatic moment of the great classics of the stage; and the fact that he believed himself endowed beyond all mortals in divining and interpreting this moment was merely incidental. He subordinated himself to the idea; and he subordinated every- thing else to himself. When one of his productions attained its uttermost before the first night's audi- ence a great work of art stood completed just as truly as when a painter adds the last touch of his brush to his masterpiece of color, or when the engineer adds the last girder to his bridge, his masterpiece of form. For his favored first-night audi- ence, Searelle consummated some mag- nificent spectacle for the eye, through which he wove a subtler appeal to the emotions and the finer sensibilities; but to the great actor himself the tinkle of the bell that brought down the final curtain was the knell of doom. He had built up a perfect thing, truly; but now, for night after night, week after week, month after month, he was sentenced to duplicate it hundreds of times, until the dullness of iteration hammered on every shrieking nerve. He, the mime, possessed an art that could endure only through repetition. He was denied the solace of painter and engi- neer, whose art was eternal. They could turn from a completed task to the inspira- tion of a new and greater theme; but he was chained to his creation. With the final curtain of his opening night, Searelle, the artist, would gladly have disbanded his company and touched a match to his precious settings. So far as his divinity was concerned, the task was done; there remained only to pay the piper. In mounting the spectacle, Torello, Searelle hadspentunholysums. The very accessories cost afortune. He had dreamed of impossible things—and accomplished them. He had reconstructed an era—the fabled era of Saladin. One full act—that in which the necromancer transports the long- lost Torello from Alexandria to Padua on the magic bed in a single night—was in pantomime. The very jewel in the cup which the bride was to touch with her lips cost more in money than he would pay in a year’s run to his wife, Fannie Chesbro, who played Adalieta. The first scene, laid in Padua of the twelfth century; the court of Saladin; the gorgeous trappings of the magic flight; and finally the banquet scene—it was a staggering total. These were the chains the artist forged about him- self. There was not much money spent on the company, that is true. Searelle never permitted a member of his cast—not even his beautiful wife, Fannie Chesbro, who before her marriage had given promise of ability—to rise above the réle of supernumerary. Those on the stage were merely a setting for him, who must never relinquish the center. The’ Searelle audiences were very well satisfied with this. The surroundings, animate and inanimate, satisfied the eye, were a complement to the whole; and—Searelle was Searelle! They paid their money to see Searelle. So now for month after month, in all kinds of weather, in health and in sickness, Searelle must drag himself from town to town until finally the two sides of the reckoning balanced. Then, if he followed his custom, he would toss away the spectacle of Torello, and with a light heart begin digging among musty tomes to unearth a new task for his genius, even more exacting and costly than its forerunner. It is doubtful whether the artist himself ever considered the cost while he was painting the picture. During the tense period of preparation those about him who did keep count had the sensation of one aboard ship in a heavy sea—of going down, down, down, until it seemed there was * y “Quicker! Iss This a Quaker Meeting — Eh?" no end. Then would come the premiére—and they were rising to the crest again. Searelle’s first nights were always like this. He had never known a failure. To-night, the opening of Torello, was proving another triumph. In spite of the ragged nerves of the cast, the spectacle had unrolled itself in cumulative beauty through scene after scene, until now the wedding feast was spread. At the dramatic moment the bride lifted her veil and touched her lips to the cup. Perceiving the ring and recognizing it as she seized it, she sprang forward, crying: “This is my lord! This is truly Torello!” Torello should have said: “This is truly Adalieta!”’ But Torello said nothing. In his silken robes, enthroned in the place of honor, all eyes fastened on him, Searelle Torello—sat in stony silence, stupidly staring into space Fannie Chesbro, sick with fear, whispered the words in his ear again and again. The house was still gasping under the spell of the dénouement he had contrived so cleverly; and for the instant the ominous pause remained unnoticed. Then the whole machinery of the thing, depending for movement on the master spring, came to a halt —stopped, like a clock at the end of its tension. Deaf to his wife's entreaties, dead to all sense and motion, Searelle sat like a carved image in the banquet hall. Something had snapped in that marvelous brain. Allan Morgan, the assistant stage manager, was the first to recognize that a catastrophe was at hand. He rang down the curtain; in a few moments he appeared before the house to announce that their idol, Searelle, overcome by the long strain of preparation for the great spectacle they had just witnessed, had collapsed at the moment of success. A physician with him had assured them that the attack would pass and a rest soon restore him—and so on. The dazed audience sat for a moment, then slowly began passing out. friend who had rushed behind the se immediately “Seventy thousand dollars!" exclaimed Allan Morgan to himself as he them carry the limp Seventy thousand dollars! T} depth of this last pit Searelle himself to satisfy his ideals of art A few days later Bain, arehouse graveyard of stillborn dramatic produ tions, came in and looked over the trap pings with the urbanity of an undertaker had them duly boxed and crated, and carted away tooblivion. That wast of Torello. After years of striving Searelle had achieved his heart's desire: he had achieved a perfect picture, of which there was to be no duplicate, no watched peareiie away at was had dug master of the storage-w regions, which are the he end repetitior Before the end of the week the electric sign in front of the theater had disappeared, and glaring posters of moving-picture dramas took its place. Miles away, in his remote retreat, Searelle’s sluggish senses were slowly awakening; his world was stil! a thing of indefinite visions, into which occasionally obtruded a familiar face. One day some months later, Heinemann the great producer, the mogul of the the atrical world, contrived to throw himself, as though by accident, in the Fannie Chesbro when she cam« to ‘How goes it mit you, Fannie?” hi asked solicitously in his thick gutt as he rubbed his warty vigorously. “Oh, so slow, months and words all over again. It is as though he child struggling with a new language. And he is afraid!" Heinemann nodded solemnly as he studied the woman closely with his piggy little eyes. It much that Searelle had forgotten—he would remem ber again; Heinemann felt of that But would his confidence ever return? Or would the haunting memory that he had been stricken speechless before an audience, at a great moment in his life, his future? Heinemann did not speak his thoughts, but Fannie divined them through his path ol town ural accents nose Heinemann! It months! will be He must learn were a was not so sure blast clumsy sympathy. “What does he do? What does he think of sked the old man. Fannie made a gesture of despair “He is already planning something else, Heinemann in a vague way. He cannot tell me—the thought is there, but the symbol is lacking. He fumbles among his bocks and pictures— Semiramis, I think it is now. And, Heine mann, there are debts—thousands and thousands! You know he went beyond all bounds in putting on Torello. Hi pushed his credit to the limit. I don’t know how much is owing. I only know that we never can pay it back. And yet he plans anew!" She ended with a deep sigh “IT can tell you how much iss owing,” said Heinemann Fannie had bowed her head, dabbing at her eyes with her little kerchief. Now she looked up in surprise What had Heinemann to do with their debts? An old friend, yes; her former manager in the old days before th ruthless artist, Searelle, got hold of her and condemned her to a niche of mediocrity. Heinemann began fumbling in a of papers bound t pocket; he drew out a packet with a stout rubber band ret her ‘They are all there—the debts,”’ he said, tossing them over to her. “I haf bought them for a song—ha-ha!” H reached out and patted her hand. “Don’t worry over them, child. Hide them away. Don’t think of them Some day, when you haf lots of money, you shall pay m« back. Fannie!” he cried, with a sudden change to the per emptory manner of the stage potentate under whose iro rule she had made her beginnings—“‘ Fannie! I haf some thing else for you! I haf here Amos Holt’s new play, Sea Anchor. ! And I| want you for the star!’

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST He leaned over the table, staring at Fannie Chesbro as though he were trying to hypnotize her. Me? You want me!” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Warren Ellis is to support you—unless you vill haf somebody else.”” Heinemann shrugged his shoulders. It was hers to say. “Me? You want me as the star of a Holt play! Heine- you are crazy!” she burst out. “No,” smiled the old autocrat of the stage; “‘I am not erazy."’ And he whispered a sum he would be willing to pay that seemed almost immoral to her ears. “Fannie, you can gif him everything—every comfort every luxury. Ve vill cure him perhaps—between us, eh? But, Fannie, you are to come back as the wife of Worden Searelle—not as Fannie Chesbro,” he added quickly. “No one remembers who Fannie Chesbro was,” he went on, with his usual rude candor, as he rose to go. “‘Go home and think it over,” he said in parting. ‘ Remember, when I am the producer i gif you your head. You vill be somebody an artist! It vill mean the best of care for Searelle till he is without borrowing! Perhaps for his Semira- mis, And the old man laughed. “Here; I vill gif you two weeks’ advance now.”” He took a check book from his pocket and began adjusting his pen. *“No--no!” she cried. “Not now! Let me think it over With that she pushed him out of the little parlor, where they had been talking. She was almost afraid to go back to Searelle. Searelle had always detested Heinemann’s ideas of what constituted art on the stage. All the years of her married life he had been trying to kill in her whatever knowledge of technique she had gained through Heine- mann. And now Heinemann was offering her the big réle in the latest Holt drama. The figure he named was beyond anything she had aspired to, even in her wildest dreams in the beginning. It meant two things: First—Heinemann, as he said, would give her her head, permit her to be a personality, not merely a reflected light. As Searelle’s wife she had sacri- ficed all that was dear to her youthful enthusiasm—stage people said Searelle had married her for her voice, as a virtuoso would pick a violin for its tone; certainly the marriage had been a surprise to no one so much as Fannie herself. Second—she reflected that, by taking advantage of Heinemann’s desire to exploit her, she would be enabled to give her stricken husband such expert care as was now out of the question. She crossed the street and stopped in front of a door, casting an anxious glance about her, to note whether she was observed, before entering. Inside she produced a diamond sunburst, named a price in money, received it, and hastily withdrew, as though the mere act were some- thing to be ashamed of. When she reached home she went immediately to Searelle, without waiting to take off her things, and counted the money before his eyes, laughing. She told him glibly that Bain, the storage czar, had con- sented to release the hangings of the Torello banquet scene; and that Kamigyan, the Armenian dealer, had paid her thus handsomely for them. Searelle watched her with slow-moving eyes. He attempted to say something, lost courage and remained silent. He was like a child associating words; he put them together in his mind—thought a great deal of what he would say and how he would say it—but seldom said any- thing. He was waiting until he could feel perfectly sure of himself. These trappings of Torello, now lying in Bain’s musty loft, had been dear to him when he was putting together the magnificent spectacle; but now he had no more sentiment for them than a painter for the brushes and pigments with which he has laid on a masterpiece. Searelle had finished his picture of Torello up to the very varnish- ing; he was satisfied; the achievement, like the catastrophe, was now only a blurred image. “Kamigyan asked about the other things,’’ Fannie ran on, lying easily. ‘He asked particularly about the Etrus- can pottery; when I told him of the mark on the three big pieces he went wild—-offered me any price I would name. Worden, | have come to believe that you are almost as great a collector as you are a producer. There is a veritable gold mine in the settings of Torello.” Thus she beguiled himi. There was no doubt of the classic value of the trappings with which he had adorned Torello. He had collected them over years of time. But who in these times cares for a purely imaginative reconstruction of the fabled court of Saladin? And as for twelfth-century Istria, it is two centuries too soon for even the most rabid collector. All the pains and unholy expense he had lavished on Torello were fitted for Torello alone; and now Torello was a thing of the past. The boxes and crates stuffed with weirdly beautiful things would not bring the price of cart- age if thrown on the market. There is nothing so dead as the second-hand trimmings of a stage spectacle. For weeks now Fannie had been pawning her own pre- cious keepsakes, every parting costing her a pang and a lie. As though Bain, fattening on failure, would permit her te touch so much as a single box! Some day Bain would lump them and sell them as junk to his confederates. But Searelle swallowed the stories Fannie told him. His mind, mann, a sum on his feet eh?” of OF OE passes tthe it Ser ne eal eee oe bend seve ss — -_. - ‘ “a . “He Would Murder Me if He Knew I Totd You!" now groping in the fog of his affliction, was vaguely for- mulating the beginnings of a new extravagant spectacle. Fannie tucked him away for the night; and when she was alone in her own room she drew the shades closely and turned the key in the lock. Then, with swift fingers, she ran through the careless litter of a chest of drawers. If one could only guess the inviolate secrets of a woman’s room, what threads of romance might be spun! There are little keepsakes hidden away, mere nothings to the casual eye— a torn scrap of paper with a few meaningless words; a bit of gold or silver ornament; a book with pencilings along the margin—each a key to some bygone incident, the memento of an occasion magnified into poetry by time. In her years of immolation on the altar of Searelle, Fannie had shut her heart to the fair hopes of her beginnings, content with his genius and her part as his handmaiden. But she was still the woman—even though it required an occasion like this, when duty was the monitor of love, to bring out the instinct of her sex. Here it was—a packet of old wrinkled paper, bound with coarse string. Her pulses beat faster as she opened it. Poor Fannie! It was a sight anyone might have looked on—yet she had hidden it awey with the stealth of some- thing forbidden. A faded picture of herself in the rdéle of Helen, in Sheridan Knowles’ Hunchback! With it weresev- eral newspaper clippings, yellow and shattered with age— thoughtless words of busy critics, scribbled at the last minute as addenda to reviews of one of Heinemann’s pre- tentious revivals years ago. The adjectives were familiar, the stock tools of the reviewer's craft: adequate—-pleas- ing—appealing— promising. That was all—a faded silver print of herself, and faded lines of newsprint. Heinemann had always been absolute in rehearsal, no matter who the star. None had ever dared oppose his will. How he had curbed her, sneered at her, ground her down !—only finally to pat her on the shoulder, as though to assure her that it was her artistic impulse instead of his own promptings that had made her, as Helen, adequate, pleasing, appealing, promising. And Searelle—she remembered well how the whole Heinemann company had been aquiver. at the incident; had come in and sat through one act of the dress rehearsal. They did not know then that his leading woman of the moment, Margaret Inchquin, had just committed the unpardonable crime of interpolating business designed to catch the eye of his public at a moment when the great Searelle would be powerless to prevent her. But ruin, August 14, 1915 swift and sure, had repaid her; Searelle, in the instant punishment he inflicted before the audience she had sought to steal from him, adopted one of the oldest tricks on the stage. He improvised a line; and Margaret, in the center of the stage, confused and speechless, struck her colors. He had dangled her in the flames of her own making for a per- ceptible moment—then gracefully saved the scene. The critics said the next morning that Margaret Inch- quin had lost her lines. A few weeks later Searelle sent for Fannie Chesbro. In another year she had become his wife. It would be difficult to say on ‘which career she embarked with the more trepidation—that of the leading woman or that of the wife of the towering Searelle. Fannie carried the precious keepsakes—things a char- woman would have swept into a dustbin without a second thought—to her dressing table and sat down. She rested her chin in the palm of a hand and studied her features in the glass. She had been very beautiful in those old days. She was even more beautiful now. But her eyes, in their sharp scrutiny, saw only the lines and hollows, as a mariner sees, in the darkness of a familiar course, signs to which other eyes are blind. During recent years it had become the fashion of critics to style Fannie Chesbro “sweet.” At first it had been like a blow in the face; but gradually, as the yoke of her lord and master became eased through habit, she had come to accept it. Her eyes sought the picture again. Before she knew it, to her lips came a line: “Oh! He's the very height I like a man!” The lilt of the words acted like a drug, reproducing on the instant not only the scene of that first great part she had played but the very spirit of it. She sprang to her feet, her eyes sparkling, her lips wreathing with smiles, all the vivacity of the Fannie Chesbro of other days suddenly con- jured to the surface. The pale shadow was gone. She curtsied with adorable coquetry, addressing the mirror as an imaginary Modus, whom she would teach to love: “You begin With melancholy; then to sadness; then To sickness; then to dying—but not die! She would not let thee, were she of my mind; She'd take compassion on thee. Then for hope; From hope to confidence; from confidence To boldness—then you'd speak; at first entreat; Then urge; then fiout; then argue; then enforce; Make prisoner of her hand; besiege her waist; Threaten her lips with storming; and keep thy word And carry her!” She ceased suddenly. The thin, querulous muttering of Searelle reached her ears through the half-opened transom. With face blanched she hurried to him. He was asleep, mumbling inarticulately. In her mind she could hear the old bell-like tones of his voice, a peculiar quality, which in the beginning had enthralled her and never ceased to cast its spell. And here he lay now, bereft. He had been a god, walking with his head in the clouds; now he was helpless in his affliction. The spirit of woman, the healer, took possession of her; and for a moment she gave herself to tender exultation. She would do for him, be everything to him, against the day when he was himself again—then she would step back into the shadow. Fannie returned to her room and sat for a long time, thinking. Finally she rose, took the desk telephone, and softly dictated a telegram to Heinemann, asking him to send her the manuscript of the new Holt play by messenger in the morning. When Doctor Vossberg arrived late in the morning he found her in the library, turning the typewritten pages. She told him her decision and awaited his comment. “‘ After all,”’ said the old man, “‘one must live one’s own life. When I was a young man I gave up a career in music because it seemed to promise hardship for those dependent on me. Now, in my old age, it seems to me that I have sinned against myself.” At this moment, when the woman’s resolution all but forsook her, Heinemann, miles away in his busy office, was whispering to a handful of critics who had dropped in for news of the cast of the new Holt play. One and all they opened their eyes wide and whistled. “Not a vord!”’ cautioned Heinemann. “It is a sécred.” That was Heinemann’s way of keeping a secret—calling in the gossips and sharing it with them. So the days passed. The first symptom of encourage- ment in Searelle’s condition was his suddenly conceived aversion to see anyone; it was his instinctive pride, which bade him conceal the extent of his affliction. Now he shut himself up in his own apartments, rapt in contemplation of his great idea—among his priceless books and pictures. In his groping for a greater stage splendor, even Fannie and his intimate world all but ceased to exist. “Yes,” said Vossberg to Fannie’s anxious inquiry; “‘it is best to let his mind mend itself in its own way. Something may shock memory back to its perfect poise.” i ATE in the afternoon of that eventful Monday in Feb- ruary, at the National Theater, where The Sea Anchor, “a new play by Amos Holt,”’ was dragging itself wearily through dress rehearsal, Fannie Chesbro drew on her fur

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coat and slipped down from the stage door, past the boxes, into the gloom of the orchestra. The eminent dramatist himself, who had seen his sacred lines torn to rags during the last three weeks, was curled up in a chair, sound asleep. A few rows away and farther to the front sat old Heine- mann, the slavedriver, gurgling noisily at a can of steam- ing coffee that had just been brought in from a street lunch wagon. The stage was set for a smart drawing-room scene; but at the present moment it presented a picture of a finale of some wild bacchanalian revel. Such unfortunates as had been struggling through their lines for the hundredth time, when Heinemann sought solace for the moment in another can of coffee, had fallen in their tracks, seeking a moment’s surcease for their shattered nerves. This thing had been gving on now since ten o'clock; and it was but a continua- tion of a grind of the day before lasting until two in the morning. In three hours more the electric lights out in front, at which the workmen were still tinkering, would be blazing out the news of another opening to the passers-by; and a picked audience, such as made a fad of Holt openings, would be seating themselves and waiting impatiently for the wink of the footlights and the sudden cessation of music to apprise them that another event of the brilliant theatrical season was at hand. And these sprawling, com plaining creatures would be speaking their lines before a deathwatch ready to turn down its thumbs if they per- mitted the theme to lose its gathering tensity for a single instant; before a phalanx of critics prepared to consign them to perdition if for a single moment their art failed to conceal the artifice that was their profession. Fannie worked her way through a row of upturned chairs to the side of old Heinemann, who alone of all the assembly had not lost for a single moment his sense of pro- portion. He had been through this eleventh-hour anguish before, would go through it again and again. It was his trade to take a company of potential stars and knead them into a well-balanced whole; with the manners of a boor and the fiat of a ezar, he ground them, polished them, lashed them with insolent sneers to a point where the mildest felt willing to commit murder. Through it all he consumed copious draughts of vile coffee. At her approach Heinemann turned slightly and regarded her over the rim of his coffee can. He may have noted that she was dressed for the street; if he did he made no sign. He continued pulling at his tipple; and, the can con- sumed, he set it at his feet and clapped hishandssharply. Instantly,asthough stung with a knout, the sprawling fig- ures on the stage pulled themselves together and began mechanically to assume attitudes. Warren Ellis, the leading man, stretched himself, yawned, cursed Heinemann under his breath, then started across whe stage to center. “TI am going to steal an hour now, Heinemann,” began Fannie, assuming a tone of confidence she was far from feeling. “Just to look in on him then I'll be back.” Heinemann apparently did not hear her. He was driving his creatures with a rapid fire of snarls and threats until, in their very desperation, they snapped out their lines with crisp inflection. *“ Again!”’ commanded the old cur- mudgeon; this time he drew out his watch. “Faster yet!” “You are through with me for a little while—I’m going to steal an hour now,” Fannie repeated timidly. Heine- mann was bawling at Ellis: “Quicker! Iss this a Quaker meet- ing—eh? Run up on her—step on her heels—so! Now—once again!” Heinemann was impenetrable to all but what was in progress on the stage. Fannie turned away, beaten. She slipped intoa chair far back in the dark, away from the glow of the stage. Yesterday she had been a prisoner here all day —and to-day again. She had not seen Searelle since Saturday, and then only for a moment. True, he had hardly been conscious of her presence. He was miles and miles away from earth by this time. He had discarded Semiramis, forgotten it; now the idea of a presentation of Marco Polo held his mind. He had even forgotten his afflic- tion. For three weeks it had been like this—almost as though he were in atrance. It had always been the same THE SATURDAY EVENING POST when he was in the throes of an idea; and in this instance it had been a blessed thing for Fannie. He had not even noted her absence, much less required an explanation of it. After a while she rose to her feet and slipped out through the foyer. Heinemann’s car was standing at the curb, his man smoking furiously while he awaited his master. “John, can you take me down there and back in an hour?” Fannie asked as he sprang out at sight of her. “I won't keep you a minute there.” In an instant they were under way. It was bitter cold and the pavements were icy with the film of snow left from the last storm. The machine raced across town, over the bridge, out into the open avenues of Long Island. The necessity of a sudden turn or the quick application of the brakes might have spelled destruction; but Fannie was not thinking of the danger—she was thinking that she was in costume and Searelle might notice it. When they arrived she sprang out and up the steps, and was in Searelle’s presence in a moment. He seemed not to have moved since she last saw him, two days ago. He was attired in the same bizarre dressing gown; he was standing at his high desk littered with books lying open. As she watched him he turned and began to pace the floor in front of the fire, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes on the carpet. She stopped him, held him for a moment; but the sweet, crisp smell of the out-of-doors she brought in with her did not rouse him from his meditations. She pressed her cold lips against his cheek, and released him; and he started again, pacing back and forth, not even turning his head when she gently closed the door behind her. Then began the wild race back to town. Heinemann would be furidéus, she told herself. It lacked only a quarter of eight as they ran along Broadway and finally came to a stop in front of the National. She raised her eyes to the big electric sign and was struck motionless as it greeted her: MES. WORDEN SEARELLE IN THE SEA ANCHOR A New PLay By Amos Hot She entered by the little side door and hurried to her dressing room. Warren Ellis came in to ask her whether

His Wife Repeated Over and Over Again, “This is Fannie — Fannie!" as Though Her Name Must Call Him Back

she had eaten. He was munching at a sandwic! vas his dinner for this night Amos Holt joine as gloomy as a pallbearer. He was softly blaspheming Heinemann had ruined his play—torn the heart out of it; the company was a pack of wolve arling at each othe at the slightest provocation; eve Mr Wir < charming old lady who always played grandmothe had all but bitten off the poor playwright's nose wi addressed to her some innocent remark! The t gw doomed to failure—and it was all Heinemann’'s fau Heinemann, the vandal! Suddenly the music started up; and, with the fir strains, they could hear the scraping of the asbestos fire curtain as it ascended, displaying the drop. A sudden hush came over everything on the stage. The moment was at hand!—the first-night moment, than which there nothing greater in the life of these people The weary, jaded creatures, who the instant before had been grabbing tasteless morsels in lieu of the repast denied them, seemed in a flash to forget their gloom, their raw nerves. They sprang up breathlessly, congregating in knots here and there in the wings to whisper. Eve ry time Heinemann passed near them they were silent, watching him as the master of their destinies. What a privilege it was to work under his tutelage! No one could have handled this situation as Heinemann had! He had balanced each against the other— had given every body a chance; even th most modest parts still preserved their character. So the; told themselves, with fluttering hearts, now that they waited for the curtain to rise and watched the old boor as he tramped round, flat-footed, to see that all was right He gave his final instructions to the stage manager; then departed, Fannie came out and looked at the house through the peephole. This was different from a Searelle audience as light and airy and up-to-the-minute in its distinction as his was cultured and gloomy. In the last seat of the toy most gallery her searching eye discovered the squat figure of Heinemann; it had become his habit lately to watch a new production from afar, letting his creatures flounder through as best they might after he had brought them to the perfection possible to their poor talents. Thestage manager clapped his hands an electrician in a gallery began to throw switches; the stage cleared; and Warren Ellis, as sleek and lithe as a well-groomed colt, walked out, to be discovered when the curtain rose. The music ceased; the hum of voices out side became silent. Then the act was on. Fannie, supporting herself against a wing, felt weak and giddy as the warmth of the house was wafted over the footlightslikeacloud. Her moment was come! To her confused senses she seemed rather to float than to walk into her part. She found herself prompting her self, as though the woman stood apart from the actress. It was eight steps to the spot on the rug where she was to come to a halt and, in surprise, discover the dandy there before her. She reached the spot and stopped. Then the sky seemed to fall. At first it came to her ears like a dull roar in a tunnel. Ther the house beyond the haze of light seemed to boil over. It was acclaiming her! “Steady! Steady! It will pass,” she heard the cautious aside of Warrer Ellis in assuring tones She was herself again; with a barely perceptible acknowledgment of the trib ute, she was in her part. The house as though by magic became hushed. Wit! her first lines she caught the “‘feel’’ of it; this house was hers, to thrill, en trance, make gay, as she liked. Nov again she was Fannie, the sparkling vivacious Fannie of the old day no longer the shadow in some somber tragedy. She projected her lines wit! a trick of enunciation Heinemann had taught her; every word must reac! the most remote corner of the house every tone must have its own shading Her audience must follow her without conscious effort. Holt’s plays invariably had to do with consequences. The situation wa clearly defined in the first few moment and the action, built up line by line, became so intense that an anticlimax seemed inevitable. Butit never came the last moment was the greatest (Continued on Page 49

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST y! SSIA has ¥ been and still is the great inknown specula- August 14, 1915 crumpled that brave advance into a re- treat. So what of Russia? tive quantity in this war. Russia is the eternal question. What will Russia do? they asked a year or more ago What can Russia do? came next. And then, in endless suc- cession, the other queries: How far forward can she go? How far back will she be shoved? What is the real situation? Willshe atick? Can she stick? What of the Czar and his Ger- man wife? How about the intrigants at the top? Hoev about the inepts at the bottom? How about her officers ner guns—-her mu- nitions? Russia? Russia? Russia? I cannot answer the question. I doubt whether there is a man én the world who can an- swer.it. I have searched Russia, France and England rather carefully for an answer, and there is none to be had that is not so com- plicated with ifs and buts and howevers and perhapses as to be a special plea or a guess rather than a solution. There are many opinions; but, next to human life, opinions are the cheapest commodi- ties of these times. As it now stands, human life is the cheapest and the least regarded thing in the world—not You remember the celerity with which Sir Edward Grey, the English Minister for Foreign Affairs, drew up and had signed an agreement among the three Powers that none of them should make a separate peace? He made great haste to get that additional safeguard from Russia, not- withstanding the formal covenant between Russia, France and England. That was not an evidence of lack of faith, of course; but merely a precautionary measure—just a mat- ter of form. England had her doubts—maybe Russia had hers—-but all three signed; and the most popular picture postcard in the three countries is the one on which a fac- simile of that agreement and its signatures is shown. Those triply allied brethren seem comforted by this documentary proof that they will all stick together to the end. In days like these doubt is a natural condition of mind. One is justified in not believing anything one hears and not much that one sees. As for motives—underlying, ulterior, surface or secret--one nation’s motive may be another nation's poison. It is true enough that in ordinary times one never can tell; but in these times one cannot even sur- mise. Wherefore Russia, sitting off there to the east, with her vast territory, her enormous potential resources, her millions and millions of raw-soldier material, has been the continuous conjecture—not because Russia has not done what she could in this first year of the war, but because of her past; because it is very unusual to get new tricks from an old Bear, How Russia Carried Out Germany's War Plans R SSIA began with a smash. Contrary to the ac- cepted military theory, Russia mobilized weeks sooner than it was held she could.. And, in strict ac- cord with the German plan of campaign, Russia went iumbering off toward the west, pushing all before her. There was talk that the soldiers of the Czar would have their Christmas dinners in Berlin. It was magnificent! The Russians swept through Prussian Poland, through Galicia—far into the territory of the enemy. They took cities and ravaged villages, and seemed irresistible. England with her handful of men, and France with her millions, were grimly trying to hold the Germans in check on the western frontier of battle; but here were these Russians, like a tidal wave, advancing and en- guifing the enemy. England was almest hysterical with joy and admira- tion. Her beloved allies, the Russians, would turn the trick. It was true that things were difficult in France and in Belgium; but if the Germans could be held there the Russians would crush them utterly on the other side. lwo years before this war began I happened to be in Berlin. One of my friends—he was killed in this very onrush of the Russians— was a member of the General Staff of Germany at that time. Sitting one afternoon in his rooms, he told me the plan of the German campaign if war came. Its two big features were the quick advance on France and the apparent abandonment of a certain The Czar and the Grand Duke at the Grand Duke's Headquarters portion of the eastern frontier to the Russian advance. The plan was to whip France, and then come back at leisure and attend to Russia. The execution was according to program, but the results were not as planned. England camein. It was not so easy to whip France, but Russia advanced as anticipated and found just as much opposition by the Germans as had been originally contemplated. I have seen no German officers since this war began, but I doubt whether the men who made the plans were depressed in anywhere near similar proportion to the English, French and Russian elation over this Russian advance. Anyhow, all the world knows to some degree what has happened since the spring campaign began in the eastern theater of war. If you will look at the map of that territory and observe where the Russians were at the crest of their advance, and where they were on the twenty-fifth of June, for example, you will see what I mean. The Russians have gone back, kilometer after kilo- meter-—have been beaten back, crushed back, chased back, slaughtered back. They have lost Przemysl after immense toil in getting it. Lemberg has fallen. The Germans have The Czarina and the Heir Apparent only human life as it exists but human life in the future. Both are held in careless disregard. A rifle has more value than the man who shoots it. A high explosive shell is worth a hamlet. A battery of guns is more treasured than a village. “The most important man in the world,” said a Russian Cabinet Minister to me, “is the man who can make or supply munitions of war.” A Land of a Hundred and Fifty Languages HERE is one true thing about this war—one true Rus- sian thing—and that is that this war has knitted that vast, discordant, rebellious, discontented, varied and diver- sified people into a semblance of homogeneity. For the first time there is apparent a sort of Russian nationalism. It would be straining the term to call it patriotism; but there is a new spirit. The dissimilar individualities have, by the process of this war, been harmonized to a degree; and, so far as I could discover, only the Finns remain cold, and only some of the wild tribes in the mountains— not all are turning the conditions to their own brigandous account. Now, to get the entire significance of this, it is neces- sary to consider only two points: The first is the vastly complex character of the Russian people; and the second is the history of the ten years between the end of the Russo-Japanese War and the beginning of this war. Take European Russia, exclusive of Siberia, and you find that it is a vast hive in which are housed people of dissimilar characteristics and races, speaking varied languages and practicing varied :eligions—a titanic ant hill, but with many species of ants. Broadly, we speak of the Russians as Slavs—or basically Slav; but to make an anthropological classification of them would require a series of volumes. To begin with, there are among the Russians themselves three types—the Great Russians, the Little Russians and the White Russians. The Little Russians live in the Ukraine and are purest Slav, though not pure. The Great Russians, owing to Finns intermingling, are the least Slav; but it is well enough to call them all Slav, for that is the root. The Great Russians predominate, followed by the Little Russians and the White Russians. Then come scores of other races—Polish Slavs, Bulgars, Slovaks, Letts, Livonians, Moldavians, Iranians, Jews, Finns, Turko-Tartars, in which are the Kirghiz, the Tartars and the Tchuvashes. In addition there are Georgians, Imeritians, Circassians, and many remnants of Asiatic nomad tribes and Eastern peoples. There are one hun- dred and fifty languages and dialects spoken in Russia, and scores and scores of religions, of which the more important are the Orthodox—or Greek— Church, Roman Catholic, Protestant, Jewish and Mohammedan. This discordant and diversified mass of people, held in uneasy check by the most powerful autocracy of modern times, by military strength, by terrorism and by brute force, represented a vast number of nonfusible elements, placed together ina gigantic test tube. They were there, fe ES ~ an, = eae!

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touching one another, but neither soluble nor assimilable. Realizing this, the first effort of the Russians, when the war came, was to make the mass cohesive. To this end, promises were made to Poland, promises were made to the Jews, and every endeavor was put forth to utilize the inher- ent religious fetishism of the bulk of the population—the Orthodox Russians. It was not necessary to do anything to bring in the Cossacks. Cossack is a term that has wide application in Russia—for they always are soldiers, subject to call and needing but the command to fight valorously for any cause, good or bad. Shrewdly and methodically the impression was made on the people that this is a holy war, and the peasants responded as one man. The priests did their part. The Czar made pilgrimages to the most sacred shrines.

France found in Russia a place to invest and regain the enormous sums lost; and Russia was ripe for the exploita- tion. There was some fear of Germany in it also; but the real causes for this alliance were financial_——not political. There were two controlling reasons for the alliance with England: The first was the necessity for English and Russian codperation against the encroachments of Asia and its peoples, to keep watch on India, on Persia, on Turkey, on all those various states where the new spirit of repub- licanism not only caused the Czar uneasiness but has made things more difficult for the British as well. The second controlling cause was the advance of German competition in the markets once held to be the commercial property of

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 1!

was a scurry and hurry to make Russia signatory to another agreement, which stipulated that the question of peac must be a joint question—not to be considered s« parately It is Russia’s own fault that this old-time dist tinues; that always there is a question about Russia and never an answer, even with this year’s heroism and sacri ‘ust cor fice in the balance on Russia’s side. The reaction in the ten years between 1905, when the first disturbance began, and 1914, when Russia went t war as the ally of France and Great Britain, came to an end about four years ago. The autocracy struggled against it. Promises were broken. Guarantees were disregarded Much blood was shed, but the awakening could not be forestalled. Russia was in a receptive state. The disaster of the Japanes«

All the symbolism and mysticism of the Church were employed, and that had its tremendous effect. To get the full significance of this it must be remembered that the ten years between the disastrous ending of the war with Japan and the stirring of this sense of nationalism, both religiously and civilly, were years of turmoil in Russia. There were times when it seemed as though this torn and tenuous fabric of empire must fall apart of its own weakness of fiber. There were rev- olutions, enormous labor difficulties, much shedding of blood, disasters, social unrest of the most pronounced sort, and a culmination of all the move- ments toward freedom that had hith- erto found their speech and outlet in the activities of the nihilists, the pro- gressivists, the dissenters, the intellec- tuals, the socialists, the thinkers and the incendiaries. A harassed Czar granted a measure of self-government. The bureaucrats were frightened. The secret police was disrupted. Russia

was in the pains of rebirth. Then came this war. It is possible | that Russia welcomed the war. It was | a last -hance to get Russia together. The result must have been gratifying. Broadly speaking, by the supreme fus- ing of war Russia was made fairly cohesive. As I have shown in another article, the fighting men of the nation the peasants— went into this war sing- ing songs and sure of its quality of holiness. There was none of that in the War with Japan. There was neither enthusiasm nor confidence then; but for this war a sort of Russian national spirit was roused, and Russia went out to fight whole-heartedly, enthusiasti- cally and confidently. Russia Made One HE war enabled the Russians in power to put Russia together rather definitely. That is the one thing thus far accomplished. And that, too, gives

rise to the question that is uppermost eitnmaseaieert ——— in the mind of every Russian who has — his country’s welfare at heart, or his own— brings up the most advanced series of queries about Russia; and those queries are these: Can Russia be held together after the war? Will the fusion remain fused? Is there a man in sight big enough for this supreme test of patriotism, ability and honesty? Terrorists prophesy revo- lution, no matter how the war may end. Thinkers predict revolution if the war shall end disastrously for Russia. No man who knows anything of Russia is unconscious of the struggle there will be to hold Russia as Russia—to main- tain the present national status—to keep the advantages of homogeneity now gained. Is this new Russian spirit enduring? Is this patriotism temporary or permanent? Every phase of Russia’s present and future is an interroga- tory, and the answers are speculative— not concrete. Russian statesmanship and Russian good faith have always been objects of suspicion to the rest of Europe. Russia has seventeen thousand miles of frontier and is neighbor to eight nations. It was the opinion of General Kuropatkin in 1900 that the frontiers of Russia in that year were less favorable from a military point of view than they were in 1700. There were two reasons for that: one was the growing strength of the neighbors; the other was the increasing dislike and distrust of Russia. Russian nobil- ity, from the Czar down, has always been reactionary, which makes extraordinary an alliance between monarchical Russia and republican France. That came about because, after the disasters of 1870 and 1871 in France, and the further disaster of the colonial policy of France in order to recoup, which caused the downfall of Ferry’s Ministry,

War had awakened something. This awakening, coming to a people who had had at least a subconscious glimmer of what they might get for themselves took such shape as the conditions de- manded. In reality it went far behind the Japanese War for its beginning; but it needed that to start it definitely The revolution gave the people little that could be put out and counted, but it began a new era. The people ceased to regard themselves as functionless. They realized a sort of individuality; sensed a nationalism. They became a part of Russia instead of being merely Russian because of the chance of en- vironment, The Kaiser's War Movies T IS true that the Russian autocracy felt and knew this. It is also true that they took steps to capitalize this to their own advantage. This war gave them their opening. Germany was strongly predominant in Russia. Ger- many had taken much of Russia's trade arrogantly and without much consider- ation for the temperamental and senti- mental side of the Russians. Germany had grabbed it. That was the way. Germany had made use of every weak- ness of Russian character, of every wickedness of the Russian bureaucracy, of every avenue of potential profit. Germany was astride of Ruasia and riding her roughly, and with spurs. Moreover, Germany was at court, in the person of the wife of the Czar, and Germany had her loyal nobility of the Baltic provinces. Germany had no tact with Ruasia. It is told that when the Czar paid his latest visit to Potsdam a grand ban- quet was given by the Kaiser in honor of the visiting monarch. About one hundred and fifty of the greatest nobles in Germany, in addition to the impos- ing staff of the Czar, were at the ban- quet, and the friendship of the two neighboring nations was toasted by

The Daughter of the Czar in the Costume of a Russian Nurse Great Britain. Germans were advancing commercially— not only in Russia, but in Asia, in China, and in all the far places of the world where British trade had been para- mount. The increase of German exports meant the decrease of English exports. Russia had certain spheres of influence in those territories. Hence, more successfully to resist German competition Russia and Great Britain went into an alliance, for commercial rivalry eventually extended to military and naval rivalry, and both England and Russia needed the consolation and confidence of unity. The Russians, at top, are shrewd men, clever men, geniuses in many ways. They saw how the trade rivalry of Germany and Great Britain might be used to Russia's benefit, and they seized the opportunity. Russia has two congenital and continuous needs: one is trade and the other is money. French writers on political and economic subjects have bitterly complained that France was obliged to pay Russia some two hundred million dollars yearly, in the shape of loans, as a protection against Germany. More- over, there never was in France any feeling of certainty that, in case of war with Germany, Russia would keep her engagements. Of course all that is changed now, for Russia is keeping her engagements right gallantly and to the extent of her ability and resources; but it is still true that Russia needs money. Now then, until this war came the record of the autoc- racy of Russia was unenviable. It had broken promise after promise made to the people. It had not kept faith. With this held in mind, it is not at all remarkable that there

both Czar and Emperor. After the dinner, as an added entertainment for the Czar, the Emperor took the royal visitor and his other guests into a salon where he had arranged a moving-picture show. The Kaiser put on his pictures. There were reels after reels of scenes showing the wonders of the German Army and the German Navy, showing the guns and the munition factories, the perfectly trained troops and the mass of them, the Zeppelins—the whole German paraphernalia for making war. The tre- mendous military strength of Germany was demonstrated in every picture, It was an object lesson for the Czar. “If you fight us, this is the sort of enemy you will meet!” was the sense of it. The Czar was furious; but he had to remain until the last picture was shown. Then the Kaiser asked him what he thought of the German Army and the German Navy and the German guns—and so on. Imagine that for

an evening's entertainment arranged by one monarch for another who not long before had been on the verge of war with an ally of the Emperor who was showing the pictures! The Czar is as much of an opportunist as circumstances will permit. He is an autocrat who desires to retain his autocracy and who will make concessions if he must. His chief difficulty is in his surroundings. He cannot do as he wishes, for his nobility is too powerful for him at times The camarilla of the Russian Court is not without influ- ence. There has always been a strong German influence at the Russian Court. The Czar, as a Russian, knew there was nothing idealistic in Germany's designs on Russia. The Germans were there for purely utilitarian purposes (Continued on Page 45)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Treasure Hu: a es ‘ a - REMEMBER very well when the sailor came to I Highfield. It was the return of the prodigal—a belated return. The hospitalities of the parable did not await him. Old Thorndike Madison was dead. And Charlie Madison, in possession as sole heir, was not pleased to see a lost brother land from a river boat after twenty years of silence. . The law presumes death after seven years, and for twenty Dabney Madison had been counted out of life—counted out by old Thorndike when he left his estate to pass by operation of law to tae surviving son; and counted out by Charlie when he received the title. The imagination of every lad in the Hills was fired by the romantic properties of this event. The negroes carried every detail, and they would have colored it to suit the fancy had not the thing happened in ample color. The estate had gone to rack with Charlie drunk from dawn until midnight. Old Clayborne and Mariah kept the negro quarters, half a mile from the house. Clayborne would put Charlie to bed and then go home to his cabin. in the morning Mariah would come to get his coffee. So Charlie lived after old Thorndike, at ninety, had gone to the graveyard. It was a witch's night when the thing happened—rain and a high wind that wailed and whooped round the pillars and chimneys of the house. The house was set on a high bank above the river, where the swift water, running like a flood, made a sharp bend. It caught the full force of wind and rain. It was old and the timbers creaked. Charlie was drunk. He cried out when he saw the lost brother and got unsteadily on his legs. “You are not Dabney!” he said. ‘‘ You are a picture out of a storybook!” And he laughed in a sort of half terror, like a child before a homemade ghost. “Look at your earrings!” It was a good comment for a man in liquor; for if ever a character stepped out of the pages of a pirate tale, here it was. Dabney had lifted the latch and entered without warn- ing. He had the big frame and the hawk nose of his race. He was in sea-stained sailor clothes, his face white as plaster, a red cloth wound tightly round his head, huge half-moon rings in his ears; and he carried a seaman’s chest on his shoulder. Old Clayberne told the story. Dabney put down his chest carefully, as though it had something precious in it. Then he spoke. “Are you glad to see me, brother?” Charlie was holding on to the table with both hands, his eyes bleared, his mouth gaping. “IT don't see you,” he quavered. Then he turned his head, with a curious duck of the chin, toward the old negro. I don’t see anything—do I?” Dabney came over to the table then; he took up the flask of liquor and a glass. “ August 14,1915 er By Melville Davisson Post ILLUSTRATED Br “‘Clabe,”’ he said, “is this apple whisky?” I have heard the ancient negro tell the story a thousand times. He gave a great shout of recognition. Those words—those five words—settled it. He used to sing this part in a long, nasal chant when he reached it in his tale: “‘Marse Dabney! Oh, my Lord! How many times ain’t a; eit ? “ae oe = % , * , : Bu 7. Dabney Scouted the River With His Glass While the Thing He Feared Came In Through the Swamps Behind Him I heard ’im say dem words—jis’ lak dat: ‘Clabe, is dis apple whisky?’ Dem outlandish clo’s couldn’t fool dis nigger! I'd ’a’ knowed Marse Dabney after dat if he’d been ’parisoned in de garments ob Israel!” But the old negro had Satan’s time with Charlie, who held on to the table and cursed. “You're not Dabney!” he cried. “. . . I know you! You're old Lafitte, the Pirate, who helped General Jackson thrash the British at New Orleans. Grandfather used to tell about you!” He began to cry and blame his grandfather for so vividly impressing the figure that it came up now in his liquor to annoy him. Then he would get his courage and shake a trembling fist across the table. *“You can’t frighten me, Lafitte—curse you! I’ve seen worse things than you over there. I’ve seen the devil, with a spade, digging a grave; and a horsefly, as big as a buz- zard, perched on the highboy, looking at me and calling out to the devil: ‘Dig it deep! We'll bury old Charlie deep’!” Clayborne finally got him to realize that Dabney was a figure in life, in spite of the chalk face under the red headcloth. And then Charlie went into a drunken mania of resent- ment. Dabney was dead—or if he was not dead he ought to be; and he started to the highboy for a dueling pistol. His fury and his drunken curses filled the house. The place belonged to him! He would not divide it. It was the devil’s night. About daybreak the ancient negro got Charlie into bed and the sailor installed in old Thorndike’s room, with a fire and all the attentions of a guest. After that Charlie was strangely quiet. He suffered the intrusion of the sailor with no word. Dabney might have been always in the house for any indication in Charlie’s manner. There was peace; but one was impressed that it was a sort of; armistice. Dabney went over the old estate pretty carefully, but he did not interfere with Charlie’s possession. He laid no claim that anybody heard of. Charlie seemed to watch him. He kept the drink in hand and he grew silent. There seemed no overt reason, old Clayborne said, but presently Dabney began to act like a man in fear. He made friends with the dog, a big old bearhound. He got a fowling piece and set it up by the head of his bed, and finally took the dog into the room with him at night. He kept out of the house by day. One could see him, with a mariner’s glass, striding across the high fields above the river, or perched in the fork of a tree. Hewore the sailor clothes, and the red cloth wound round his head. I am sure my father saw him more than once. I know of one time. He was riding home from a sitting of the county justices. Dabney was walking through the deep broom sedge in the high field beyond the old house. My father FRANK z£. SCHOONOVER called and he came down to the road. He had the mariner’s glass, the sailor clothes and the headcloth. He was not pleased to see my father. He seemed nervous, like a man under some restraint. While my father ta’ :ed he would take three steps straight ahead and then turn back. My father marked it, with a query. “Dabney,” he said, “why do you turn about like that?” The man stopped in his tracks; for amoment he seemed in a sort of frenzied terror. Then he cursed: ‘*Habit—damme, Pendleton!” “And where did you get a habit like that?” said my father. “In a ship,” replied the man. “What sort of ship?” said my father. The sailor hesitated for a moment. ““Now, Pendleton,” he cried finally, “‘what sort of ships are they that sail the Caribee and rendezvous on the Dry Tortugas?” His voice took a strained, wild note. ‘“‘Have they spacious cabins, or does one take three steps thus in the narrow pen of their hold?” My father gathered his chin into his big fingers and looked steadily at the man. “Strange quarters, Dabney,” he said, “for a son of Thorndike Madison.” “Well, Pendleton!” cried the man, “what would you have? It was that or the plank. It’s all very nice to be a gentleman and the son of a gentleman under the pro- tection of Virginia; but off the Bermudas, with the muzzle of a musket pressed into your back and the sea boiling below you—what then?” My father watched the man closely and with a strange expression. “A clean death,” he said, “would be better than God’s vengeance to follow on one’s heels.” The sailor swore a great oath. “God's vengeance!” And he laughed. “I should not care how that followed on my heels. It’s the vengeance cf old Jules le Noir and the damned Britisher, Barrett, following on a man’s heels, that puts ice in the blood. “‘God’s vengeance! Why, Pendleton, a preacher could pray that off in a meetinghouse; but can he pray the half-breed off? Or the broken-nosed Englishman?” The man seemed caught in a current of passion that whirled him headlong into indiscretions from which a saner mood would have steered him clear. “The Spanish Main is not Virginia!"’ he cried. “‘One does not live the life of a gentleman on it. Loot and murder are not the pastimes of a gentleman. The Spanish Main is not safe. But is Virginia safe? Is any spot safe? Eh, Pendleton? Show it to me if you knowit!” And he plunged off into the deep broom sedge. So it came about that an evil Frenchman with a cutlass in his teeth, and a vile old rum-soaked creature with a broken nose and a brace of pistols, got entangled ir. the common fancy with Dabney’s legend. Everybody in the Hills thought something was going to happen; but the wild thing that did happen came sooner than anybody thought. One morning at sunrise a negro house boy ran in, out of breath, to say that old Clayborne had gone by at a gallop on his way to the lawyer, Mr. Lewis, and shouted for my father to come to Highfield. Mr. Lewis had the nearer road; but my father met him at the Madison door and the two men went into the house together. Old Charlie was sober; but he was drinking raw liquor and doing his best to get drunk. His face was ghastly, and his hands shook so that he could keep only a few spoonfuls of the white brandy in his big tumbler. My father said that if ever the terror of the damned was on a human creature in this world it was on old Charlie. It was some time before they could get at what had happened. It was of no use to bother with Charlie until

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i x > oe — a one re ee ‘ i the liquor should begin to steady him. His loose underlip jerked and every faculty he could muster was massed on the one labor of getting the brandy to his mouth. Old Mariah sat in the kitchen, with her apron over her head, rocking on the four legs of a split-bottomed chair. She was worse than useless. My father and Mr. Lewis had got some things out of Clayborne on the way. There had been nothing to indicate the thing that night. Dabney had gone into old Thorn- dike’s room, as usual, with the dog. Old Clayborne had put Charlie to bed drunk, snuffed out the candles and departed to his cabin, half a mile away. That was all old Clayborne could tell of the night before. Perhaps the ailor seemed a little more in fear than usual, and perhaps Charlie was a little more in liquor; but he could not be sure on those questions of degree. The sailor lately seemed to be in constant fear and Charlie had got back at his liquor with an increased and abandoned indulgence. What happened after that my father and Mr. Lewis could see for themselves better than Clayborne could tell it. Old Thorndike’s room, like the other rooms of the house, had a door that opened on a long covered porch, facing the river. This door now stood open. The ancient rusted lock plate, with its screws, was hanging to the frame. There were no marks of violence on the door. The sailor was gone. His pillow and the bedclothes were soaked with blood. All his clothes, including the red headcloth, were lying neatly folded on the arm of a chair. The sailor’s chest stood open and empty. There was a little sprinkling of blood drops from the bed to the door and into the weeds outside, but no blood anywhere else in the room. And from there, directly in a line to the river, the weeds and grass had been trampled. The ground was hard and dry, and no one could say how many persons had gone that way from the house. The dog lay just inside the door of the room, with his throat cut. It was the slash of a knife with the edge of a razor, for the dog’s head was nearly severed from the neck. It was noiseless, swift work— incredibly noiseless and swift. Dabney had not wakened, for the fowling piece stood unmoved at the head of the bed. When the door swung open somebody had caught the dog’s muzzle and slipped the knife across his throat and then the rest. “It must have happened that way,”’ Mr. Lewis said. At any rate, the unwelcome sailor was gone. He had arrived in an abundance of mystery and he had departed in it, though where he went was clear enough. The great river, swinging round the high point of land, swallowed what it got. A lost swimmer in that deadly water was sometimes found miles below, months later—-or, rather, a hideous, unrecognizable human flotsam that the Hills accepted for the dead man. The means, too, were not without the indication Dabney had given in his wild talk to my father. Besides, the negroes had seen a figure--or more than one—at dusk, about an abandoned tobacco house beyond the great meadow on the land- ward side of Highfield. It was a tumble- down old structure astrip of bush between the line of the meadow and the acres of morass beyond it—called swamps in the South. ae _ n It was ghost land haunted, the negroes said; and so what moved there before the tragedy, behind the great elm at the edge of the meadow, old Clayborne had seen only ata distance, with no wish to spy on it. Was it the inevita- ble irony of chance that Dabney scouted the river with his glass while the thing he feared came in through the swamps behind him? By the time my father and Mr. Lewis had got these evidences assembled the liquor had steadied Charlie. At first he pretended to know nothing at all about the affair. He had not wakened, and had heard nothing until the cries of old Mariah filled the house with bedlam. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Mr. Lewis said he had never seen my father so pro- foundly puzzled; he sat down in old Charlie's room, silent, with his keen, strong-featured face as immovable as wood. But the lawyer saw light in a crevice of the mystery and he drove directly at it, with no pretensior “Charlie,” he said, “‘ you were not pleased to see Dabney turn up!” The drunken creature did not lie. “No; I didn’t want to see him.” “Why not?” * Because I thought he was dead.” “Because you did not wish to divide your father’s estate with him—wasn’t that it?” “Well, it was all mine—wasn't it—if Dabney was dead?” The lawyer went on: “You tried to shoot Dabney on the night he arrived!" “T don’t know,” said Charlie. “I was drunk. Ask Clabe.” The man was in terror; but he kept his head— that was clear as light. “‘Dabney knew he was in danger here, didn’t he?” “Yes; he did,” said Charlie. “And he was in fear?” “Yes,” said Charlie—“‘damnably in fear!” “Of you!” cried the lawyer with a sudden, aggressive menace. “Me?” Old Charlie looked strangely at the man. “Why, no—not me!” “Of what, then?” said Mr. Lewis. Old Charlie wavered; he got another measure of the brandy in him. “Well,” he said, “it was encugh to be afraid of. Look what it did to him!” Mr. Lewis got up, then, and stood over against the man across the table. “You Madisons are all big men. Now listen to me! It required force to break that door in, and yet there is no mark on the door; that means somebody broke it in with the pressure of his shoulder, softly. And there is another thing, Charlie, that you have got te face: Dabney was killed in his bed while asleep. The dog in the room did not make a sound. Why?” The face of the drunken man took on a strange, per- plexed expression. “That's so, Lewis,” he said; “and it’s strange—it’s damned strange!” ““Not so very strange,” replied the lawyer. “Why not?” said Charlie. “Because the dog knew the man who did that work in your father’s room!” And again, with menace and vigor, the lawyer, Mr. Lewis, drove at the shaken drunkard: “Where's the knife Dabney was killed with?” Then, against all belief, against all expectation in the men, old Charlie fumbled in a drawer beside him and laid a knife on the table. Mr. Lewis gasped at the unbelievable success of his driven query, and my father rose and joined him. They looked closely at the knife. It was the common butcher knife of the countryside, made by a smith from a worn-out file and to be found in any kitchen; but it was ground to the point, and whetted to the hair-shearing edge of a razor. “Look on the handle!” said Charlie. They looked. And there, burned in the wood crudely, like the imitative undertaking of a child, was a skull and crossbones. , Where did y yu get this knife fathe “It was sticking here in my y ! eside my bed, when I woke up " a wit! nyger nail the narrow hole in the ms l where the point of the knife had been for: And s wa under it.’ He stooped again t » the drawer an p a sheet ap on the table before the astor It was a ge of foolscap, with words printed in blood by the point of ‘ knife: “Chest empty! Put t sand in gold-—« meadow. Or the same to you! And there was the puncture in the center of the sheet where the point of the knife had gone throug! My father laid it on the table, over the narrow hole in the mahog \ board, and pressed it down with the knife. The point fitted into the paper and the board } There was blood on the knife : and the gruesome t ng thus reset, very nearly threw old Charlie back into the panic of terror out of which the brandy had helped hir His fingers twitched, and he kept puffing out his loos underlip like a child laboring to hold back his emot He went at the bran ly bottle nd the tale he fina got out was the wildest lie anybody ever put forward his own defense f it was a lie. That was the point judge. And this was Mr. Lewis’ estimate at the time ; Charlie said that, to cap all of Dabney’s strange act about a week before this night he asked for a thousand dollars. Charlie told him to go to hell. He said Dabne did not resent either the refusal or the harsh words of it He simply sat still and began to take on an appearance of fear that sent old Charlie, tumbler in hand, straight to his liquor bottle. Dabney beg for money; “Where was I to get a thousand dollars?"’ he queried in kept coming in every day or two varlie got drunk to es« ape the thing the tale to my father and the lawyer, Mr. Lewis He said the day before the tragedy was the worst. Dab ney got at him in terror for the money. He must have it to save his life, he went on desperately, Charlie said. And then he ried! Charlie spat violently at the recollection. There was something gruesome, helpless and awful in the memory in the way Dabney quaked; the tears, and the jingle of the earrings; all the appearance of the man so set to a part of brutal courage—and this shattering fear! The flapping of the big half-moon earrings against the man's white quiver ing jow ls was the worst, Charlie said Mr. Lewi thought old Charlie colored the thir g if he was lying about it If it was the truth the delusions of liquor would account for these overdrawn impressions At any rate, the lawyer promptly spoke out what he thought “Charlie,” he said, “you're trying to stage a sea yarn by the penny writers. It won't do!” The man reflected, looking Mr. Lewis in the face “Why, yes,” he said; “you're right—that’s what it sounds like. But it isn’t that. It’s the truth.”” And he turned to my father You know it’s the truth, Pendleton.’ Mr. Lewis said that just here, at this point in the affair, all the Continued on Page 53 The Tate He Finally Got Out Was the Wiidest Lie Anybody Ever Put Forward in His Own Defense —if it Was a Lie

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 14,1915 eo Owen How the Motion-Picture Photographer Turns Things Topsy-Turvy FEW years ago, when moving-picture pro- duction was yet in its infancy, news dis- patches set forth the fact that a young woman, a member of an English company of motion-picture actors, had been killed by an engine used in a motion-picture scene. As a part if the plot, stated the dispatch, the young actress was to have been scooped from the rails by the hero, who stood on the pilot of a swiftly ap- proaching engine. At the crucial instant the hero failed to secure a firm hold on the heroine and she was crushed beneath the wheels of the engine. Behind the tragedy lies a story. As is usual in many lines of endeavor, Amer- icans always have set and still continue to set the pace in the production of moving-picture “thrillers.” The rescue that failed and the con- sequent killing of the young Englishwoman resulted from the effort of an English motion- picture imitate an American photoplay stunt with similar action. A few months before the English tragedy an American company of screen, players had depicted in film the rescue of a young woman from in front of a speeding engine by the hero, who stood on the The film was ultimately shown in England, with the result that the producing director of the English company decided to produce a picture with a similar scene. “Tf the Americans can do it, we can do it too!” declared the director of the English group of players Though the determination not to be outdone by an alien may have been commendable, the failure of the English director first to find out how the Americans performed the feat justi- fies condemnation, because such failure resulted in the snuffing out of a human life. As a prelude to the filming of the fatal rescue scene the young Englishman who was to play producer to cowcatcher. “coast” through the stretch of track within the camera’s limits. Because smoke would give the impression of speed, the director decided on waiting for propitious winds. The final picture showed the smoke strung out over the engine—but, to a close observer, it was still going inte the smokestack instead of out of it. The only alternative here was to hope that the action of the picture would be so en- thralling that attention would be centered on the hero and the heroine. In this way the atten- tion of future audiences before which the finished picture would be shown was drawn away from the defect. To the French must be accorded credit for pioneering the way in illusion or trick camera work. When motion pictures were interesting solely as a new invention, and the stories they depicted were not redundant with opaqueness of theme, one exhibitor commenced amusing the public with strange tricks of the camera. He first showed a horse galloping backward down the street, with a mob of pedestrians in pursuit, also traveling backward. By way of diversion the horse would suddenly cease its backward flight and, reversing its form of nimble-footedness, dash madly in pursuit of the pedestrians. The ludicrousness was comedy It was not done for the purpose of deceiving, but to create laughs. Funny Deceptions and Illusions ROM the ludicrous sprang illusion photog- raphy, which was intended to deceive. Work ing upon this nucleus, motion-picture camera operators have developed trick photography into anart. There are few things or effects the camera man cannot produce on the screen if given time and a modicum of makeshift materials. Be it a the rdle of hero put in a solid day clinging to the ” pilot of a moving engine and in picking up a durnmy figure of a woman from the track as the engine swept down on it. The precaution was taken to have the dummy of the same size, shape and weight as the young woman who later was to be rescued. All went well in practice and the moving-picture camera was finally set in place and the girl ordered to cast herself across the rails. The signal was given. The engine, with the hero bent low in front of the pilot, came rapidly toward the prostrate girl. The news dispatches are sufficient description of the ending. The oid saw that necessity is the mother of invention was the contributing factor aiding Americans in finding a way to film the same scene with the elements of danger entirely eliminated An American photoplay actress cast for the part of the heroine who lies prostrate on the railroad track refused at the last instant to endanger her life even for the sake of because she was a star of such scintillating his- trionic ability that she could not be replaced, but because base commercialism was the contributing cause to the invention of another means of rescue. Several hundred feet of film had already been taken of scenes in which the young leading woman had occupied the center of the stage. Because the summary dismissal of the recalcitrant heroine and the substitution of another young Woman, more amenable to orders, would have ne- cessitated the retaking of all previous scenes, and because at that time film was a costly item, it was up to the pro- ducing director to find another way of producing rescue effects without a real rescue. art not The Thrilling Rescue Reversed HE director, nonplused for an effective alternative, sonsulted with his camera operator. The camera man had experimented in film causes and effects. Hestudied the problem briefly and then offered a solution. Here is the way the American heroine was depicted as the subject of a thrilling rescue without having to endanger herself: “We will first reverse the film in the camera and then we will reverse all the action in the scene,”’ said the camera man. “We'll have to rehearse it a lot to make it look smooth.” The engine, which originally was to have passed through the picture from ieft to right, was taken outside camera bounds on the right. The hero and heroine both climbed on the pilot, and then the hero held the heroine in his arms PHOTOPLAYE®S’ STUDIO, LOS ANGELES Dreams, Visions, More Than Half a Hundred Different Effects, Can Had by the Clever Use of Double Exposure in the same way he would have done had he just scooped her from the rails. At a signal the engine started to back slowly across the camera’s radius. Meantime the camera man was slowly running the film through his camera backward. At a given point, with the engine running slowly enough to preclude serious bruises, the hero bent low and dropped the heroine gently across the rails. Then he continued bent over, going through, backward, the same motions that would be taken by a man preparing to scoop a young woman from the path of a speeding engine. “We've taken it backward,” said the cameraman. ‘ Now when we reverse the film it will show the engine coming on, pilot first, and the hero leaning from the front of the pilot. He will pick up the girl and the engine will go on through the scene, with him holding her. I cranked slowly, so that when the projecting machine shows the picture at ordinary speed it will look as though the engine is doing thirty miles an hour or better.” Meantime the actress lay across the tracks and the means of getting her there must be accounted for. The scenario plot provided that she should be placed on the tracks and left there by three hirelings of the villain. More backward action! After numerous rehearsals to get the necessary smooth- ness of action, they came into the picture walking backward ana picked up the supposedly unconscious girl; then, carry- ing her, they backed out of the picture. Reversed, the film showed them walking to the railroad tracks, carrying the girl, laying her on the rails, and then walking out of the picture, with their backs to the camera. Because small things are often big factors in motion- picture photography, and particularly in such work as the foregoing, a slight mistake or an oversight may completely ruin the entire effect of a clever piece of film illusion. As it affords an illustration we will tell why this same scene had to be retaken. The wind was in the wrong direction. The first reversed picture of the rescue showed the smoke from the engine’s funnel strung out ahead of the engine. The smoke clouds, also, were going into the funnel instead of out of it. It detracted from the realistic qualities of the action. Two alternatives were open to the director in making a retake—either to utilize a time when a strong wind was blowing in the same direction in which the engine was backing through the picture, or to wait for a period of perfect calm in atmospheric conditions and have the engine voleano spouting lava and flames, or a human body hurtling through the air from a great height, or the blowing up of the Capitol Build- ing at Washington—the skillful and inventive manipula- tor of the motion-picture camera will produce a finished picture that will deceive completely the layman onlooker who is not familiar with the wide scope of photography. Classified, there are six different varieties of illusion or trick camera work. Utilizing one or more of them, it is possible to get almost any desired result on the screen. They are: 1—Double or multiple exposure on the same piece of film—the most frequently used method. 2— Reversing the film. The performers also reverse their actions. The film, after development, is again reversed as it is run through the projecting machine. 3—The use of miniature models or replicas instead of life-size subjects. 4—Cutting objects from one film and arranging them on another. 5—The illusion in perspective, or the destroying of the correct perspective and making the subjects appear in grotesque relative proportions. 6—Discarding sections of film or stopping the camera, causing objects to jump on and off the screen as though by magic; and the stopping of the camera while objects are moved about—used in the producing of comedy pen drawings. There are few pictures in which the first-named method double exposure—is not utilized. Dreams, visions, the depiction of dual 76les—in fact, more than half a hundred different effects—can be had by the clever use of this medium. It is used largely for explanatory purpose—to let the audience know more clearly the trend of the story and the thoughts of the character or characters therein. The double or multiple exposure is most commonly used in conjuring up visions or in portraying dreams. The actor is usually seen lying down, or he may be sitting before a fireplace. He is thinking of his sweetheart or his mother or some other person. Slowly into the picture—usually in one of the upper corners—comes the subject of his thoughts. Tf he is before a fireplace in which the flames are leaping from a cozy-looking log fire, the sweetheart or mother may appear among the flames. Sometimes the entire screen surface will be given over to the vision, the actor slowly fading out and the vision, first indistinctly and then clearly, taking his place. At other times tie vision may be confined to an upper corner of the screen, or it may appear on so small a space as a wineglass or on the surface of a letter the actor may hold in his hand. ee eS ee

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al eee ute eee

The effect is produced by masking the spot on the film where the vision is to appear while the remainder of the film surface is being exposed; by increasing and then slow- ing down the speed with which the camera crank is turned; and by the judicious use of lighting effects. For the purpose of illustration we will take a man sitting at his desk in his office. His thoughts turn to his two chil- dren at home. For explanatory purposes the director desires to show the trend of the man’s thoughts. The cam- era operator takes several feet of film showing him as he sits at his desk. Then he increases the speed of the camera crank, at the same time commencing to mask a small por- tion of the picture. The speed of the crank continues to increase and at the same time the film surface continues to be masked until the whole surface is covered. Several feet of unexposed film are run through the camera and then the unmasking process commences, the crank-turning gradually diminishing in speed. The outcome of this series of operations will result in the film’s showing the man sitting in his office, first clearly and then indistinctly; then fading entirely from view some blank film—and then slowly appearing again until the picture is clear and distinct. The first stage of the double exposure has now been completed. The camera is shifted to where the actor has meantime seated himself, with the two children on his lap. The camera man secures a focus that shows the trio in an upper corner of the picture. Meantime the film has been rewound back to the point where the man in his office was first started. The only portion of the film surface exposed when the camera is started is the upper corner where the man and the children appear. The operator commences turning the crank at a frenzied speed, gradually slowing down to an ordinary exposure gait, continuing this for a certain film footage, and then gradually increasing the cranking speed again. At the same time he has commenced unmasking the entire film surface by degrees. He then slows down and recommences the masking process. “he finished product now, when developed, will show the man in his office, then the appearance of himself and two children in the upper corner, the gradual fading-out of the office scene and the substitution therefor of himself and the children, and then another fading-out, gradually coming back to the office scene. The Intricacies of Count Work D JUBLE and multiple exposure are instanced in the play- ing of a dual réle in the same scene by one person. Two men identically alike may be seen shaking hands or quarrel- ing. A split-second watch and a mask that covers half of the film surface are integral parts of the scheme. The layman in the audience believes that two men, exactly alike, have appeared in the scene; and, for unexplained reasons, motion-picture directors are prone to let him think so. In the parlance of the camera operator this is what is known as “‘count work” and it is exceedingly diffi- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST strikes the table with his fist, refuses to listen, becomes aggressive, and finally reaches for his pistol. Each move- ment is timed to the fraction of a second. For instance, at “‘one”’ he strikes the table; at “two” he refuses to listen; at “three” he assumes an aggressive attitude, gradually working up to the point—say, at “ten” for his pistol, attempts to draw it, and then lets it slide back into its holster. Every movement, gesture and facial expression has been recorded mentally to the fraction of a second by the director. Now for the other half of the picture: The actor goes to the other side of the table. The mask over the film surface is switched anc the action commences. There he goes through another prescribed program that will key perfectly with that already taken on the other half of the film. He argues, pleads, insists—by split-second schedule—and at the count of ten draws his pistol and covers an imaginary opponent. The film, when developed, shows concordance of action between the two men, identically alike in appear- ance. Any defects in the center of the film, which may come from a slight difference in lighting conditions during the two periods of exposure, are retouched, and the finished film when projected on the screen appears to have been exposed under ordinary picture-taking conditions. The same procedure is followed when a man is to be shown shaking hands with himself. First on one side of the film and then on the other every motion and expression is timed in its sequence. The result is that at a given time say, “seven”—the two hands have met; at “eight,” clasped; at “nine,”” moved upward—and so on. The second variety of illusion—the reversing of the film as it goes through the camera and the reversing of the action of the performers— is aptly illustrated by the rescue of the girl from the rails by the hero on the engine pilot. Of course the desired effects depend on the rereversing of the film as it goes through the projecting machine. Another instance of this backward method is had in making a screen character slide up a tree or telegraph pole. You have probably seen it done. The actor slides up a pole with a smoothness and celerity which lead to the suspicion that he is attached to an unseen rope or wire. The film has been run backward through the camera and he has been photographed as he slides down the pole. Reversed, it shows him going up. The third method—the use of miniature models or replicas instead of the real subjects—is commonly used in depicting railroad wrecks, explosions, fires, and other kinds of thrilling scenes where the cost of a genuine subject for destruction is too great to be thought of. Suggestion—or the establishing of one certain viewpoint in the minds of the audience—is an important factor. For instance, a bridge is to be dynamited and then a passenger train is to plunge through the wrecked bridge to the river below. A genuine bridge is first used. A boat approaches and two men climb from it to the trestlework above. A “close-up” shows them planting the dynamite. They where he reaches

descend from the bridge, enter the boat and row awa The two views of the bridge showing the dynamite approaching and going away are from identica the same angle—that certain view of the bridge is to be established in the minds of the audience For the purpose re firmly establishing it, three or four “flashbacks” from th« same angle are secured Meantime an exact re plica of the genuine | g ha been made and set up in miniature surroundings ident with those of the large bridge The earth embar are the same; the bushes along the river shore are thé same—the effort at realism is even carried to the po having a tiny river flowing below. Railroad tracks lead up to the bridge. In connection with the producing of railroad wr: is well to explain that practically all film-manufacturi companies are well supplied with wreck scenes. Whenev a railroad smash-up occurs within a hundred miles of a studio a camera man is immediately dispatched to t scene; and he “shoots” everything worth while. These scenes are developed and stored away for future use. When

a story with a railroad wreck therein is to be produced they are resurrected, and from them are garnered such parts a will fit in and, at the same time, give the tinge of unques tionable realism. Railroad Wrecks in Miniature ITH the bridge duplicated in replica, the only obstacle to overcome, before the explosion takes place and tix train hurtles into the river bed below, is the providing of the train that is to be wrecked, It re ally does not assume the importance of being termed an obstacle. Life-size rolling stock —even a few antiquated box cars—cost too much to be given serious consideration. In lieu thereof the directo: calls on the property room to provide an engine and

coaches. Though of toy size, they are replicas of the t compounds and steel Pullmans featured in railroad adver tising. With miniature bridge and miniature train ready the director is ready to proceed. It is done as follow Views of the life-size bridge already having been secure from a certain angle, the camera operator adjusts | machine so that the miniature bridge appears of th« size on the film surface and with the same perspective The miniature engine and train are kept out of the pictur until the crucial instant. The toy bridge is blown up and the chasm yawns for what is to follow. By hand power engine and train are shoved into the scene; they plung through the wrecked bridge and into the river below To the reader this may appear to be crude and subj to quick detection; but again the art of suggestion cor into play. In the interval between the time the bridge is blown up and the train is wrecked there will be inserted one or more flashes showing a real engine and train of coaches speeding toward the camera. As an aftermath t the wreck there will be scenes from a real railroad wrec! showing splintered and tel ea oped coaches, twisted

cult. Again, for purposes of explanation we must have the trend of the story that is being filmed: Twin brothers—one a ne’er-do- well and the other of the prescribed hero type—are to appear in the same scene, one man depicting both rdles. The villainous one, after quarreling, at- tempts to draw his pistol and is “beaten to it” by the righteously inclined brother. During the scene there are many gestures and facial expressions reg- istered by each participant in the quarrel and conse- quent gunplay; and these gestures and expressions must be either in unison or in such perfect continuity that they will not make the finished picture appear absurd. Here is how it is done: The actor takes his place on one side of a table or other piece of furniture, which stands exactly in the center of the picture. The director, split-second watch in hand, is alongside the camera man. At a given signal the actor com- mences a prescribed for- mula of action. He talks

PLAYERS STL LOS Ae to an imaginary opponent, Doubdie and Muitipie Exposure are Instanced in the Playing of a Duai Role in the Same Scene by One Person

steel, and other evidence of a genuine catastrophe When showr or the screen the finished article will first show the genuine bridge, the appearance of the boat, the planting of the dynamite, the esca of the dynamite r speeding along, a flasl the bridge, another flasl of the speeding train, the blowing up of the bridg« another flash of the peed

ing train, a lash of t} wrecked bridge, the train coming directly toward the camera, and then the bridg« as the train plunges throug! it. The finale shows the smashed and splintered Com hes. Camera men refer to the fourth method ting and patching.” | consists in cutting « from one piece of exposed negative and arranging them on another piece exposed negative it be used to illustrate ar automobile dashing acru railroad track ist front of a speeding expr train, pieces ol a | flying through the air after an explosion the genulme explosion sending too .ast for the camera t« (Continued on Page 3C

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 14, 1915 By Pelham Grenville Wodehouse FLELU STRATE DO XI — (Continued) [ ) reson to-day Aline would have resented the suggestion that she was in love with George. She liked to be with him, partly because he was so easy to talk to and partly be- cause it was exciting to be continually resisting the will power he made no secret of trving to exercise. But to-day there was a difference. She had sus- pected it at luncheon and she realized it now. As she looked down at him x from behind the curtain, and marked ha his air of gloom, she could no longer disguise it from herself. She felt maternal—horribly maternal. trouble and she wanted to comfort him. Freddie, too, was in trouble. But did she want to com- fort Freddie? No. On the contrary, she was already regretting her promise, so lightly given before luncheon, to go and sit with him that afternoon. A well-marked feeling of annoyance that he had been so silly as to tumble downstairs and sprain his ankle was her chief sentiment respecting Freddie. George Emerson continued to perambulate and Aline continued to watch him. At last she could endure it no longer. She gathered up her letters, stacked them in a corner of the dressing table and left the room. George had reached the end of the terrace and turned when she began to descend the stone steps outside the front door. He quickened his pace as he caught sight of her. He halted before her and surveyed her morosely. “I have been looking for you,” he said. “And here Iam. Cheer up, George! Whatever is the matter? I’ve been sitting in my room looking at you, and you have been simply prowling. What has gone wrong?” “Everything!” “How do you mean—everything?” “Exactly what I say. I’m done for. Read this.” Aline took the yellow slip of paper. “‘A cable,” added George. “I got it this morning—mailed on from my rooms in London. Read it.” “I’m trying to. It doesn’t seem to make sense. George laughed grimly. “It makes sense all right.” “TI don’t see how you can say that. ‘Meredith elephant kangaroo on “Office ‘Seriously ie a y ¥ id “+h | : fe’ j i George was in cipher; I was forgetting. ‘Elephant’ means ill and unable to attend to duty.’ Meredith is one of the partners in my firm in New York.” “Oh, I'm so sorry! Do you think he is very sick? Are you very fond of Mr. Meredith?” “* Meredith is a good fellow and I like him; but if it were simply a matter of his being ill I'm afraid I could manage to bear up. Unfortunately ‘kangaroo’ means ‘Return, without fail, by the next boat.’” “You must return by the next boat?” Aline looked at him, in her eyes a slow-growing comprehension of the situ- ation. “Oh!” she said at length. “| put it stronger than that,” said George. “But—the next boat That means on Wednesday.” “Wednesday morning, from Southampton. I shall have to leave here to-morrow.” Aline’s eyes were fixed on the blue hills across the val- ley, but she did not see them. There was a mist between. She was feeling crushed and ill-treated and lonely. It was as though George were already gone and she left alone in an alien land. “But, George!" she said; she could find no other words for her protest against the inevitable. “It's bad luck,” said Emerson quietly; “but I shouldn’t wonder if it was the best thing that really could have hap- pened. It finishes me cleanly, instead of letting me drag on and make both of us miserable. If this cable hadn’t come I suppose I should have gone on bothering you up to the Br F. R. “They're All Alike, These Girts —Every One of Them” day of your wedding. I should have fancied, to the last moment, that there was a chance for me; but this ends me with one punch. “Even I haven’t the nerve to imagine that I can work a miracle in the few hours before the train leaves to-morrow. I must just make the best of it. If we ever meet again though I don’t see why we should—you will be married. My particular brand of mental suggestion doesn’t work at long range. I shan’t hope to influence you by telepathy.” He leaned on the balustrade at her side and spoke in a low, level voice. “This thing,” he said, “coming as a shock, coming out of the blue sky without warning— Meredith is the last man in the world you would expect to crack up; he looked as fit as a dray horse the last time I saw him—somehow seems to have hammered a certain amount of sense into me. Odd it never struck me before; but I suppose I have been about the most bumptious, conceited fool that ever happened. “Why I should have imagined that there was a sort of irresistible fascina- tion in me, which was bound to make you break off your engagement and up- set the whole uni- verse simply to win the wonderful re- ward of marrying me, is more than I can understand. I sup- pose it takes a shock to make a fellow see exactly what he really amounts to. I couldn’t think any more of you than I do; but, if I could, the way you have put up with my mouthing and swag- gering and posing as a sort of super- man would make me doit. You have been wonderful!” Aline could not speak. She felt as though her whole world had been turned upside down in the last quarter of an hour. This was a new George Emer- son, a George at whom it was impos- sible to laugh, an in- sidiously attractive George. Her heart “Br— Freddie, My Dear Boy, I Fear We Have a Painful — er — Duty te Perform" beat quickly. Her mind was not clear; but dimly she realized that he had pulled down her chief barrier of defense and that she was more open to attack than she had ever been. Obstinacy, the automatic desire to resist the pressure of a will that attempted to overcome her own, had kept her cool and level-headed in the past. With master- fulness she had been able to cope. Humility was another thing altogether. Soft-heartedness was Aline’s weakness. She had never clearly recognized it, but it had been partly pity that had induced her to accept Freddie; he had seemed so down- trodden and sorry for himself during those autumn days when they had first met. Prudence warned her that strange things might happen if once she allowed herself to pity George Emerson. The silence lengthened. Aline could find nothing to say. In her present mood there was danger in speech. ““We have known each other so long,”’ said Emerson, “and I have told you so often that I love you, we have come to make almost a joke of it, as though we were play- ing some game. It just happens that that is our way to laugh at things; but I am gcing to say it once again, even though it has come to be a sort of catch phrase. I love you! I’m reconciled to the fact that I am done for, out of the running, and that you are going to marry somebody else; but I am not going to stop loving you. “It isn’t a question of whether I should be happier if I forgot you. I can’t doit! It’s just an impossibility—and that’s all there is to it. Whatever I may be to you, you are part of me, and you always will be part of me. I might just as well try to go on living without breathing as living withoutlovingyou.” He stopped and straightened him- self. “That’s all! I don’t want to spoil a perfectly good spring afternoon for you by pulling out the tragic stop. I had to say all that; but it’s the last time. It shan’t occur again. There will be no tragedy when I step into the train to-morrow. Is there any chance that you might come and see me off?” Aline nodded. “You will? That will be splendid! Now I’Il goand pack and break it to my host that I must leave him. I expect it will be news to him that I am here. I doubt whether he knows me by sight.” Aline stood where he had left her, .. 2 ee he tt |

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i 4 nS ge ne leaning on the balustrade. In the fullness of time there came to her the recollection that she had promised Freddie that shortly after luncheon she would sit with him. The Honorable Freddie, draped in purple pyjamas and propped up with many pillows, was lying in bed, reading Gridley Quayle, Investigator. Aline’s entrance occurred at a peculiarly poignant moment in the story and gave him a feeling of having been brought violently to earth from a flight in the clouds. It is not often an author has the good fortune to grip a reader as the author of Gridley Quayle gripped Freddie. One of the results of his absorbed mood was that he greeted Aline with a stare of an even glassier quality than usual. His eyes were by nature a trifle prominent; and te Aline, in the overstrung condition in which her talk with George Emer- son had left her, they seemed to bulge at her like a snail’s. A man seldom looks his best in bed, and to Aline, see- ing him for the first time at this disadvan- tage, the Honorable Freddie seemed quite repulsive. It was with a feeling of positive panic that she won- dered whether he would want her to kiss him. Freddie made nosuch demand. He was not one of your demonstra- tive lovers. He con- tented himself with rolling over in bed and dropping his lower jaw. “Hello, Aline!” Aline sat down on the edge of the bed. “Well, Freddie?” Her betrothed im- proved his appearance a little by hitching up hislower jaw. Asthough feeling that would be too extreme a meas- ure, he did not close his mouth altogether; but hediminishedtheabyss. The Honorable Freddie belonged to the class of persons who move through life with their mouths always restfully open. It seemed to Aline that on this particular afternoon a strange dumbness had de- scended on her. She had been unable to + speak to George and now she could not think of anything to say to Freddie. She looked at him and he looked at her; and the clock on the mantelpiece went on ticking. “Tt was that bally cat of Aunt Ann’s,” said ‘Freddie at length, essaying light conversa- tion. “‘It came legging it up the stairs and I took the most frightful toss. I hate cats! Do you hate cats? I knew a fellow in London who couldn’t stand cats.” Aline began to wonder whether there was not something permanently wrong with her organs of speech. It should have been a simple matter to develop the cat theme; but she found herself unable to do so. Her mind was concen- trated, to the exclusion of all else, on the repellent nature of the spectacle provided by her loved one in pyjamas. Freddie resumed the conversation. “T was just reading a corking book. Have you ever read these things? They come out every month, and they’re corking. The fellow who writes them must be a corker. It beats me how he thinks of these things. They are about a detective—a chap called Gridley Quayle. Frightfully exciting!” An obvious remedy for dumbness struck Aline. “Shall I read to you, Freddie?” “Right-ho! Good scheme! I’ve got to the top of this page.”” Aline took the paper-covered book. “*Seven guns covered him with deadly precision.’ Did you get as far as that?” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Yos; just beyond. It’s a bit thick, don’t you know! This chappie Quayle has been trapped in a lonely house, thinking he was going to see a pal in distress; and instead of the pal there pop out a whole squad of masked blighters with guns. I don’t see how he’s going to get out of it, myself; but I'll bet he does. He's a corker If anybody could have pitied Aline more than she pitied herself, as she waded through the adventures of Mr Quayle, it would have been Ashe Marson. He had writhed as he wrote the words and she writhed as she read them The Honorable Freddie also writhed, but with tense excit ment, “What's the matter? Don't stop!” he cried as Aline’s t voice ceased. “I’m getting hoarse, Freddie.” “You Think There is Something Tremendous Just Round the Corner and That You Can Get it if You Try Hard Enough" Freddie hesitated. The desire to remain on the trail with Gridley struggled with rudimentary politeness. “How would it be Would you mind if I just look at the rest of it myself? We could talk afterward, you know. I shan’t be long.” “Of course! Do read if you want to. But do you really like this sort of thing, Freddie?” “Me? Rather! Why—don’t you?” Freddie had become absorbed in his story. Aline did not attempt further analysis of her attitude toward Mr. Quayle; she relapsed into silence. It was a silence pregnant with thought. For the first time in their relations she was trying to visualize to herself exactly what marriage with this young man would mean. Hitherto, it struck her, she had really seen so little of Freddie that she had scareely had a chance of examining him. In the crowded world outside he had always seemed a tolerable enough person. To-day, somehow, he was different. Everything was different to-day. This, she took it, was a fair sample of what she might expect after marriage. Marriage meant—to come to essentials—that two people were very often and for ler } periods alone together, dependent on each other for mutual entertainment. What exactly would it be like ng alone often and for lengthy periods with Freddie? Wes t would, she assumed, be like this “It’s all right,” said Freddie without looking up. “He did get out! He had a bomb on hin and he threatened to drop it and blow the place to pieces unless the blighter him go. So they cheesed it. I knew he had something his sleeve Like this! Aline drew a deep breath. It would be like this forever and ever and ever—until she died. She bent forward and stared at him. “Freddie,”’ she said, “‘do you love me?” There was no reply. “‘ Freddie, do you love me? Am Ia part of you? If you hadn't me would be like trying to go o living without breath oo ing? ee ’ The Honorable Fred , die raised a flushed face rd and gazed at her wit! an absent eye “Eh? What?” he said. “Dol Oh, ves Rather! I say, ' one of the blighte rs has just loosed a rattlesnake into Gridley Quayle’s bedroom through th« transom !’ Aline rose from her seat and left the room softly. The Honorable Freddie read on. Ashe Marson had not greatly overshot the truth in his estimate of the probable effect on Mr. Peters of the infor mation that his preciou scarab had once more been removed by alien hands and was now farther from his grasp than ever. A drawback to success in life is that failure, when it does come, acquires an ex aggerated importance Success had made Mr Peters, in certain as- pects of his character, a spoiled child. At the moment when Ashe broke the news he would have parted with half his fortune to re cover the scarab Its recovery had become a point ol honor. Hesaw it as the prize of a con- test between his will and that of whatever malignant powers there might be ranged against him in the effort to show him that there were lim- its to what he could achieve. He felt as he had felt in the old days when people sneaked upon him in Wall Street and tried to loosen his grip ona railroad or a He was suffering from that form of paranoia which makes men mult pet stock imillionaires. Nobody would he foolish enough to become a multimillionaire if it were not for the desire to prove himself irresistible Mr. Peters obtained a small relief for his feelings by doubling the existing reward, and Ashe went off in search of Joan, hoping that this new stimulus, acting on their joint brains, might develop inspiration “Have any fresh ideas been vouchsafed to you ne asked. “Youn ay look on me as baffled.” Joan shook her head “Don't give up,” she urged. “Think again. Try to realize what this means, Mr. Marson. Between us we have lost ten thousand dollars in a single night. I can't afford it It is like losing a legacy I absolutely refuse to give in without an effort and go back to writing duke-and-earl stories for Home Gossip.” “The prospect of tackling Gridley Quayle agai ‘Why, I was forgetting that you were a writer of det tive stories. You ought to be able to solve this mystery ina moment. Ask yourself, ‘What would Gridley Quayle have or, done?

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i8 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “T can answer that. Gridley Quayle would have waited helplessly for some coincidence to happen to help him yut.”” “Had he no methods?’ “He was full of methods; but they never led him any- where without the coincidence. However, we might try to figure it out. What time did you get to the museum?” “One o'clock.” “And you found the scarab gone. suggest to you?” “Nothing. What does it suggest to you?” “Absolutely nothing. Let us try again. Whoever took the scarab must have had special information that Peters was offering the reward.” “Then why hasn’t he been to Mr. Peters and claimed it?” “True! That would seem to be a flaw in the reasoning. Once again: Whoever took it must have been in urgent and immediate need of money.” “And how are we to find out who was in urgent and immediate need of money?” “Exactly! How indeed?” There was a pause. “TI should think your Mr. Quayle must have been a great comfort to his clients, wasn’t he?” said Joan. “Inductive reasoning, I admit, seems to have fallen dowr, to a certain extent,” said Ashe. ‘“ We must wait for the coincidence. I have a feeling that it will come.” He paused. “j am very fortunate in the way of coincidences.” “Are you?” Ashe looked about him and was relieved to find that they appeared to be out of earshot of their species. It was not easy to achieve this position at the castle if you happened to be there as a domestic servant. The space provided for the ladies and gentlemen attached to the guests was limited, anc it was rarely that you could enjoy a stroll without bumping into a maid, a valet or a footman; but now they appeared to be alone. The drive leading to the back regions of the castle was empty. As far as the eye could reach there were no signs of servants—upper or lower. Nevertheless, Ashe lowered his voice. “Was it noi a strange coincidence,” he said, “that you came into my life at all?” “Not very,” said Joan prosaically. “It was quite likely that we should meet sooner or later, as we lived on different floors of the same house.” “It was a coincidence that you took that room.” “Why?” Ashe felt damped. Logically, no doubt, she was right; but surely she might have helped him out a little in this difficult situation. Surely her woman's intuition should have told her that a man who has been speaking in a loud and cheerful voice does not lower it to a husky whisper without some reason. The hopelessness of his task began to weigh on him. Ever since that evening at Market Blandings Station, when he realized that he loved her, he had been trying to find an opportunity to tell her so; and every time they had met the talk had seemed to be drawn irresistibly into practical and unsentimental channels. And now, when he was doing his best to reason it out that they were twin souls who had been brought together by a destiny it would be foolish to struggle against; when he was trying to convey the impression that fate had designed them for each other—she said “Why?” It was hard. He was about to go deeper into the matter when, from the direction of the castle, he perceived the Honorable Freddie's valet— Mr. Judson—approaching. That it was this repellent young man’s object to break in on them and rob him of his one small chance of inducing Joan to appreciate, as he did, the mysterious workings of Providence as they affected her- self and him was obvious. There was no mistaking the vaiet’s desire for conversation. He had the air of one brimming over with speech. His wonted indolence was cast aside; and as he drew nearer he positively ran. He was talking before he reached them. “Miss Simpson, Mr. Marson, it’s true— what I said that night. It’s a fact!” Ashe regarded the intruder with a malevo- lenteye. Never fond of Mr. Judson, he looked on him now with positive loathing. It had not been easy for him to work himself up to the point where he could discuss with Joan the mysterious ways of Providence, for there was that about her which made it hard to achieve sentiment. That indefinable some- thing in Joan Valentine which made for noc- turnal raids on other people’s museums also rendered her a somewhat difficult person to talk to about twin souls and destiny. The qualities that Ashe loved in her—her strength, her capability, ber valiant self-sufficingness were the very qualities which seemed to check him when he tried to tell her that he loved them. Mr. Judson was still babbling. What does that “It’s true. There ain’t a doubt of it now. It’s been and happened just as I said that night.” “What did you say, which night?” inquired Ashe. “That night at dinner—the first night you two came here. Don’t you remember me talking about Freddie and the girl he used to write letters to in London—the girl I said was so like you, Miss Simpson? What was her name again? Joan Valentine. That was it. The girl at the theater that Freddie used to send me with letters to pretty nearly every evening. Well, she’s been and done it, same as I told you all that night she was jolly likely to go and do. She’s sticking young Freddie up for his letters, just as he ought to have known she would do if he hadn’t been a young fathead. They’re all alike, these girls—every one of them.” Mr. Judson paused, subjected the surrounding scenery to a cautious scrutiny and resumed. “TI took a suit of Freddie’s clothes away to brush just now; and happening’”’—Mr. Judson paused and gave a little cough—‘“‘ happening to glance at the contents of his pockets I come across a letter. I took a sort of look at it before setting it aside, and it was from a fellow named Jones; and it said that this girl Valentine was sticking onto young Freddie’s letters what he’d written her, and would see him blowed if she parted with them under another thousand. And, as I made it out, Freddie had already given her five hundred. “Where he got it is more than I can understand; but that’s what the letter said. This fellow Jones said he had passed it to her with his own hands; but she wasn’t satis- fied, and if she didn’t get the other thousand she was going to bring an action for breach. And now Freddie has given me a note to take to this Jones, who is stopping in Market Blandings.” Joan had listened to this remarkable speech with astunned amazement. At this point she made her first comment: “But that can’t be true.” “Saw the letter with my own eyes, Miss Simpson.” oe But Pee She looked at Ashe helplessly. Their eyes met—hers wide with perplexity, his bright with the light of com- prehension. “Tt shows,” said Ashe slowly, “that he was in immediate and urgent need of money.” “You bet it does,” said Mr. Judson with relish. “It looks to me as though young Freddie had about reached the end of his tether this time. My word! There won't half be trouble if she does sue him fo: breach! I’m off to tell Mr. Beach and the rest. They’ll jump out of their skins.” His face fell. “‘Oh, Lord, I was forgetting this note. He told me to take it at once.” ae ee” wh FT RMR. TA%GR XS ~ “What Do You Want? What are You Staring at Me Like That For?" August 14, 1915 “T’ll take it for you,” said Ashe. anything.” Mr. Judson’s gratitude was effusive. “You're a good fellow, Marson,” he said. “I'll do as much for you another time. I couldn't hardly bear not to tell a bit of news like this right away. I should burst or something.” And Mr. Judson, with shining face, hurried off to the housekeeper’s room. “T simply can’t understand it,” said Joan at length. “My head is going round.” “Can’t understand it? Why, it’s perfectly clear. This is the coincidence for which, in my capacity of Gridley Quayle, I was waiting. I can now resume inductive reason- ing. Weighing the evidence, what do we find? That bright lad, Freddie, is the man. He has the scarab.” “But it’s all such a muddle. I’m not holding his letters.” “For Jones’ purposes you are. Let’s get this Jones element in the affair straightened out. What do you know of him?” “He was an enormously fat man who came to see me one night and said he had been sent to get back some letters. I told him I had destroyed them ages ago and he went away.” “Well, that part of it is clear, then. He is working a simple but ingenious game on Freddie. It wouldn’t suc- ceed with everybody, I suppose; but from what I have seen and heard of him Freddie isn’t strong on intellect. He seems to have accepted the story without a murmur. What does he do? He has to raise a thousand pounds immediately, and the raising of the first five hundred has ex- hausted his credit. He gets the idea of stealing thescarab!”’ “But why? Why should he have thought of the scarab atall? That is what I can’t understand. He couldn’t have meant to give it to Mr. Peters and claim the reward. He couldn’t have known that Mr. Peters was offering a reward. He couldn’t have known that Lord Emsworth had not got the scarab quite properly. He couldn’t have known—he couldn’t have known anything!” Ashe’s enthusiasm was a trifle damped. “There’s something in that. But —— Ihaveit! Jones must have known about the scarab and told him.” “But how could he have known?” “Yes; there’s something in that too. How could Jones have known?” “He couldn’t. He had gone by the time Aline came that night.” “T don’t quite understand. Which night?” “It was the night after I first met you. I was wonder- ing for a moment whether he could by any chance have overheard Aline telling me about the scarab and the reward Mr. Peters was offering for it.” “Overheard! That word is like a bugle blast to me. Nine out of ten of Gridley Quayle’s triumphs were due to his having overheard something. I think we are now on the right track.” “I don’t. How could he have overheard us? The door was closed and he was in the street by that time.” “How do you know he was in the street? Did you see him out?” “No; but he went.” “He might have waited on the stairs how dark they are at Number Seven “Why?” Ashe reflected. “Why? Why? What a beast of a word that is detective’s bugbear. I thought I had it, unti! you said Great Scott! I'll tell you why. I see it all. I have him with the goods. His object in coming to see you about the letters was because Freddie wanted them back owing to his ap- proaching marriage with Miss Peters— wasn’t it?” oe “You tell him you have destroyed the let- ters. He goes off. Am I right?” “Ta” “Before he is out of the house Miss Peters is giving her name at the front door. Put yourself in Jones’ place. What does he think? He is suspicious. He thinks there is some game on. He skips upstairs again, waits until Miss Peters has gone into your room, then stands outside and listens. How about that for a theory?” “IT do believe you are right. He might quite easily have done that.” “He did do exactly that. I know it as though I had been there; in fact, it is highly probable I was there. You say all this hap- pened on the night after we first met? I remember coming downstairs that night—I ~< was going out to a vaudeville show— and hear- ing voices in your room. I remember it dis- tinctly. In all probability I nearly ran into Jones.” “It does all seem to fit in, doesn’t it?” (Continued on Page 24) “I’m not doing you remember and listened.” the

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ENRY TRINDEL, wait- — S ing on the topmost step Puy of his beautiful, newly > rented suburban home, stared ¥ darkly into the early sunshine and sighed, like aman to whom Joy has spoken her last fare- well. Behind him twelve feet of polished hardwood veranda stretched to the granite wall, with its small-paned windows and its clinging ivy wherein, this last week or so, little birds had twittered until Henry’s thin, mild fingers itched for the good feel of tweaking neck. Before him extended twelve yards of wonderfully barbered lawn and beyond that most of Clythebourne, heaven’s only earthly fraction within com- muting distance of New York. In the grass robins whistled; flowering shrubs, as perfect as any color plate of a seed cata- logue, swayed in the light breeze; motors whizzed gayly down the billiard-table high- way to the station and the eight-three. Nature seemed pleased this morning, and man in general reflected her mood; yet Henry Trindel, down on the substratum of solid gloom where he lived nowadays, only sighed. Offhand one might have at- tributed his deep depression to homesickness for the great city’s whir—to a lack of at- tunement with country calm. One would have erred. Again, it might have been guessed that a Henry Trindel’s melancholy had root in the fact that, having risen to a seven-thousand- dollar salary as cashier of Bland & Brackett, Incorporated, his living expenses had soared simultaneously to exactly seven thousand dollars. It was not so. Henry Trindel’s vast dejection hailed solely from his constitutional inability to endure that unlovely condition known as family jar, when, as in this case, his tender conscience must burn with the guilty knowledge that the blame was all his own. Weeks—six of them now—had merely sharpened the poignancy of his trouble. Argue with himself as he might, one grisly certainty clung fast: For the first, the only, and unquestionably the last time in his life Henry Trindel had sought to lie flatly to Gilda, his exquisite, child-eyed wife. Some men can explain away almost any of their lies. Some lies can be explained away by almost any man. Neither Henry Trindel nor his single ill-omened effort fell within these happy groups. As a liar his personal failure had been rather more than monumental; asalie, the daring of the production itself had verged on the insane. Henry Trindel, in fine, had endeavored to misstate his income and his prospects, by way of avoiding just this expensive shift to peerless Clythebourne; and retribution and expo- sure, fairly treading on the heels of his poor attempt, had one-stepped into the mendacious moment and laid him low. Even now, after six long, upset weeks, Henry winced sharply when he recalled the dread hour that had found him quite alone with Gilda and the things which trembled on her red lips—not, be assured, that there had been one breath of coarse excitement in all that bloodcurdling inter- view or any faintest hint of the vulgar family row. Breed- ing and repression were as much a part of Gilda as her beauty; yet, in the most definite manner, her full sense of Henry Trindel’s crime had been conveyed to him—and since then they had been mainly moving up to Clythe- bourne, and the cool of their relations had seemed to chill the sunshine of a brilliant young summer. The long, wearing strain of the thing was ghastly! A red-hot give-and-take battle of angry words, with dis- honorable peace to follow complete defeat, Henry could have suffered cheerfully—or even a prolonged period of perfect speechlessness on Gilda’s part, terminating in for- giveness. These, to Henry Trindel’s mind, would have been disasters of a normal, natural sort; but there was nothing natural about the saddened dignity with which Gilda had been addressing him these last weeks. To all the rest of the world she had bubbled pure hap- piness over the whole wretched process of moving to the 7 THE SATURDAY O. D. ag “NI L e Cy, —— ai SIA LE ‘aac : _ “Wouldn't it be Perfectly Killing if Jim Was Piling Up a Fortune and Never Telling suburbs; yet never a solitary bubble but had burst on the very instant it promised to float in Henry Trindel’s own direction. Quite as of old, her incomparable smile had flashed on her friends—on Clythebourne—even on the grinning, willing real-estate agent; but, turning toward Henry Trindel, the smile had flickered out, a candle flame caught in the blast of his unworthiness. Yet on each occa- sion, as his lips opened to protest, the smile had flashed out again—at somebody else! Latterly, deep in a brain that lacked complexity but possessed an infinite capacity for taking its owner seriously, he had wondered whether Gilda’s love was really gone from his frugal life forever; whether it might not be better for them to separate now than to prolong an intolerable situa- tion. Indeed, waiting morosely on the top step for the letters that must be mailed in the city, Henry contem- plated returning to the library of his ruined home and, with a firm, pathetic dignity of his own, proposing that one plain course. Instead, however, he moved suddenly from the pillar against which he leaned so limply and smiled his nervous smile, because Gilda, a song on her lips, was hurrying out. The song died as she appeared. Radiant an instant before, Gilda considered her husband unsmilingly. “Will you post those in the Grand Central, please?" she said with the new, quiet formality. ‘“Good-by, Henry!” “Good-by!” Henry Trindel muttered brokenly, and turned from her loveliness. There was a hopeless hunch to his shoulders as he shuffled down the three wide steps. His fingers fumbled the letters into his pocket with the uncertainty of an old man’s hand: His wife dimpled for an instant—a queer little smile, with a hint of pain in it and a good deal of contrition. “Henry!” said Gilda suddenly and softly. Henry Trindel trudged patiently to the hardwood veranda once more. “What did I forget?” he asked colorlessly. “You forgot to be honest with me—once.” “IT know,” said Henry Trinde Two fine little hands astonished him by resting on his shoulders. “Henry,” his wife inquired, enough?” “T—huh?” stammered Henry Trindel. “Yes!” “Are you truly sorry?” “Come here!” “have you been punished EVENING POST By Edgar Franklin ILLUSTRATED ar HENRY RALEIGH “Gilda!” eried her husband quite dramatically. “If there is any way in this world by which I can atone for “Will you promise never never to do it again? eit Listen! I swear it!” Henry Trindel responded vehemently. “I + ‘Then I forgive you Henry — yes, really! And now kiss me good by and run! laughed the restored illumina tion of his existence. “‘ You're awfully late now; and— Henry! We're outdoors, where every body can see and you're only going away for the day!" sh protested breathlessly. “And oh, that’s the eight-three whistling now, up at Manor Crossing! Run!” When he had sped to the highway and fluttered into the merciful automcbile of a kindls commuting neighbor— when he had waved a wild hand and, for the first time in Clythebourne, received an answering farewell wave— the life-giving laugh had dwindled to a pensive smile. She backed slowly into the adorable house, with its sixteen perfeet rooms and its real professional cook at last a rather thoughtful Gilda The day of Henry's disci- plining was done. An effective happy finis had been written to the chapter of his sin, and all was forgiven and ostensibly zDD forgotten. Perhaps the disci plining had been rather mea: and cruel, too, for Henry did @ Word About It?" not take punishment lightly and still—she tried but could not push away the thought— just why had Henry lied lik« that? Just why, too, had she believed the clumsy, grotesque falsehood ven for a little while? ay The last was easily answered: It was because never before, to her knowledge, had Henry Trindel told a lis Pretty Mrs. Trindel leaned her cheek against the window casing and frowned at the side garden. That was just it never to her knowledge! Be — that one unlucky evening she had accepted Henry's every utterance as gospel, with no remote idea of questioning a single detail’s truth. Was it not possible, therefore, that frequently in the bygone years numerous other lies had quite slipped past her? As food for lonely meditation the whole conception was most distasteful; she turned on it the light of cold reason, telling herself that she knew every nook and cranny of Henry Trindel’s mind—which was the fact, by the way But the poisoned thought, having penetrated to her usually happy mind, clung impishly; and after three long, somlb« minutes she sought to shake it off by stepping through the window and down the veranda on her way to the back path that led to the big red-and-white house two doors beyond and the morning chat with Mrs. James Merriweather otherwise Myra, Gilda Trindel’s very dearest friend Mrs. "Me rriweather herself halted the expedition by appearing from the back path, quite exhausted. Mr Merriweather had been frightfully busy with her earl morning planting—a becoming occupation for a beauty of her vivid brunette type, and one that consisted of star ing, in rubber gloves and palest, fluffiest yellow, beneat the shading blossoms of a fruit tree, watching critically while the plump new chauffeur squatted in the warm sur shine and patted down little plants as they were handed to him by a patient smudges of topsoil on her nose parlor maid with two ornamental Having gained the veranda— since they were quite alone and utterly honest with one another— Mrs. Merriweather ceased being exhausted, settled gracefully on the top step and grinned happily at Gilda “Go over and look at Martin,” she advised. ‘* He's been putting down radishes since daylight and he’s a scream when he tries to stoop over gracefully!” “I'd rather stay here, now that you've come,” Gilda murmured “What's the matter, child? Blue?” asked Mrs. Merri- veather “Sort of,” confessed deceitful Henry Trindel’s wife

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Prom Nowhere at All an Impatpabite Battering Ram Leaped at Henry Trindet “Don’t be!” the agriculturist said sagely, stripping off her gloves and gazing at the distant, shining water. “The Sound looks good, doesn’t it? The best of the best up here seem to belong to that yacht club. Are you folks going to buy a sloop thingumajig or a speed boat?” “Good gracious, no! We could never afford that!” cried Mrs. Trindel. “ Are you?” The corners of Myra’s highly intelligent nose twitched in a fashion all her own. “IT don’t know, Gilda. I haven't decided. We can’t afford it either, of course; but—we seem to buy a lot of things we can't afford and pay for them.” Gilda merely nodded. Her beloved intimate rested a shimmering black coiffure against the pillar and studied the infinite blue of the skies, and there was deep, soothing silence until: “Gilda, doesn’t it ever seem funny to you?” “What, dear?” “ All the things you and I want and get, I mean, and the way Jim and Henry—bless their old hearts!—seem to find the money to pay for them. Where does it all come from?” “Why, I don’t know,” mused a slightly startled Gilda. “We live within Henry’s salary, of course.” “IT think you only think you do,” said Myra earnestly. “You know, it sounds horribly mercenary for you and me to be talking it over like this, and if there’s a creature in the world I abhor it is the mercenary woman; but I’ve been wondering a lot lately, Gilda. This last month I’ve bought absolutely everything I needed for the new house and the bills are all paid. Jim didn’t even growl when I suggested hiring Martin for the car either—and it isn’t as though he was scrimping or borrowing; I'd live in a tent before I'd let him do anything of that sort. But he’s not doing it!” “How do you know?” Henry Trindel’s wife asked curi- ously. “Because, when I ask him whether we can afford this or that he always says no, but to go ahead and get it then he chuckles. Nobody ever heard Jim chuckle when he was even a little bit worried about anything. And when I-—oh, sort of ask delicately just how we can afford it he just chuckles again and says he owns the only living sawbuck tree—it grows ten-dollar bills instead of leaves, you know. Then we talk about something else, always. Isn't it curious?” “Very,” said Gilda. Silence, faintly scented by new blooms, caressed the veranda for another space. Myra thought aloud: “Some day I'm going to find out!” “How?” “Some day, and when everything is slow and seems to need shaking up, I'll make a tremendous experiment,” Mrs. Merriweather said lazily. “1'll do something simply awful, Gilda! I'll buy a private yacht, or something like that, for ten or twenty thousand -dollars, and just have them send the bill to Jim. And when he’s thoroughly mad about it I'll find out just how much we have to spend and where it comes from, because Jim tells absolutely everything when he’s mad! Isn't that a contemptible way to plot trouble for the biggest, finest husband mortal woman ever owned?” “| suppose so,” said Gilda doubtfully. “‘T don’t mean it,” yawned Mrs. Merriweather. “ Only— wouldn’t it be perfectly killing if Jim was piling up a fortune, somehow, somewhere, and never telling a word about it?” The sun climbed on. When a careful examination of his altitude indicated that, in the nature of things, Martin must have tucked the final radish into its summer home Myra resumed her rubber gloves and returned to finish her planting; but her idle dream of secret, accumulat- ing wealth remained in the granite house. It is, indeed, the shaft at random sent that does the mischief. The cook consulted Gilda at some length about the grocer’s order and the butcher’s. From the indefinite region whence he appeared to work by the day the hired man material- ized and heard instructions anent the back garden. Even the maid, a dilettante in electro-mechanics, fur- nished diversion by blowing out the household’s fuses while repairing the vacuum cleaner; but the dream per- sisted and minute by minute applied itself more definitely to the personal ease of Mrs. Trindel. If Merriwecther were busy amass- ing wealth, why not Henry? There was much to support some such hy- pothesis. Henry Trindel, for one thing, had not offered an objection to asolitary item of expense through all their moving, though that might have been attributed to penitence or plain fear. For another, though and this was really convincing— Henry had purchased for her the blue automobile out there in the garage, and to this day he had never made quite clear the source of the extra dollars that had made it possible. And there was a strain of duplicity in Henry Trindel; he himself had proved it conclusively. Gilda, gazing from her upper window, studied the dis- tant top of Martin’s chauffeur cap for many seconds. It was a trim, correct cap. He crossed the Merriweather garden and she observed his livery. It was trim, correct livery. She turned and looked moodily at the mere tran- sient hired man out back, who leaned on his hoe and gazed at the corncob pipe and the lessening billows of shag beneath his tamping thumb. Again she turned— but this time away from the brilliant outdoors and with eyes that flashed a little. She preferred, infinitely and invariably, to originate rather than to imitate; at the same time, in a modi- fied form, that absurd private-yacht experiment of Myra’s might hold much merit—and, after all, it is only the fool who rejects a,good idea because of its birth in another's brain. The suspicion perhaps was not worthy of her and it might be quite without foundation; but if, for the mere sake of hoarding money, Henry Trindel happened to be depriving his dainty Gilda of such bare necessities as liver- ied chauffeurs and resident gardeners, the time to discover it was now, while she still retained the youth to enjcy such things. With her left hand pretty Mrs. Trindel opened the time-table to the city-bound morning trains. Her right, gliding swiftly backward and upward along her well-set vertebra, twitched deftly at hooks. In the Clythebourne club car of the eight-three they had looked askance at Henry Trindel as a soured huddle of insignificance, whose glum silence ren- dered him a blot on the very chair for which he . . eon paid, They did not look — —, askance this morning. sf As one man, the better . S commuting element , stared, listened and mar- veled, for Henry Trin- del’s tongue had lost its atrophy, luster lived in his lately dull eye, and his thin, dead hands, hitherto listlessly folded, gesticulated effectively as he related funny sto- ries, several of them not more than ten years old. As a raconteur, a thoroughly genial good fellow, he was a revela- tion to the Clythebourne club car. They wondered and laughed mightily at his wit, and wondered further—they felt that Ju Re +S \ ill eS August 14, 1915 they had been misjudging Henry Trindel, and it showed plainly in their expressions. Henry chuckled secretly at their wonder, for he alone knew the truth about his metamorphosis—the world, which had rocked along upside down for six solid weeks, was topside up again. The bligl:-t had left his life and with it the queer, nagging premonition of.impending bad luck. This latter had been a very curious and unpleasant freak of his disturbed mind. He could smile at it now, but not with much enthusiasm; for, really the notion had harried him sorely. Though he had not admitted it even to himself, out there in the unconsecrated gloom of Gilda’s disapproval, Henry Trindel had felt certain that he was about to be overtaken by nameless, crushing blows of pure misfortune. It was utterly absurd, of course—he could see that now; but it had haunted him just the same, day and night. Under his airy feet the concrete walk from train to Subway turned resilient, neglecting to give forth the usual series of long, dismal scrapes. The uniformed man at the train gate, who but yesterday had scowled instinctively at the acidulated new Clythebourne commuter, could offer nothing better than a bewildered smile in answer to Henry’s cheery salutation. The sidewalk newsboy, when Henry Trindel had stepped briskly into the building of Bland & Brackett, Incorporated, stared blankly at the nickel in his open palm; once, at least, the little guy with the grouch had neglected to wait, foot tapping, for his four pennies. Even the alert young woman at the desk in the anteroom turned to stare after Mr. Trindel as he breezed into the general offices beyond. How could these know that the killing thorn had been drawn from his side and its wound healed with a kiss? Brackett himself—omnipotence in that establishment beckoned as Henry Trindel passed the open portal of his private office. “Country air’s bracing you up at last; I said it would,” he stated. ‘“Health’s beginning to stick out all over you, Henry. Say!” “Yes?” beamed the firm’s cashier, leaning a nonchalant elbow on his employer's desk. Mr. Brackett tilted back and, his emphatic cigar trained full on Henry, he impaled it with an eyetooth and held it fast. “This,”’ said he, “is the twenty-fifth. This is the day that Curley & Curley hand somebody something pretty nice—eh?”’ “Er—yes. They open their bids to-day, don’t they?” Henry Trindel smiled absently, and then quite dreamily continued: “‘Ah—Mr. Brackett, if you have nothing better to do, why not run out to our little nest Saturday afternoon and x “Damn Saturday afternoon! I’m talking about this afternoon,” the firm responded with some warmth. “Henry, d’you know that’s a million-dollar contract the Curleys’?” “Why, yes!” said Henry Trindel, having wakened with a slight jar. “At a guess, how many firms have bid on it?” “A dozen, doubtless.” “Not a house in this world besidesours and the Donovan crew,” Brackett corrected sharply. “I'd give a lot to know —_ er i" e 4 % 2... 4s a Raconteur He Was a Revelation to the Clythebourne Club Car

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i } i | year’s biggest order.” “Indeed, yes,”” the cashier agreed politely. Brackett caressed his large, determined chin. “I’m trying to fool myself into believing that Donovan hasn’t underbid us a mile, and I can’t do it,”’ he pursued. “He'll skin Curley out of the difference and more; but that doesn’t help us much, does it?” “Not a particle—not a particle,” said Henry Trindel, drifting away gently. “Not a—particle!” ** And, on the other hand, you see, with Donovan unable to - Say, Henry!” rasped Mr. Brackett. “‘Do you go to bed early?” “T—yes!” “Then go to bed still earlier!” snapped Henry Trindel’s employer. “ You're not more than half awake now, and I want to get somebody else’s opinion on this thing — yours. Do you suppose it would be a good scheme for me tostroll round to the Curleys’ about three or four o’clock this af- ternoon and try to kick the deal through, no matter what they’ve decided, with a little real selling talk and some cold facts about the stuff we can supply ’em?” The old, savage gleam flickered in his hard eye. Henry Trindel, with some difficulty, smoothed out the ridiculous smile that pos- sessed his features this morn- ing and tried to look really concerned. “Yes—I think it would be a splendid thing to do,” he said gravely; “‘because———”’ “Tdon’t! Ithinkit would be a perfectly jackass per- formance,” Brackett said readily; “‘because it would give ’em the idea that their business was a life-and-death matter with us to see me turn up in person. I'll send Storer round if I send anybody. That’s all, Henry.” His chair turned, present- ing his broad back to Henry Trindel’s inspection; he snatched up one of the ten thousand papers on his desk and read busily. Henry, his smile returning quickly, strolled to his own office, opened the big safe for the day’s business, commended his bright new clerk for no particular reason, and dropped happily into his own chair. Given like conditions, on almost any other morning of his twenty-seven years with Bland & Brackett, Incor- porated, he would have bowed his head and pondered the problem of Curley & Curley, their big contract, and the Donovan firm. To-day he dumfounded his aid by relat- ing a jest of the original Joe Miller collection, squinted humorously at the sound of Brackett’s great voice remon- strating with his substitute private secretary, dismissed the Curley trifle altogether and, turning to the mass of routine work he could have performed efficiently while asleep, made a gentle surrender to golden meditations of a purely personal character. The black night of his expiation was over, broken by the rosy dawn of Gilda’s smile; his punishment was done and he had deserved it richly, as he conceded freely and humbly. He had erred and, whatever happened to others of the green-bay-tree variety, the consequences had measured up fully to orthodox specifications. Even the weird foreboding of crushing evil had disappeared. What now? It seemed to Henry Trindel that a visible token of the new happiness was in order—a memento of atonement that should bring joy to Gilda and, at the same time, con- stitute a gentle reminder to himself in event of future temptation. The exquisitely fitting thing, as he saw at once, would have been a diamond tiara, or something like that—a sparkling bit worth thousands on thousands, to dazzle Gilda’s vision of the darkened past. Toward eleven he paused in his work and sighed heavily for the first time since leaving home. Tiaras, of course, were utterly out of the question; but from the bottom of his usually eco- nomical heart he wished they were not. It would have been the splendid thing to do—that of strolling in with the plain white-kid case in his side pocket, handing it to Gilda with a careless, casual werd or two, strolling on out that we are going to sign up with Curley; it would be the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST of sight, quite as though nothing of importance were afoot, and waiting for her soft little squeal of delight. However, only the really rich may dream of tiaras; Henry Trindei brought his mentality to focus on prospects more modest. He could not actually afford it, but he fancied that he would leave the office early and, pausing at one of the big Fifth Avenue jewelry establishments, spend about twenty-five dollars on something really delicate and pretty; or he might possibly run as high as thirty or forty. It would mean some scrimping later, when he came to balance the month’s expenses; but it was the least he could do and he would be glad to do it—yes, even though he might have to forego ordering his new, trim black summer serge for another two or three weeks. He nodded with a touch of resignation as he considered the expenditure, and then winced conscientiously at its small- ness—and the telephone rang. “For Your —er —Knickknacks, My Darling !"’ “Mr. Trindel?”’ asked a dulcet tone. Henry Trindel glanced over his shoulder; for the time his aid was absent. “Yes, my love!” said he. “How clearly your voice comes over the wire! It seems hardly possible that you're nearly thirty miles away.” “I'm not,” answered Gilda with an odd little laugh. “I’m in town for an hour or two. Er--Henry!” “Yes?” purred Henry Trindel. “ Yes, dear?” “‘T— well, it was a dreadful thing to do, I suppose, but I saw the dearest pendant—you know I've been looking for a little pendant,” his wife continued somewhat jerkily. “‘And I bought it!” Henry beamed at his telephone. “It is the very thing I had meant to suggest,” he cried heartily. “I’m glad you found something that pleased you, darling.” “Are you—truly?” asked Gilda. “T truly am!” rippled from Henry Trindel. “They’re going to send it out C. O. D. to-night, when you’re—er—there, you know.” “That's quite all right, my dear,”’ the cashier assured her. “The little old money specialist will be on hand with the price.” “Yes, it’s—one hundred and fifty dollars,’ pretty Mrs. Trindel. From nowhere at all an impalpable battering ram leaped at Henry Trindel and smote him a one-thousand- foot-ton blow just above the heart. His hand clutched the spot and left it as quickly to leap upward and tug at his collar, by way of easing the tension on a throat through which breath seemed unable to pass. Twice, also, he swallowed, each time emitting a gulp. And then, the first concussion passing, an uncanny impulse of gameness rose within him. submitted ‘“Well—all right, dear,”’ Henry Trindel managed to sa cheerfully “Is it?” came swiftly from Gilda. “Thank you ver much indeed, Henry dear; you're an old sweetheart Bye bye!” The farewell click reached Henry Trindel’s ear. H own receiver went shakily to its place and he sat bac! and, having dabbed his white forehead with a folded hand kerchief, he even produced a small, sickly smile as he had said, all right it was Of course she had spent a littl more than he had meant to spend and, at the moment, h« did not quite see where the necessary cut on something else was to come but it was quite all right. Had he but thought, he might have known that no mere thirty-dollar or forty-dollar bit of jewelry could hold much interest for Gilda; and the fact that she had done—no matter how thoroughly the very thing he had contemplated doing for her showed that their lately discordant beings were coming into tune again Henry Trindel, hurrying to the home of his suffering bank account, withdrew the price of his atonement lunched on a sandwich and his wide smile of the morn ing apparently abandoned with the crumpled paper napkin, plunged back to work, Entered, a little past two the boy in the brilliant gree: uniform. He was a _ nice looking boy, with chubby cheeks, a gold P on each sick of his coat collar, and a note for Henry Trinde! concealed in his cap. The note he laid on the desk; and, having waited a nicely judged in stant for evidences of ap preciation that did not materialize, he stepped out of Henry Trindel’s life again In his nervous way the cashier slit the envelope and frowned at the simple Pau lon—Fifth Avenue, at the head. He knew no Paulon yet. He read: Sir: It is requested by Madame Trinde! that we ad vise you of her purchase to the amount of five hundred and ninety-two dollars, by her order to be delivered this evening, C.O. D. For your convenience we would solicit the favor of madame's «a count. Respectfully, PAULON. In microscopic type one corner of the sheet displayed Robes to Henry's dazed eye; another mentioned Manteaux. These, his reeling mind assumed, were French terms for clothes; but the text itsel was plain English and before it he sat stunned. Had Gilda gone mad? The note trembled and he looked about wildly; the poor child might be wandering round New York, alone and suddenly demented; and—no, Gilda had not gone mad! Gilda’s husband, wilting after the first terrible minute, turned icy cold; for he felt that he understood Far from being over, the worst of his punishment was just at hand; he was to pay cold cash for his transgression he was to be forced into the hottest hell of his imagination the state where people borrowed money for an emergency short of death! It passed all credibility, to be sure—ten minutes back he would have staked his very life that Gilda was absolutely incapable of such a trick; but it happened to be the bitter truth, and Henry Trindel bowed his head. To the best of his belief his heart had broken Now when a single blow has brought this catastrophe te one, subsequent blows cannot matter very much. Henry Trindel did not start when his telephone jingled an hour later. He grunted an answer; he did not even smile when u deep bass voice said: “This is Fifine—millinery!’ “Huh!” croaked Henry Trindel. “Manager |speaking,” the bass continued. “ M: Trindel asked us to call you up and say that she is having two of our new importations sent out to-night.” “T hear,” said Henry “Two hundred dollars,” the voice added succinctly, and concluded with a pointed “C. O. D.” The cashier merely replaced the receiver and, his teet! grinding, closed his eyes. Bulletin number three brought the total of cash he was expected to carry homeward yt (Continued on Page 34

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Vel REG. U. 6. PAT OFF FOUNDED A°D‘! 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A. GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR By Subscription $1.5¢ the Year. Five Cents the Copy of All Newsdealers. To Caneda—By Subscription $1.75 the Year (Except in Toronto, $1.56). Single Copies, Five Cents Poreign Subscriptions tione, $5.25 Por Countries in the Postal Union. Single Subscrip- Remittances to be Made by International Postal Money Order. PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST 14, 1915 Peaceful Trade Prospects YEAR of war has brought us no increase in peaceful trade. Latest official figures show a decrease in our sales to every grand division of the world excepting Europe, and the European increase is all in foodstuffs. Sales of manufactures are about even with the year before, and crude materials to be used in manufactures show a large decrease, attributable to cotton. No doubt the second year of war will bring a change in this respect. The great orders for war munitions that have been placed here in the last six months will produce exports then, and we may expect a large expansion in ship- ment of manufactures —that is, manufactures of the means of destruction. There is a great profit in this business. Concerns extensively engaged in it are counting confidently upon earning dividends of thirty, sixty, even a hundred per cent in the year. The common stock of one concern was selling at ten dollars a share last year. It recently sold round two hundred dollars a share, on a pretty well-founded expectation of huge war profits. There is the little matter of time fuses for shrapnel shells. It seemed fairly impos- sible to get an adequate supply of those delectable articles. Then somebody discdévered that typewriter factories had machinery which at comparatively small expense could be used in making shrapnel fuses. The result is a combination of typewriter factories to make several million dollars’ worth of fuses. In comparison with these glittering prizes the profits of peaceful trade look pale and meager. Naturally everybody whe can make anything that is useful for killing people is trying to get into the big game. This diversion of enter- prise, capital and labor from productive to destructive ends doesif't promise especially well for the second year's development of peaceful trade. Disfranchising City Folk ] ISFRANCHISING white men by a clause in the con- stitution sounds odd. It has been seriously proposed in Illinois, however, and is now under consideration in New York's constitutional convention. Over half the population of New York and about two-fifths of the popu- lation of Illinois live in the chief city of the state. The proposition in both cases is to put such limitations in the constitution that the city man’s vote, no matter how numerous he becomes, can never outweigh the country mans vote, Of course, giving the country man’s vote greater weight than the city man’s can be justified only on the ground that city voters constitute an inferior class, less intelligent and virtuous than country voters—so that though the former may safely be left at the mercy of the latter it would never do to put the latter at the mercy of the former. Students of state politics in New York and Illinois will be at a loss to know where this idea originated, except in the imagination of a country politician. Framers of the Federal Constitution, it may be recalled, had much trouble with a similar problem, and finally solved it by providing, in Article I, that for the purpose of apportioning representation in Congress negro slaves should be counted as equal to three-fifths the same number of free whites. No doubt the constitution makers at Albany would follow that simple precedent but for a fear that the city would soon outgrow the handicap. Having that fear, they seem minded to fall back upon a rather bungling scheme of rotten boroughs. A constitutional provision that country members of the legislature should not vote on city affairs at all would be much more to the purpose of good government. Regulated to Death N 1868 the value of American exports carried in Amer- ican vessels was one hundred and seventy-five million dollars. In 1914 it was one hundred and sixty-nine million dollars. Meanwhile, total American exports rose from less than half a billion to more than two billions. From the former date to the latter the proportion of exports carried in American ships declined pretty steadily year after year. Now that is mainly an effect of government regulation. Say what else you please about it, there is the outstanding fact that in one way or another Congress did most of it. Since 1868 we have built up a railroad system that is equal to that of all Europe combined and carries freight at the lowest ton-mile rate in the world. We have developed far and away the greatest steel industry in the world. Other items of American achievement will occur to everyone. In the matter of shipping we were once in the world’s van. That we should now be at the tail of the procession, if American skill and enterprise had been given a perfectly free hand to compete on the sea with other countries, is unthinkable. We have tried a number of experiments in the way of government regulation of business. For example, there is our experiment of leaving private owners to raise the capital for railroad expansion, while the Government fixes the rates to which capital must look for its remuneration. On the whole it has worked tolerably well, but less well latterly than in former years. There is our experiment of trying to stop the codrdination of business into bigger units, which has produced only annoyance so far. But in our experiments with shipping we were open to foreign competition all along the line, and unless all forecasts of the effect of our latest adventure in that field—-the Sea- man’s Act—are false the result is going to be pretty com- plete failure. It shows that a business may be regulated to death. The Tariff Bogy N THIS last fiscal year our purchases of foreign goods were smaller by two hundred million dollars than in the year before, and at the end of the period commodity prices in the United States, as reflected by Bradstreet’s index number, were the highest ever known. But in spite of that the country, our protectionist friends tell us, is being mysteriously ruined by the pauper labor of Europe. The aforesaid labor is getting killed and maimed to an extent that appalls the world. The factories in which it was employed are increasingly disorganized by war. The capital behind it is being shot away at the rate of tens of millions of dollars a day. But those things were mere broken reeds to lean upon, unless we are further fortified against European competition by a very high tariff. You might sink Europe in the sea to-morrow, and your true high protectionist would still go about pale and trembling unless he had in his pocket the rabbit's foot of high duties to fend off the specter of pauper labor. A Europe with both arms in a sling and not a leg to stand on would still frighten him into gooseflesh unless he had the tariff horseshoe over his door. So the tariff will no doubt be one of the issues of the next presidential election, and if the Republicans win we shall have another revision of it. The loudest champions of high protection do not want an intelligent tariff: they want a political one, with the usual logrolling. This is pain- ful to contemplate, but as neither Democrats nor Repub- licans seem at all minded to take the tariff out of politics there is probably no help for it. A Study in City Finances AKE all cities of the United States having over thirty thousand inhabitants and reduce their revenue receipts to a single dollar. Seventy-seven cents of that dollar comes from taxes and special assessments—roughly sixty- nine cents from the former and eight cents from the latter; eighteen cents represents receipts from public-service enterprises, and five cents comes from fines, donations and other miscellaneous sources. But of the eighteen cents that represents receipts from public-service enterprises, far the greater part is revenue of water works—owned by the city in most cases, so that expenses of operating and maintaining the water system must be paid out of it. In fact, less than two cents of the cities’ composite dollar comes from public-service enterprises other than water August 14, 1915 works. The total that comes from public-service enter- prises other than water works is less than sixteen million dollars, and six and a half millions of it is received by the city of New York—largely from municipal docks, ferries, and so on. So we may say that revenue of American cities from public-service enterprises other than municipally owned water works—and excepting certain municipally owned enterprises in New York City that are not profit- able—is quite negligible. Pretty nearly one-third of the total population of the country lives in cities having thirty thousand or more inhabitants, and the running of those cities costs a billion dollars a year. Undoubtedly the cities as a whole could develop a good many sources of additional revenue. Chicago, we believe, is the only large city that gets any considerable revenue from public-service corporations. Making the Martial Mare Go HAT any government could raise three billion dollars within about a fortnight would have seemed highly improbable a year and a half ago. At that time Great Britain’s total debt, an accumulation of more than two centuries, was not much over three billion dollars. cngland performed this extraordinary feat in finance recently, putting all former war financing into the shade. But it is very doubtful that this enormous loan will pay her war bills to Christmas. The bills run fifteen million dollars a day, at which rate the proceeds of the loan would last nearly seven months. But the loan of a billion and three-quarters raised last November left a deficit, and over a billion dollars of short-time treasury notes were issued before the new loan was floated. Presumably these must be redeemed out of the proceeds of the new loan, and before the end of the year the money will be gone. Meanwhile, daily the cost of the war tends to rise. Such figures as these override all precedents and baffle prophecy. But that 1916, if the war continues, will see all the belligerents resorting to forced loans through the issue of irredeemable legal-tender notes seems very probable. The Best There Is BSOLUTELY speaking, no such thing as good govern- ment has ever been known. About all imaginable forms have been tried and every one has shown notable failings. Government itself is at most only half a good thing. Its most important functions are a product of human failings. Probably a community of saints would have no use for any government. Government is undergoing a tremendous efficiency test just now. Considered as an organization for conducting the public business of a great community, the government of the United States is undoubtedly inferior to that of Germany. But government is more than merely a concern for carrying on public business. It is a compact, a bond that involves our wills and at least potentially touches all our relations. Personally we would much rather tolerate the weaknesses of our form of government than have a man in the United States in whose presence it was not permissible to stand with a hat on, and concerning whom one could not, if one were so minded, lawfully express the opinion that he was an ass. Probably a free government can never be so efficient as a bossed one. That seems to be one of the inherent defects of democracy. The demagogue is another defect. In short, democratic government is far from absolutely good, yet it is the best there is. The Simple Art of Gulling NE of the handicaps of literature arises from a popular delusion that gulling people requires ingenuity and address. Probably literature itself is responsible for this. Homer started the trouble by making Ulysses a man of brains. Shakspere, Fielding, Gogol, Thackeray, and num- berless others, helped it on by endowing their rascals with at least sufficient intelligence to invent a plausible plot. At length a misled public taste demands that its fictive rogues be clever, and will put up with no other sort. A story about a man who went down the street selling wall- paper samples for government bonds wouldn’t go. Readers would consider it improbable. Yet in fact only about one case of swindling out of ten that gets into police records or the courts involves higher strategic ability than is required to take candy from a small child. Some people will believe anything. By some curious law which psychologists have never explained, the more improbable the yarn the firmer their faith. It is doubtful if anything weirder or more naively transparent than Joseph Smith's story about his gold plates ever came out of a human head, but many people suffered persecution and some suffered death for their belief in it. more plausible and less successful. The credulity that swallows even the baldest gold-brick yarn is no doubt a testimonial to human honesty. By the strictest test all men may be liars, but comparatively speak- ing nearly all men are so nearly truthful that to more child- like minds any spoken word has the verity of stamped gold. Dowie was

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ee ERTAINLY investors are funny people! They run backward and forward like a flock of sheep, but they actu- ally show less intelligence. Sheep will stick to a recognized leader, but investors will not even do that. Investors are more like a flock of sheep that has lost its leader. For instance, a friend of mine told me the other day of two stocks he had purchased: Bethlehem Steel, because he believed the war would be a long-drawn- out affair; and United States Steel, because he believed the war would soon be over. Now if his reason for purchasing these two stocks was to distribute his risk and be on the safe side whichever way the war went, there might be some logic in his action. He did not, however, buy with the idea of being right in one case, whatever turn affairs might take; but he honestly thought he should make money on both tocks at the same time. I believe in spreading one’s investments over a large number of securities and in distributing the risk as much as possible; but I do not believe in being bullish and bearish at the same time. Speculators who are long of certain stocks and short of others are playing a dangerous game at best. Moreover, I feel they are playing a very senseless game. The real truth of the matter is that you and others bought these war-order stocks a few weeks ago, not because of possible war orders, but because you got the fever to buy them and you could not help yourself. You did not even know that these companies would receive war orders, but simply depended on newspaper gossip. If I wanted to sell you a piece of land or merchandise you would insist on the most convincing evidence for any statement I might make. You will, however, invest the same amount of money in a scrap of paper, on some irresponsible gossip, without making the least effort to determine its authenticity. The truth of the matter is, when you buy or sell stocks you temporarily become one of a mob and act without rule or reason. This is especially evident during the present war-stock craze No Time to Buy War Babies OTWITHSTANDING the fact that most investors have gone crazy over this war-order fad, it may perhaps pay to examine the situation a little more closely. For instance, there are two distinct kinds of war orders. One group of war orders we are securing in this country because our European friends are unable to supply the necessities of life at the moment. Our farmers are now getting high prices for wheat; our woolen manufacturers are getting more orders than they can fill; the tanners of leather and persons engaged in many other industries are greatly prospering because of European conditions. Just as soon, however, as the war is over and conditions in Europe become normal, these American manufacturers will feel a reaction. Of course the acceptance of such orders is legitimate. New England mills are as fully justified in making blankets for English soldiers as are our sisters in knitting mufflers for their comrades. I do, however, want to make the point that one business is just about as permanent as the other, and one is just about as temporary as the other, even though these are legitimate war orders for blankets, shoes, harness, and the like. There is, however, another group of war orders that is of even more risky nature. I refer to orders for shrapnel, guns, and various other forms of light armament. There is no doubt that Pennsylvania, New York and the New England States are honeycombed with these war orders. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST War Stocks and War Orders By ROGER W. BABSON Even the most religious and peaceful individuals have turned the situation to their advantage. The reader must not get the idea from this article that there has not been a large distribution of war orders in this country. I distinctly state that there has been. The point I wish to drive home is that this business is very unstable, and that to buy stocks on the strength of it is playing with the most dangerous kind of fire. To have bought them immediately when war was declared may have been all right; but to buy them now, after they have risen greatly in price, and when the insiders themselves are planning to get out from under, is simply foolhardy These stocks have been nicknamed in Wall Street the “‘war babies.”” Some have doubled, some have trebled, in a few months yy of them all Within a year it has had a most remarkable rise from thirty to over two hundred dollars a share. Only last January it was as low as forty-six dollars, and its remark able gyrations are well and a few have quadrupled in price, v Bethlehem Steel is the biggest war known to the general public. T) company has probably received immense orders from the belligerent countries, and the speculating public has made all sorts of wild guesses as to how the profits are to be dis tributed. Some have even guessed that a stock dividend of three hundred per cent Ww yuld be declared Eve the employees are in the dark, as many of them sold out at fifty. Following Bethlehem Steel the zinc and copper stoc! started to have their fling; and, following them, the stocks of the industrial and automobile companies have had a great upward swing. It is the metal stocks that war has chiefly affected—copper and zine most particularly—the stocks of those companies which could furnish materials for the making of ammunition or which could themselves actu ally supply the death-dealing missiles. War has lifted the price of Lake copper from eleven and a half cents to over twenty cents within six months, and copper stoct nave followed the upward march, though slowly at first Zinc stocks started to have their fling about the same time; and since last December American Zinc, Lead and Smelting Company’s stock has risen from fifteen to over fifty; and Butte and Superior has shown a gain of more than fifty dollars a share in about the same period. Thoug! the United States has an abundant supply of zinc ore, it has not sufficient smelting facilities to supply even our dumestic demand. The great zine smelters of Belgium and Germany, to which we have [ supply in times of peace ar shut down or inaccessible. Theref frantically to buy war supplic is the commercial name for z irom the ore—rose perpendicul quarters cents to over ten cent since then has gone to thirty cents—and may go higher It is especially remarkable that, for the first time in history, zine costs more than copper Some metal stocks may still have a boom period ahead of them. For instance, lead and aluminum price re rising. The price of aluminum has risen from eighteen cents last November to over thirty cents recently, most of this advance occurring since May first. Lead was selling at three and a half cents in November and recently touched seven and a half cents. The European orders for am- munition, guns, artillery pieces, freight cars, automobile trucks, and so on, have also helped th« industrial companies Some have changed or added to their manufacturing facilities to take care of war orders. The business of such concerns may cot tinue on a firm basis, even when war stops, if the domestic demand increases fast enough —as it promises todo — t up the slack caused by the discontinuance of war den but we must not bank too much on such a happy ending The automobile stocks, also, have been hitting the trail of high prices, partly on account of war orders but also on account of domestic demand. The automobile industry, as a whole, is in a very sound condition in spite of the war; in fact, though motor stocks may not go any higher, afte the war ends the best ones are likely to continue at high levels even then, because the domestic demand for cars has increased since the war started, and both the foreign and domestic call for trucks has greatly increased. Not only are a great number of horses being killed, but the world is being taught, in the most effectual way, what the motor ‘yee " car can GO in reai service, Customers Dying as the War Goes On | STRONGLY urge those who are inexperienced in the field of security investments to avoid investing in war stocks. They are exceedingly dangerous, especially those that have already had a very great increase in price. Now as always, the lambs are likely to buy at top prices To be sure, there are some exce ptions to the statement that war stocks are dangerous; but, unless the readers of THE SATURDAY EVENING Post are prepared to analyze the ituation carefully, they should keep away from all war babies at present prices. For the uninitiated or the out st time to buy many war stocks has passed were farsighted enough to anticipate the ng Europe would make on our industries yuy in at such low prices that, no matter what happens, they can hardly lose They can either sell out at the present high prices or draw the large dividends that are like to be declared as long as the war la I believe, however, that many war orders are not so firn and fast as most people thin} Certair panie ave insisted on a large cash deposit with every order, and these concerns are in a strong position, but some others are ing long chances of cancellations by foreign government Another danger may be in taking the bonds of foreig vernments in payment for the goods shipped. In case these bonds are paid at maturity, well and good; but if y are not paid, or if they should depreciate too great in value, American concerns that take bonds in pa ‘ for war orders 1 suffer great losses. B is of a ort except convertible hould declir n price as the i@s and mone rate ncreast vt I 4 ait | ifs I yt ind 4 yur « ‘ B e buy g ar war babi I l Ok f to the nature f the tracts mad wi ‘ war orders are taken and what sort of payments are made for the goods shipped. Even though no foreign ¢ ment should repudiate its bonds alter the war ire variou ther ways if ! nh the of less value it has been past experience has been inflated after every important war, re na depreciation of ponds For instance, a concern which takes a hundred tho nad dollars’ worth of bonds in payment for war ing it has a twenty-thousand-dollar pr

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THE SATURDAY Toasted Grain Bubbles Puffed Wheat or Rice in Milk Do you realize how the use of Puffed Grains has spread ? And largely through children’s talk. The evening milk dish in a million homes now has Puffed Wheat in it. And all day long Puffed Wheat and Rice are used both as foods and confections. Whole Grains in Vogue Puffed Wheat and Rice brought whole grains into vogue. The inner and outer parts are made equally digestible. Here, for the first time, every food cell is broken. And the rich outer coats are available. For remember that every food cell is blasted when the grain is puffed. A hundred million steam explosions occur in every kernel. Never before was a process known to so fit grains for food. Each Grain a Tit-Bit Then each Puffed Grain is a tit-bit. It is aity, flaky, thin and crisp, with a taste like toasted nuts. It floats in milk. It crushes at a touch. Girls use them in candy making, boys eat them like pea- nuts, cooks use them to garnish ice cream. When you serve such confections with cream and sugar think what goodies they become. Puffed Wheat, 12c Qatj-}" Puffed Rice, 15c ¥ijijiis Except i in Extreme West ~~ ' These dainties, invented by Prof. Anderson, mean much to you in many ways. They mean scientific foods. They mean whole grains so treated that every atom feeds. They mean fascinating morsels. They mean ease of digestion. The more you serve these grains in this way the better for all concerned. The Quaker Oats @mpany Sole Makers scarab out of him? | I had better take this note to Jones, as I EVENING POST on trying to sell these foreign government bonds in the year 1920, that it can get only eighty thousand dollars for them in Amer- ican money of the present value. ides the dangers immediately bearing | on certain war stocks, investors should always remember that every shrapnel made | here is being used to kill a possible customer | and consumer of our goods—that is, of our wheat, shoes, pork, and so on. What some of our industries gain, other industries will lose; .and there is much question as to whether our country will not lose much more than it gains by the European war. It is not, however, merely the destruction of men that is going to affect us afterward but also the destruction of property. The shortsighted man thinks that the more property is destroyed, the more demand there will be for our goods. This may be true concerning the first demand, immedi- ately after the war. Before there can be August 14, 1915 effective demand, however, there must be money; and we can well imagine that the war may be continued so long that the peo- »le will not have money to buy the bridges, Sosaniiven and other things that have been destroyed. Moreover, it should not be forgotten that every dollar spent on reconstruction work in Europe will mean one dollar less to be invested in new railroads, buildings or in- dustrial enterprises in the United States, as such things have thus far been largely financed by European money. Though after the war there may be a distinct demand for American steel to repair bridges in Europe, there may be much less demand from Amer- ican.railroads to substitute steel for wood in structures in our own country. In other words, a dollar cannot be used twice. If it is used by the Europeans to replace their broken windows it cannot be loaned to us to build new houses. SOMETHING NEW (Continued from Page 18) “It’s a clear case. There isn’t a flaw in it. The only question is, can I, on the evi- dence, go to young Freddie and choke the On the whole, I think promised Judson, and see whether I can’t | work something through him. Yes; that’s the best plan. I'll be starting at once.” Perhaps the greatest hardship in being an invalid is the fact that people come and see you and keep your spirits up. The Honorable Freddie Threepwood suffered extremely from this. His was not a gregari- ous nature and it fatigued his limited brain powers to have to find conversation for his numerous visitors. All he wanted was to be left alone to read the adventures of Gridley Quayle, and when tired of doing that to lie on his back and look at the ceil- ing and think of nothing. It is your dynamic person, your energetic world’s worker, who chafes at being laid up with a sprained ankle. The Honorable Freddie enjoyed it. From boyhood up he had loved lying in bed; and now that Fate had allowed him to do this without incurring rebuke he objected to having his reveries broken up by officious relations. He spent his rare intervals of solitude in trying to decide in his mind which of his cousins, uncles and aunts was, all things considered, the greatest nuisance. Some- times he would give the palm to Colonel Horace Mant, who struck the soldierly note—“I recollect in a hill campaign in the winter of the year 93 giving my ankle the deuce of a twist.’”” Anon the more spiritual attitude of the Bishop of Godalming seemed to annoy him more keenly. Sometimes he would head the list with the name of his Cousin Perey—Lord Stock- heath—who refused to talk of anything except his recent breach-of-promise case and the effect the verdict had had on his old governor. Freddie was in no mood just now to be sympathetic with others on their breach-of-promise cases. As he lay in bed reading on Monday morning the only flaw in his enjoyment of this unaccustomed solitude was the thought that presently the door was bound to open and that some kind inquirer would insinuate himself into the room. His apprehensions proved well founded. Searcely pra" he got well into the details of an ingenious plot on the part of a secret so- ciety to eliminate Gridley Quayle by bribing hiscook—a bad lot—tosprinkle chopped-up horsehair in his chicken fricassee, before the doorknob turned and Ashe Marson came in. Freddie was not the only person who had found the influx of visitors into the sick room a source of irritation. The fact that the invalid seemed unable to get a mo- ment to himself had annoyed Ashe consid- erably. For some little time he had hung about the passage in which Freddie’s room was situated, full of enterprise but unable to make a forward move owing to the throng of sympathizers. What he had to say to the sufferer could not be said in the presence of a third party. Freddie’s sensation, on perceiving him, was one of relief. He had been half afraid it was the bishop. He recognized Ashe as the valet chappie who had helped him to bed on the occasion of his accident. It might be that he had come in a respectful way to make inquiries, but hé was not likely to stop long. He nodded and went on reading. hor’ then, glancing up, he perceived Ashe standing beside the bed, fixing him with a piercing stare. The Honorable Freddie hated piercing stares. One of the reasons why he objected to being left alone with his future father-in- law, Mr. J. Preston Peters, was that Nature had given the millionaire a penetrating pair of eyes, and the stress of business life in New York had developed in him a habit of boring holes in people with them. A young man had to have a stronger nerve than the Honorable Freddie had to enjoy a téte-a- téte with Mr. Peters. Though he accepted Aline’s father as a necessary evil and recognized that his posi- tion entitled him to look at people assharply as he liked, whatever their feelings, he would be hanged if he was going to extend this privilege to Mr. Peters’ valet. This man standing beside him was giving him a look that seemed to his sensitive imagina- tion to have been fired red-hot from a gun; and this annoyed and exasperated Freddie. “What do you want?” he said queru- lously. ‘‘What are you staring at me like that for?” Ashe sat down, leaned his elbows on the bed, and applied the look again from a lower elevation. “Ah!” he said. Whatever may have been Ashe’s defects, so far as the handling of the inductive- reasoning side of Gridley Quayle’s character was concerned, there was one scene in each of his stories in which he never failed. That was the scene in the last chapter, where Quayle, confronting his quarry, unmasked him. Quayle might have floundered in the earlier part of the story, but in his big scene he was exactly right. He was curt, crisp and mercilessly compelling. Ashe, rehearsing this interview in the passage before his entry, had decided that he could hardly do better than model him- self on the detective. So he began to be curt, crisp and mercilessly compelling to Freddie; and after the first few sentences he had that youth gasping for air. “T will tell you,” he said. “If you can spare me a few moments of your valuable time I will put the facts before you. Yes; press that bell if you wish—and I will put them before witnesses. Lord Emsworth will no doubt be pleased to learn that his son, whom he trusted, is—a thief!” Freddie’s hand fell limply. The bell re- mained untouched. His mouth opened to its fullest extent. In the midst of his panic he had a curious feeling that he had heard or read that last sentence somewhere be- fore. Then he remembered. Those very words occurred in Gridley Quayle, Investi- gator—The Adventure of the Blue Ruby. ““What—what do you mean?” he stam- mered. “T will tell you what I mean. On Satur- day night a valuable scarab was stolen from Lord Emsworth’s private muse um. The case was put into my hands — “Great Scott! Are you a detective?” “Ah!” said Ashe. Life, as many a worthy writer has pointed out, is full of ironies. It seemed to Freddie that here was a supreme example of this fact. All these years he had wanted to meet a detective; and now that his wish had been gratified the detective was detecting him! “The case,’ continued Ashe severely, ‘was placed in my hands. I investigated it. I discovered that you were in urgent and immediate need of money. “How on earth did you do that?”

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“Ah!” said Ashe. “I further discovered that you were in communication with an individual named Jones.” “Good Lord! How?” Ashe smiled quietly. “Yesterday I had a talk with this man Jones, who is staying in Market Blandings. Why is he staying in Market Blandings? Because he had a reason for keepirg in touch with you; because you were about to transfer to his care something you could get possession of, but which only he could dispose of —the scarab.” The Honorable Freddie was speech. He made no comment statement. Ashe continued: | interviewed this man Jones. I said to him: ‘I am in the Honorable Frederick Threepwood’s confidence. I know every- thing. Have you any instructions for me? He replied: ‘What do you know?’ I an- swered: ‘I know that the Honorable Fred- erick Threepwood has something he wishes to hand to you, but which he has been un- able to hand to you owing to having had an accident and being confined to his room. He then told me to tell you to let him have the scarab by messenger. Freddie pulled himself together with an effort. He was in sore straits, but he saw one last chance. His researches in de- tective fiction had given him the knowledge that detectives occasionally relax their aus- terity when dealing with a deserving case. Even Gridley Quayle could sometimes be softened by a hard-luck story. Freddie could recall half a dozen times when a de- tected criminal had been spared by him because he had done it all from the best motives. He determined to throw himself on Ashe’s mercy. a | say, you know,” he said ingratiat- ingly, * ‘I think it’s bally marvelous the way you've deduc ed ev erything, and so on.” “ beyond on this “But I believe you would chuck it if you heard my side of the case. “I know your side of the case. You think you are being blackmailed by a Miss Valentine for some letters you once wrote her. You are not. Miss Valentine has de- stroyed the letters. She told the man Jones so when he went to see her in London. He kept your five hundred pounds and is try- ing to get another thousand out of you under false pretenses.” “What! You can’t be right!” “T am always right.” “You must be mistaken.” “T am never mistaken.” “But how do you know?” “T have my sources of information.” “She isn’t going to sue me for breach of promise?” “She never had any intention of doing so. The Honorable Freddie sank back on the pillows. “Good egg!” he said with fervor. beamed happily. “This,” he observed, a bit of all right.” “Never mind that,” said Ashe. me the scarab. Where is it?” “What are you going to do with it?” “Restore it to its rightful owner.” “ Are you going to give me away to the governor?” “T am not.” “It strikes me,” said Freddie gratefully, “that you are a dashed good sort. You seem to me to have the making of an abso- lute topper! It’s under the mattress. I had it on me when I fell downstairs and I had to shove it in there.” Ashe drew it out. He stood looking at it, absorbed. He could hardly believe his quest was at an end and that a small for- tune lay in the palm of his hand. Freddie was eying him admiringly. “You know,” he said, “I’ve always wanted to meet a detective. What beats me is how you chappies find out things.” “We have our methods.” “I believe you. You're a blooming marvel! What first put you on my track?” “That,” said Ashe, “ would take too long to explain. Of course I had to do some tense inductive reasoning; but I cannot trace every link in the chain for you. It would be tedious.” “Not to me.” “Some other time. “I say, I wonder whether you’ve ever read any of these things—these Gridley Quayle stories? I know them by heart.’ With the scarab safely in his abe Ashe could contemplate without active re- pulsion the brightly colored volume the other extended toward him. Already he was beginning to feel a sort of sentiment for the Z “Give depressing Quayle, as something that had once formed part of his life. “Do you read these things?” “T should say I do. I write them.” There are certain supreme moments that cannot be adequately described. Freddie's appreciation of the fact that such a mo- ment had occurred in his life expressed itself in a startled cry and a convulsive movement of all his limbs. He shot up from the pillows and gaped at Ashe. “You write them? You don’t write them!” “ Yes.” “Great Scott!” He would have gone on, doubtless, to say more; but at this moment voices made themselves heard outside the door. There was a movement of feet. Then the door opened and a small procession entered. It was headed by the Earl of Emsworth. Following him came Mr. Peters. And in the wake of the millionaire were Colonel Horace Mant and the Efficient Baxter. They filed into the room and stood by the bedside. Ashe seized the opportunity to slip out. Freddie glanced at the deputation with- out interest. His mind was occupied with other matters. He supposed they had come to inquire after his ankle and he was mildly thankful that they had come in a body instead of one by one. The deputation grouped itself about the bed and shuffled its mean, feet. There was an atmosphere of awk- wardness. “Er—Frederick!"’ said Lord Emsworth. “Freddie, my boy!’ Mr. Peters fiddled dumbly with the cover- let. Colonel Mant cleared his throat. The Efficient Baxter scowled. “Er—Freddie, my dear boy, I fear we have a painful—er—duty to perform.” The words struck straight home at the Honorable Freddie’s guilty conscience Had they, too, tracked him down? And was he now accused of having stolen that infernal scarab? A wave of relief swept over him as he realized that he had got rid of the thing. A decent chappie like that detective would not give him away. All he had to do was to keep his head and stick to stout denial. That was the game—stout denial. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said defensively. “Of course you don’t—dash it!” said Colonel Mant. “We're coming to that. And I should like to begin by saying that, though in a sense it was my fault, I fail to see how I could have acted “ Horace!” “Oh, very well! explain.” Lord Emsworth adjusted his pince-nez and ae inspiration from the w all paper. ‘Freddie, my boy,” he began, “we have a somewhat unpleasant—a somewhat er—disturbing We are compelled to break it to you. We are all most pained and astounded; and The Efficient Baxter spoke. he was in a bad temper. “Miss Peters,” he snapped, “ with your friend Emerson.” Lord Emsworth breathed a sigh of relief “Exactly, Baxter. Precisely! You have put the thing in a nutshell. Really, my dear fellow, you are invaluable.” All eyes searched Freddie's face for signs of uncontrollable emotion. The deputation waited anxiously for his first grief-stricken cry What?” I was only trying to It was plain has eloped “Eh? said Freddie. “It is quite true, Freddie, my dear boy. She went to London with him on the ten- fifty And if I had not been forcibly re- strained,” said Baxter acidly, casting a vindictive look at Colonel Mant, “I could have prevented it.” Colonel Mant cleared his throat again and put a hand to his mustache. “I’m afraid that is true, Freddie. It was a most unfortunate misunderstanding I'll tell you how it happened: I chanced to be at the station bookstall when the train camein. Mr. Baxter was also in the station. The train pulled up and this young fellow Emerson got in—said good-by to us, don’t you know, and gotin. Just as the train was about to start, Miss Peters—exclaiming, ‘George, dear, I’m going with you’—dash it! or some such speech—proceeded to sprint to the door of young Emerson’ $s com- partment. On which —— “On which,” interrupted Baxter, “I made a spring to try and catch her. Apart from any other consideration, the train was already moving and Miss Peters ran con- injury. siderable risk of I had hardly THE SATURDAY EVENING POST How the National Dish Came Back Van Camp Chefs Made Once-a-Week Baked Beans Almost a Daily Delight The pioneer spirit was fairly bred in Baked Beans. the world over, is called our national dish. But it waned. It lacked in daintiness. When men became city dwellers they found the beans hard to digest. This remarkable dish, with meat-like nutrition, came on for one meal a week. Then came Van Camp's. And since it came Baked Bean con sumption has increased at least five times over. Let us tell you why. V “~ BAKED WITH PorkK«BEANS BASED SviTH Also Baked Without the Sauce 10, 15 and 20 Cents Per Can And this, Van Camp employed chefs to study this dish—a famous French chef in particular. He employ ed chemists. by analysis. He established a laboratory, to pick out the beans He built modern steam ovens, to bake beans without crisping or bursting. lo bake them to mellowness —to make them digestible — while leaving them nut like and whole. He created a sauce with a sparkling tang, a resistless zest—a sauce which has never been matched. And he baked that sauce into the beans. Note the result. Thousands of restaurants which once baked their own beans are now buying Van Camp's to please men. Hundreds of their fame to Van Camp's. And countless homes are now serving Van Camp's, several times weekly, in place of meat. lunch rooms owe That's why we urge you to get this ad It has altered Baked Bean stand- ards. It has made this dish a delicacy. Let us not argue. Buy a can. Ii it doesn’t delight you — doesn't amaze you— your grocer will repay the price.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ein saat: sutenese fen Lier Over 300 years ago John Rolfe, the husband of Pocahontas, planted a little patch of tobacco in the first English settlement in Virginia. Little remains but the ruins of a church tower, to remind us of the historic Jamestown, but a girdle of fragrant smoke encircling the world is an ever- present reminder of the great Virginia tobacco industry that was born there. Americans know this golden, sun-ripened, honey- colored Virginia leaf as DUKE’S Mixture, a pipe tobacco of excellence but a cigarette tobacco beyond compare. Perhaps you smoke expensive Turkish cigarettes. No matter. We believe once you have experienced the pleasure of rolling for yourself a DUKE’S Mixture cigarette, you will agree with English cigarette lovers. They will tell you that Virginia tobacco makes a better cigarette than Turkish. Remember, there are forty generous, fragrant ciga- rettefuls in each sack of DUKE’S Mixture, specially prepared to please the exacting taste of Americans. “Superior Quality” won for DUKE’S Mixture the Panama- Pacific International Exposition’s Gold Medal of Honor. Liggett Myers Tobacco CG. ? The “Roll’’ of Fame moved when I felt a violent jerk at my ankle and fell to the ground. After I had | recovered from the shock, which was not | immediately, I found —— “The fact is, Freddie, my boy,” the colonel went on, “I acted under a misap- prehension. Nobody can be sorrier for the | mistake than I; but recent events in this | house had left me with the impression that | Mr. Baxter here was not quite responsible | for his actions—overwork or something, I imagined. I have seen it happen so often in India, don’t you know, where fellows run amuck and kick up the deuce’s own delight. I am bound to admit that I have been watching Mr. Baxter rather closely lately in the expectation that something of this very kind might happen. “Of course I now realize my mistake; and I have apologized—apologized hum- bly—dash it! But at the moment I was firmly under the impression that our friend here had an attack of some kind and was about to inflict injuries on Miss Peters. If I’ve seen it happen once in India I've seen it happen a dozen times. “T recollect, in the hot weather of the year ’92—or was it '93—I think ’93—one of my native bearers ——- However, I sprang for- ward and caught the crook of my walking stick on Mr. Baxter’s ankle and brought him down. And by the time explanations were made it was too late. The train had gone, with Miss Peters in it.” “And a telegram has just arrived,” said Lord Emsworth, “‘to say that they are being married this afternoon at a registrar’s. The whole occurrence is most disturbing.” “Bear it like a man, my boy!” urged Colonel Mant. To all appearances Freddie was bearing it magnificently. Not asingle exclamation, either of wrath or pain, had escaped his lips. One would have said the shock had stunned him or that he had not heard, for his face expressed no emotion whatever. The fact was, the story had made very | little impression of any sort on the Hon- orable Freddie. His relief at Ashe’s news about Joan Valentine; the stunning joy of having met in the flesh the author of the adventures of Gridley Quayle; the general feeling that all was now right with the | world—these things deprived him of the ability to be greatly distressed. And there was a distinct feeling of re- lief—actual relief—that now it would not | be necessary for him to get married. He had liked Aline; but whenever he had really thought of it the prospect of getting married rather appalled him. A chappie looked such an ass getting married! It appeared, however, that some verbal comment on the state of affairs was re- quired of him. He searched in his mind for something adequate. “You mean to say Aline has bolted with Emerson?” The deputation nodded pained nods. Freddie searched in his mind again. The deputation held its breath. “Well, I’m blowed!” said Freddie. “Fancy that!” Mr. Peters walked heavily into his room. Ashe Marson was waiting for him there. He eyed Ashe dully. “Pack!” he said. Pack?’ 5 “Pack! We’ re getting out of here by the afternoon train. “Has anything happened?” “My daughter has eloped with Emer- son. ““What!” “Don’t stand there saying what! Pack.” Ashe put his hand in his pocket. “Where shall [ put this?”’ he asked. For a moment Mr. Peters looked without comprehension at what Ashe was holding out; then his whole demeanor altered. | His eyes lit up. He uttered a howl of pure rapture: | “You got it!” “T got it.” | “Where was it? Who took it? How did you choke it out of them? How did you | find it? Who had it?” | “] don’t know whether I ought to say. I don’t want to start anything. You won’t tell anyone?” “Tell anyone! What do you take me for? Do you think I am going about adver- tising this? If I can sneak out without that fellow Baxter's jumping on my back I shall be satisfied. You can take it from me that there won't be any sensational exposures if I can help it. Who had it?” “Young Threepwood.” “Threepwood? Why did he want it?” August 14, 1915 “He needed money and he was going to raise it on this.” Mr. Peters exploded. “And I have been kicking because Aline can’t marry him and has gone off with a regular fellow like young Emerson! He's a good boy—young Emerson. I knew his folks. He'll make a name for himself one of these days. He’s got get-up in him. And I have been wanting to shoot him because he has taken Aline away from that goggle- eyed chump up in bed there! “Why, if she had married Threepwood I should have had grandchildren who would have sneaked my watch while I was danc- ing them on my knee! There is a taint of some sort in the whole family. Father sneaks my Cheops and sonny sneaks it from father. What a gang! And the best blood in England! If that’s England's idea of good blood give me Hoboken! This settles it. I was a chump ever to come to a country like this. Property isn't safe here. bee going back to America on the next oat. ““Where’s my check book? I’m going to write you out that check right away. You’ve earned it. Listen, young man: I don’t know what your ideas are, but if you aren't chained to this country I'll make it worth your while to stay on with me. They say no one’s indispensable, but you come mighty near it. If I had you at my elbow for a few years I'd get right back into shape. I'm feeling better now than I have felt in years—and you've only just started in on me. “How about it? You can call yourself what you like—secretary or trainer, or whatever suits you best. What you will be is the fellow who makes me take exercise and stop smoking cigars, and gener: ally looks after me. How do you feel about it? It was a proposition that appealed both to Ashe’s commercial and to his missionary instincts. His only regret had been that, the scarab recovered, he and Mr. Peters would now, he supposed, part company. He had not liked the idea of sending the millionaire back to the world a half-cured man. Already he had begun to look on him in the light of a piece of creative work to which he had just set his hand. But the thought of Joan gave him pause. If this meant separation from Joan it was not to be considered. ‘Let me think it over,’’ he said. “Well, think quick!” said Mr. Peters. It has been said by those who have been through fires, earthquakes and shipwrecks that in such times of stress the social bar- riers are temporarily broken down, and the spectacle may be seen of persons of the highest social standing speaking quite freely to persons who are not in society at all; and of quite nice people addressing others to whom they have never been introduced. The news of Aline Peters’ elopement wit! George Emerson, carried beyond the green- baize door by Slingsby, the chauffeur, pro- duced very much the same state of affairs in the servants’ quarters at Blandings Castle. It was not only that Slingsby was per- mitted to penetrate into the housekeeper's room and tell his story to his social supe- riors there, though that was an absolutely unprecedented occurrence; what was really extraordinary was that mere menials dis- cussed the affair with the personal ladies and gentlemen of the castle guests, and were allowed to do so uncrushed. James, the footman—that pushing individual actually shoved his way into the Room, and was heard by witnesses to remark to no less a person than Mr. Beach that it was a bit thick. And it is on record that his fellow foot- man, Alfred, meeting the groom of the chambers in the passage outside, positively prodded him in the lower ribs, winked, and eaid: “‘What a day we're having!"’ One has to go back to the worst excesses of the French Revolution to parallel these out- rages. It was held by Mr. Beach and Mrs. Twemlow afterward that the social fabric of the castle never fully recovered from this upheaval. It may be they took an extreme view of the matter, but it cannot be denied that it wrought changes. The rise of Slingsby is a case in point. Until this affair took place the chauffeur’s stand- ing had never been satisfactorily settled. Mr. Beach and Mrs. Twemlow led the party which considered that he was merely a species of coachman; but there was a smaller group which, dazzled by Slingsby’s personality, openly declared it was not right that he should take his meals in the servants’ hall with such admitted plebeians

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as the odd man and the steward’s-room footman. The Aline-George elopement settled the point once and for all. Slingsby had car- ried George’s bag to the train. Slingsby had been standing a few yards from the spot where Aline began her dash for the carriage door. Slingsby was able to exhibit the actual half sovereign with which George had tipped him only five minutes before the great event. To send such a public man back to the servants’ hall was impossible. By unspoken consent the chauffeur dined that night in the steward’s room, from which he was never dislodged. Mr. Judson alone stood apart from the throng that clustered about the chauffeur. He was suffering the bitterness of the sup- planted. A brief while before and he had been the central figure, with his story of the letter he had found in the Honorable Fred- die’s coat pocket. Now the importance of his story had been engulfed in that of this later and greater sensation, and Mr. Judson was learning, for the first time, on what unstable foundations popularity stands. Joan was nowhere to be seen. In none of the spots where she might have been ex- pected to be at such a time was she to be found. Ashe had almost given up the search when, going to the back door and looking out as a last chance, he perceived her walking slowly on the gravel drive. She greeted Ashe with a smile, but some- thing was plainly troubling her. She did not speak for a moment and they walked side by side. “What is it?” said Ashe at length. “What is the matter?” She looked at him gravely. “‘Gloom,” she said. ‘ Despondency, Mr. Marson. A sort of flat feeling. Don’t you hate things’ happening?” “I don’t quite understand.” “Well, this affair of Aline, for instance. It’s so big. It makes one feel as though the whole world had altered. I should like nothing to happen ever, and life just to jog peacefully along. That's not the gospel I preached to you in Arundel Street, is it! I thought I was an advanced apostle of action; but I seem to have changed. I'm afraid I shall never be able to make clear what I do mean. I only know I feel as though I have suddenly grown old. These things are such milestones. Already I am beginning to look on the time before Aline behaved so sensationally as terribly re- mote. To-morrow it will be werse, and the day after that worse still. I can see that you don’t in the least understand what I mean.” “Yes; I do—or I think I do. What it comes to, in a few words, is that somebody you were fond of has gone out of your life. Is that it?” Joan nodded. “Yes—at least, that is partly it. I didn’t really know Aline particularly well, beyond having been at school with her, but you're right. It’s not so much what has happened as what it represents that matters. This elopement has marked the end of a phase of my life. I think I have it now. My life has been such a series of jerks. I dash along—then something happens which stops that bit of my life with a jerk; and then I have to start over again—a new bit. I think I'm getting tired of jerks. J] want something stodgy and continuous. “I’m like one of the old bus horses that could go on forever if people got off with- out making them stop. It’s the having to get the bus moving again that wears one out. This little section of my life since we came here is over, and it is finished for good. I've got to start the bus going again on a new road and with a new set of pas- sengers. I wonder whether the old horses used to be sorry when they dropped one set of passengers and took on a lot of areneue as A sudden dryness invaded Ashe’s throat. He tried to speak, but found no words. Joan went on: “Do you ever get moods when life seems absolutely meaningless? It’s like a badly- constructed story, with all sorts of char- acters moving in and out who have nothing to do with the plot. And when somebody comes along that you think really has something to do with the plot, he sud- denly drops out. After a while you begin to wonder what the story is about, and you feel that it’s about nothing—just a jumble.” ‘There is one thing,” knits it together.” “What is that?” “The love interest.” said Ashe, “that THE SATURDAY Their eyes met and suddenly there de- scended on Ashe confidence. He felt cool and alert, sure of himself, as in the old days he had felt when he ran races and, the nerve-racking hours of waiting past, he listened for the starter’s gun. Subcon- sciously he was aware he had always been a little afraid of Joan, and that now he was no longer afraid. “Joan, will you marry me?” Her eyes wandered. He waited. “I wonder!" she said softly. think that is the solution?” Yes.” ““How can you tell?” she broke out. “We scarcely know each other. I shan't always be in this mood. I may get restless again. I may find it is the jerks that I really like.” “You won't!” “You're very confident.” “T am absolutely confident.” “*She travels the fastest who travels alone,’”’ misquoted Joan. “What is the good,” said Ashe, traveling fast if you're going round in a circle? I know how you feel. same myself. You are an individualist. You think there is something tremendous just round the corner and that you can get it if you try hard enough. There isn’t—or if there is it isn’t worth getting. Life is nothing but a mutual-aid association. I am going to help old Peters—you are going to help me—I am going to help you.” “Help me to do what?” “You “Make life coherent instead of a | jumble.” “Mr. Marson ——” “Don’t call me Mr. Marson.” “Ashe, you don't know what you are doing. You don’t know me. I've been knocking about the world for five years and I'm hard—hard right through. mz ake you wretched.” “You are not in the least hard know it. Listen to me, Joan. your sense of fairness? You crash into my life, turn it upside down, dig me out of my quiet groove, revolutionize my whole existence; and now you propose to drop me and pay no further attention to me. Is it fair? “But I don’t. We shall always be the best of friends. “We shall—but we will get married first. iia “You are determined?” “Tam! Joan laughed happily. “*How perfectly splendid! I was terrified lest I might have made you change your mind. I had to say all I did to preserve my self-respect after proposing to you. Yes; I did. How strange it is that men never seem to understand a woman, however plainly she talks! You don’t think I was really worrying because I had lost Aline, do you? I thought I was going to lose you; and it made me miserable. You couldn't expect me to say it in so many words; but I thought you guessed. I practically said it. Ashe! What are you doing?’ Ashe paused for a moment to reply. “I am kissing you,” he said. “But you mustn't! There’s a scullery maid or somebody looking through the kitchen window. She will see us. Ashe drew her to hirn. “‘Scullery maids have few pleasures,” he said. ‘‘Let her see us.” xr HE Earl of Emsworth sat by the sick bed and regarded the Honorable Fred- die almost tenderly. “IT fear, Freddie, been a great shock to you. “Eh? What? Yes—rather! shock, gov’nor.”” “‘T have been thinking it over, my boy, and perhaps I have been a little hard on you. When your ankle is better I have decided to renew your allowance; and you may return to London, as you do not seem happy in the country. Though chow any reasonable being can ‘prefer — The Honorable Freddie started, popeyed, to a sitting posture. “My word! Not really?” His father nodded. “Yes. But, Freddie, my boy,” he added, not without pathos, “I do wish that this time you would endeavor, for my sake, not to make a fool of yourself.” He eyed his offspring wistfully. “T’ll have a jolly good stab at it, gov’- nor!” said the Honorable Freddie. my dear boy, this has Deuce of a (THE END) EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 14, 1915 e Roomy seven-passenger I T H our production Ca- Quiet 45 horsepower, Six pacity increased to 600 cars Sec nie diece a cna . . *° 125-inch wheel-base; hig per day we are in a position to Saesishy cataend batons offer the 1916 Overland Six at the Specifications Seven-passenger touring Full stream-line body design 125-inch wheel-base Genuine leather upholstery remarkably low price of $1145. You will, ‘Steccwsuw asm Guramn sap High-tension magnet? Pockets in all doors Two-unit electric starter Rain-vision ventilating type we believe, find that this car is consid- | iexiicahatans’, ruling rar nt erably under the market price of other — nw Sixes are being demonstrated and delivey Catalogue on request. Sixes having equal or similar specifications. The Willys-Overland (| . : ai . Also Manufacturers of the Vj Model 83—Four-Cylinder, Five-Passenger Touring Car, $750 f. o. b. Toledo The Willy, Oe jand of Canal’

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Model 86 f. o. b. Toledo or sisi oylioder 2 RASP the full significance of -cylinder motor re ily -_ ° . ed—un ## usually economica its size as denoted by wheel- ll arou nd; non-skids on rear e; hig 9 h-tension magneto ignition . o. . i . ttons k ocated on steering column base—seating capacity—tires; of its cations I of Model 86 generous, efficient power equip- ~~ «a ' ' ‘6 ete ; . read i ron non-ohd apeadomener ment; of its superior ignition; of its every iting type in rear lectric horn ~ - a se eeenenend “=acipeaee” comfort and convenience; of its beautiful 4 delootemre’ new. See the Overland dester in yeertewn, = ines, Then realize that the Overland price om request. Address Dept. 404. > s land CA company, Toledo, Ohio for these extremes of luxury is only $1145. + of the Vii Villys-Knight Automobiles Canadian Price, Model 86, $1600 f. o. b. Hamilton, Ont. d of Cana a, Limited, Hamilton, Ont.

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your smoke down to the very last grain. Smoke OLE =~) constructed so as to keep the smoke cool, clean and sweet. It’s guaranteed. At all good dealers’, 25c¢, 35c, S0c up. WILLIAM DEMUTH & CO. NEW YORK if coming to New York Why Pay Excessive Hotel Rates? THE CLENDENING, 190 W. 103 St, New York Belect, Home-like, Economical, Suites of Parlor, Bedroom, Private Beth for two persons $2.00 daily Write for descriptive booklet G with fine map of city. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST CAMERA STUNTS (Continued from Page 15) catch them en route—or the falling of an aéroplane or an aviator from a great height. We will take the automobile beating an express train to a crossing as an example. | Two pictures are taken. One shows the train’s approach and passage over the crossing, the other depicts the automobile going over the crossing before the train arrives. The strip of film showing the ap- proaching automobile is cut up and all the available views of the automobile obtained therefrom. The automobile is then pasted | on the strip of film showing the approach- | ing train each pasted piece a little nearer to the crossing; then on the crossing, partly over it, and finally clear of the crossing as the pilot of the engine sweeps by. his pasted film is then retouched and prints are made therefrom. The finished article looks like a real race for life and the escape, by an infinitesimal fraction of a second, of | the automobile driver. A falling aéroplane can be shown in the same manner. The dynamiting and wreck- ing of buildings, also, are made realistic through this medium. Skill and large quan- tities of patience are the prime requisites for this kind of camera trickery. When you | witness the dynamiting of a building on the | screen and then see a huge girder or a human body hurtling through the air as an after- math, you have an instance of “ cutting and patching.” Frequenters of moving-picture houses | may have seen a tiny elf issue from a bottle as it rests on a table in front of a man, run up the man’s arm and whisper into his ear, and then, returning to the bottle, disappear therein. This is the illusion in perspective, or the destroying of the correct perspective and the substitution of another wherein the subjects are made to appear in gro- tesque relative proportions, The elf who appears so diminutive may be just as large an individual physically as the man whose arm he appears te run up. It is one of the camera operator’s most cleverly executed illusions. The Bottle Imp Two stages, one close to the camera and the other two or three hundred feet distant and in alignment with the first stage, are the necessities for this variety of photo- graphic legerdemain. Perfect focusing of the camera is also a prime requisite. The first stage, close to the camera, contains a chair, a table and an ordinary ink bottle. The distant stage, when set, will have an immense ink bottle—a replica of the smaller one on the front stage—and an inclined run- way. When the camera is ready the actor seats himself at the table on the front stage. He picks up and inspects the small ink bottle on the table in front of him, thereby establishing in the minds of the audience the fact that the bottle is of ordinary size. The camera is then halted and the small ink bottle removed. On the back stage the large ink bottle is placed in position and a man dressed as an elf climbs into it. The bottom of the huge receptacle is flush with the top of the table shown on the close-up stage—that is, the man-size ink bottle, re- duced to miniature proportions by three | hundred feet of distance, seems to be only | asmall one on the table of the close-up stage. | On the distant stage the inclined runway leads upward from alongside the big ink bottle. Itis in perfect alignment with the arm and shoulder of the man sitting on the close-up stage. With everything in readiness the camera is started; the man-e'! climbs out of the huge ink bottle, runs up the runway, halts at a marked spot and then bends over as though whispering to somebody, and after the necessary action is completed he returns down the runway and disappears again into the ink bottle. The camera is again halted and the big ink bottle removed from the back stage, and the smaller one is again put on the table of the front stage. The camera is started; the man at the table registers surprise, picks up the small ink bottle and inspects it, and goes through other actions which indicate that he is mystified by the appearance of the elf. A few deft touches to the film negative when it is developed, and all traces of substitution | or trickery are destroyed. The sixth ney of illusion—that of dis- carding sections of film or of stopping the | camera—was one of the methods illusion first discovered. It can be made to serve various desired ends and is almost as much | used at the present time as the double ex- posure. In the infancy of filmdom, when finances were low and every dollar was squeezed by the producer until Miss Colum- | bia screamed for Federal intervention, it | By stopping the camera at | judicious periods mammoth armies could | was a godsend. be created from a nucleus of half a dozen hard-worked extra people. In a battle scene a dozen “extras” hired for the day | could be worked up into a thousand or | more. It was accomplished by the simple expedient of having them charge past the | camera, halting the film as the last file of soldiers was about to disappear offstage, marching the “army” round back of the camera, and having the soldiers charge through again as the operator again com- menced pe + The stunt could be repeated indefinitely. By sending them through in a different formation each time and by the switch- ing of caps, coats and impedimenta, each charge was made to appear a little differ- ent. Where rival armies were needed, first one side and then the other was filmed, the otra pals therein simply changing costumes tween camera stops. Raising the Devil One of the present-day moguls of film production asserts that the lack of hirsute adornment on top of his head is due to ogy oy in one of those early-day yattles. As a member of an army of extras he was supposed to be shot during a charge and to fall in front of the camera. Accord- ing to his story of vanished cranial herbage he was compelled to lie in the hot sun for more than an hour, without a hat, while the director created an army of respectable peenene~ Old Sol meantime burning is hair so effectually that it vanished shortly afterward and never returned. Saving the wages of extra performers is not the only usage to which camera stop- ping can be put. Its uses are myriad. A voleano is to be shown in eruption—and there are no volcanoes handy. A suitable hill is found; a hole is dug; a stick of dyna- mite is planted therein and, with a few smoke pots handy, all is ready for showing a life-size volcano. The dynamite is set off, and the camera records the upheaval of earth and the volume of smoke that rises. The camera is stopped as the smoke ceases issuing from the a. Another charge of dynamite is rushed into the hole and a few smoke pots included for good measure. The smoke pots smoke and meantime the fuse attached to the dynamite is working | toward a climax. The camera again gets into action and the film records the smoke | and the explosion that ultimately follows. | If sufficient footage has not been secured the process is repeated. The camera clicks only when the smoke is pouring from the top of the hill and while the explosions send up piles of earth. Two or three explosions | and plantings of smoke pots will give all the volcanic action desired. The sections of film are carefully joined together after de- velopment, with the result that an illusion of a continuous and exceedingly active vol- cano is created. In depicting black art, camera stoppage also is a necessary requisite. A necklace is suddenly to appear about a woman’s neck, or the devil is to bob up alongside the vil- lain. The subject is first shown alone. The camera is then stopped and the necklace fastened about the woman’s neck, or Beel- zebub takes his stand alongside the iniqui- tously inclined one. The camera is started, with the result that in the finished picture either makes its appearance most myste- riously. They can be made to disappear in the same manner. It is said thut the results which can be secured from camera stopping were discov- | ered by an accident somewhat fraught with comedy. In the Argonaut days of photo- play production moving-picture cameras not only had a small film capacity but it was necessary when the film ran out to take the camera back to the studio’s dark room for reloading. If the film ran short during the middle of a scene the actors were com- pelled to hold their positions until the camera man could hasten to the studio and back—a proceeding that sometimes took | an hour or more. (Cenctuded on Page 32) August 14, 1915 Where. Dependability Counts On the long, hard pull,youap- preciate Champion Spark Plugs. They have the 4ui/t-in ability to withstand the terrific force of those hill crest explosions. We subject each separate Champion Plug to every con- ceivable test in the motor for which it is intended. It is ex- haustively tried at every brake load—every speed. (€hampion| Xie ForRd Cm Special % inch 75c has been installed as factory equipment an all new Ford cars since 1911. Insist upon Cham pion “X"" plugs when you replace the spark plugs in your Ford car. CAUTION — Champion X plugs should be used only on Ford cars. There is a special Champion Plug for every wpe of car made. See your dealer or write direct to us. The Champion Guarantee Compirte sati(faction te the «ser —free repair, re placement or money back Champion Spark Plug Co. 110 Avondale Ave. Toledo, O. ¢ 10,000 mile writte Brictson economy and every fully resilient andeasy riding iTry Brictson Tires At Our Expense nd out at our risk the nderf « Trial Plan end deccs ptive book THE BRICTSON MFG. CO. 3785 Brictson Ridg. Brookings, 8. D. tee b Offer—KEITH’S “te Big $2 magazine — leading architects. Subsecr 12 b 1ouse building numbers and your cl e of KEITH'S BOOKS for the HOME BUILDER 136 Plans of Bungalows 175 Plans costing be 104 Cottages 125 125 cstg. below $4000 100 723% C* @ ° 5000. 50 Garages, 40 Duplex § Any one of these $1 Plan Books FREE with a year’s subscription, $2 - KEITH'S, 773 McKnight Bicg , Minneapolis, Minn. —— | The famous (z2eens Mercedes” ) Spark Plug of Europe. Adopted by Unbreakable Double Stone— UJ, §. Army and Navy 4 sparking points. Platinum- Why? alloy electrode self-clean- ing. Guaranteed a year usually outlasts the motor Dealers or direct from us— $1.50 0. 245 W. 55th St., New York

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143 Car Builders and Willard Put Your Satisfaction These cars are equipped with Willard Batteries. a} The majority have used them since the begin- ning of electric starting and lighting Abbott- Detroit Allen Alter American La France Arnerican mes Apperson Armleder Atlas-Knight Atterbury Auburn Austin Avery Bell Berg Blumberg Briscoe Brock vilie-Atlas Brockway Chalmers Chandler Chevrolet, Baby Grand Coey Flyer Colby Coleman Commerce Consolidated Continental Corbitt Crane Crawford Crescent Crow Cunningham Dav ss DeDion-Bouton Denby Detroiter Dile Dodge Brothers Motor Car Dorris Empire Enger Federal Firestone, 1914 Franklin Front Drive Glide Gramm Gramm-Bern- stein Great Eagle Great Western Halladay Hanger Harwood-Bar- ley Haynes Herff- Brooks Hollier 8 Howard Hupmobile Imperial Indiana International Interstate Jackson Jeffery Jones Kelly King KisselKar Kline Knox Krit Lambert Lancia Lauth-Juergens a Lexington Lippard-Stewart Locomobile Lozier Lyons-Atlas McFarlan Mcintyre McLaughlin Madison Marion Marmon Martin Mason Meteor Metz Mitchell Moline Monarch Monitor 4-30" Monroe Moon Moyer Nationa! Oakland Overland, Models 83 and 84 Owen Magnetic Packard Paige Pathfinder Peerless Pilgrim Pilot Pope-Hartford Pratt Premier Regal Renault Reo Richmond Rowe Russell Saxon Sayers-Scoville Scripps- Booth Seagreve S. G. V. Simplex Singer Spaulding Speedwell Spoerer Stafford Stanley Stegeman Sternberg Stewart Studebaker Stutz Thomas Touraine Tudhope Vehe Westcott Wichita Winton Zimmerman These cars represent 85% of the makes equipped with electric starting and lighting. There are some opportunities open for men who have the expert knowledge and complete facilities to give the kind of service demanded by Willard standards Fi ee eT Pa a Pa eae Pe | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 31 Above Price The Willard Storage Battery is one of the easiest things on your car to counterfeit—be- cause its sterling quality is sealed up within, where you can’t see it. A Willard Battery is not handsome in ap- pearance; it looks more like a “‘ black box filled with tar”’ than a jewel case. But in its black depths it hides the “elements” on which your lighting, starting, and often igni- tion, are dependent. £ tes Tested by Lightning Willard Bat It is possible to cheapen battery quality in many ways—but these wise car builders know that it is dangerous. They agree with us that saving a few cents here and there is poor compensation for weak lights and a stalled engine. m can enens b) They are also tested to a tensile streng A few of the many points of battery quality , a buy are of bait the stren ha are explained at the right. Be sure your battery pensive tests. But leaky, broker measures up to these standards. For complete information write for booklets STORAGE Not “Easy to Bend” These lead “ grid are plates th at store the energ "Th. : tiffened by antimor t mpering metal It coat more than lead } easy to bend mentioned below. BATTERY Willar plates are ort the batteries in whi ' ar od on xide And nothing plays a bigger part in battery quality than the purity of these oxides. Cheap oxid ur ard ! but are might apt be f vd cheap battery xes and : u Over 450 Expert Battery Service Stations Car builders who specify Willard Batteries believe your interests demand good service as long as the car is in use. They know the value of built-in quality, p/us the service given at Willard Stations, where renewals, repairs and recharging are in the hands of experts Be Sure to Send for These Books “ Your Storage Battery, What It Is and How To Get the Most Out Of It,”’ has helped thousands of car owners to reduce the cost of battery maintenance and avoid battery troubles “Truth Telling Tests” explains the big, vital points of battery quality and shows you how to make sure of them Ask for Bulletin A-6 and both books will be sent weer s Under the Paint? Willard Storage Battery nang tiga Cleveland Derror 46-40 Woodwar New Yor: 228-230 W. 58th St sh A Cricaco: 2524-30 So. Waba AN FRANCT 14 - St inepeaAPouss 318 North Illinois St Sock EvROPEAN REPRESENTATIVE Direct Factory REPRESENTATIVES Mm The British Willard Battery Co., Ltd Philadelphia, Boston, Atlanta, Dallas 46 Poland St., London W., England Kansas City Omaha Minneapo! Service Stations in Ali Principal Cities in the United States, Canada and Mexico

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32 THE SATURDAY Good Teeth a Social Duty The attractiveness of a ready smile, showing the lash of well-kept teeth—the atmosphere of dainty cleanness that goes with a wholesome mouth—the yeneral good health and good spirits associated with regular care of the teeth—all these are positive reasons for using pany. IE Faithful attention to the twice-a-day Tooth Brush Drill is easily secured with Ribbon Dental Cream. The delicious flavor makes its use a treat and children use it willingly and faithfully. Ribbon Dental Cream checks the growth of decay germs-— yet it is not over-medicated and leaves prescription for abnor- mal conditions to the dentist. Ribbon harmful grit to scratch the the gums. Dental Cream cleanses thoroughly—yet it has no enamel of the teeth and injure Sold everywhere—or a generous trial tube sent for 4¢ in stamps COLGATE & CO. Dept. P 199 Fulton St. New York Makers of Cashmere Bouquet Soap luxurious, lasting, refined. portunities for all * If you will help a campaign object, write at once to the Society to “F REE SEAS mn ah ' 6 and nations ‘ ub thi Eliminate the Economic Causes of War i Lost R W. BABSON, Secretary Wellesley Hills, Mass. | | View of arch cut with knife FREE 10-day Trial Offer Nathan Anklet Support Co., 90-C Reade St, N.Y. Sn Nathan sts Arch Supports give immediate relief to tired. achin bits any shoe, $100 OO EARNED BY YOU ™ - ARTISTIN 20D Capable commercia! artists who have obtained practical training from members of our faculty have earned $100 in two days, often more Master in your spare time, by our home study method, the essentials of an uncrowded profession which pays salaries far greater than the average. High authorities EVENING POST (Concluded from Page 30) One day the film gave out while a hang- ing was in progress— in fact, just as the rope was about to be tautened. While the cam- era operator hastened to the studio to re- load, the actors stood in the broiling sun on a mountainside. To protect himself from sunstroke, the man to be hanged put on his | hat. When the camera was again ready he forgot to remove it—and he was hanged with his hat on. When the picture was finished it showed the central character in the scene bare- headed as the rope was placed about his neck, and then, just as he was about to be swung into the air, with a hat on his head. It had such a mysterious aspect when pro- jected on the screen that the inventive camera man—now a millionaire producer— made some experiments. Weird instances of photographic black art followed shortly thereafter, and then other results that | could be secured by camera stoppage. In a film spectacle produced some years ago a Biblical character was shown wres- tling with a lion, tearing its jaws apart, and finally casting it from him, a very dead lion. It was an instance of stop work, and also a case wherein a motion-picture- producing concern followed the prescribed pone neers slogan of wasting nothing put the squeal. The actor who portrayed the réle of the Biblical strong man was one of the highest- | salaried motion-picture stars in the world; and lions, no matter how toothless and feeble, are hardly trustworthy opponents in a wrestling match. The company produc- ing the spectacle could not see its way clear to risk its star performer on the ~ Aes of chance—a live lion might resent the famil- iarities called for by the scenario plot of the picture. Therefore, it was decided that the only safe lion for such a scene was a dead lion. Fighting a Lion With Bare Hands As a prelude to showing the Biblical strong man breaking the jaws of the king of beasts—a thoroughly dead king—it was necessary to impress on the audience the | fact that it was a real, sure-enough, live- and-kicking lion with which he grappled. Motion-picture audiences, being keen crit- ics and quick to discover any semblance of | fraud, in this case were to be the subjects | of suggestive hypnosis. The fact that the hero grappled with a poor, dead lion might | be detected unless fortifying measures were taken; so it was done this way: The lion was first shown as he stalked | through an improvised jungle—somewhat | decrepit - -looking, but at the same time a live lion. The hero was then shown as he | walked along a jungle path. The next view showed the lion apparently startled, as though by somebody approaching —in real- ity by a pistol fired in close proximity. In quick succession flashes showed the hero, also startled—then the lion ready to spring—the hero on guard—the lion spring- ing—the hero braced and catching the lion as it hurtled on him—then the tearing of the jaws under his mighty arms, and the action- fraught struggle. Between the timewhen the lion was shown springing and when it came hurtling through the air into the hero’s arms a bullet had ended its life. The actual slaying was utilized in another moving-picture thriller. The dead lion came catapulting into the | hero’s arms propelled by the combined | strength of half a dozen husky extras who stood just out of camera bounds. The sec- | tions of film showing the lion springing—on | a chicken fastened to a stake—and the hero receiving it as it sprang, were cleverly | matched, with the result that the finished | picture completely fooled the audiences | before which it was afterward shown. We have said that the actual killing of the lion was used in another picture. Pre- vention of waste did not cease there. The dead body was also shown in a third picture, August 14, 1915 - icting the fruits of a chase indulged n by alleged royalty. The pelt is still used = a wall and floor decoration in interior scenes. The motion-picture devotee has probably wondered how pen drawings of moving characters are produced on the screen. This also is an instance of camera stoppage— the slowest and most painstaking kind. For in- stance, a bird is trying to pull an angle- worm from a hole in the ground. The bird hops up, grabs the worm, pulls, suddenly lets go, and the worm snaps back toward the hole. The process is repeated numerous times. Every hop of the bird and every tug at the worm requires half a dozen separate drawings. They are photographed in se- quence of movement, the camera being stopped between each drawing while a new one is being inserted. A one-reel comedy of this kind takes months to make. Another instance of patient and time- consuming stop work is where many letters of the alphabet appear in a jumbled mass on a curtain, then suddenly become ani- mated, dance about, and finally take their proper places in a sentence. Between clicks of the camera human hands move the let- ters about and every different position is photographed. When run through the pro- jecting machine the letters move with ce- lerity and appear to be guided by some mysterious force. Though the photographic art, as applied to motion pictures, has been developed to a finesse that, to a large extent, has obviated the necessity of chance-taking by humans in the production of thrillers, the gentry of the silent drama are still called on to risk life and limb occasionally for some desired effect. Inventive camera men, however, can usually produce something in the line of a clever counterfeit that will completely fool future audiences. To them —~ be- longs the credit for the development of motion pictures to their present vogue of popularity. It is said that every director of motion pictures is more or less dependent on the camera man for the successful outcome of his endeavors— whereas, in truth, he is ab- solutely dependent on him; and it is within the power of the camera manipulator to make or break the producing director under whose orders he labors. The director wants certain effects in a picture. He gives orders and the camera man produces the desired effects. The transcribing on film of an awe- inspiring night battle scene—the bursting of shells in mid-air and the lights and shad- ows of bomb-made illuminations—is the result of hours of study and months of experiment in causes and effects on film surface by the camera manipulators. And, we repeat, given a little time and a modi- cum of makeshift materials, there are few things or effects they cannot duplicate on the screen. One He Knew NDOUBTEDLY it was a Republican, and a rabid Republican at that, who put this story into circulation. He said a lover of the works and the memory of Samuel L. Clemens went to the town of Hannibal, Missouri, where Mr. Clemens spent his boyhood, and hunted up the old- est inhabitant. ‘Do you remember Mark Twain Samuel L. Clemens—who once lived in this town?” asked the visitor. The aged Hannibalite shook his head. “Never heared tell of him,” he said. “Well, didn’t you know the original of Tom Sawyer?” “Nope, never heared tell of that fellow, neither.” “May be you knew Huck Finn? “Nope “Well, how about Puddin’head Wilson ever hear of him?’ “ Hell, yes; I voted for 2im in 1912!” endorse course. Send today for folio of commercial illus- tr ations and free book, “ Your Future,” containing complete information FEDERAL SCHOOL OF COMMERCIAL | DESIGNING. ie 20 Warner Building meapolis, Minn.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (oa SO of fe Do ‘ Viet the paler ? — The Universal Answer Price Chicago Building : . U.S.A. Largest tailors in the world of GOOD made-to-order clothes . oy gs ( a = = ae Mae SS te Eo TS > So “7 sme ea nal a ¥ ne ve . a dC roe s , ~ If you don’t know who our dealer is, wnte us for his name and address | -—. - aa =

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THE SATURDAY itt WUPETT TET EA REA CUEHTATN TINIE Hi iti ~ Hung on a Nail The nail above was a bright, shining steel nail only eleven years ago. Rust has destroyed it. It was eaten away rapidly because it contained impurities. Compare, in your mind, this nail with one of the old-fashioned iron nails. Why? For Armco Iron is not only the purest iron made but it is the most nearly perfect in respect to even- ness and all the other qualities that the Inspection is constant and severe ; bars and sheets that show even the most minute defects are rigidly excluded. are basis of rust-resistance. Many manufacturers are now Armco Iron in their sheet Your tinner or using metal products it. It’s free. It’s complete. sheet metal. THE AMERICAN Licensed Manufacturers under Patent Because they were nearly pure iron. they were not so pure as is Armco Iron. They probably did not resist rust as well as ARMCO IRON Resists Rust Manufacturers and Consumers alike should have copies of our big story of Armco Iron— It will help you save money on Get it without delay. ROLLING MILL COMPANY granted to The International Metal Products Company Box 2001, Middletown, Ohio Branch Offices in Chicago, Pittsburgh, Detroit, New York, St. Louis and Cleveland A hundred years in the ground had not seriously damaged the wrought iron nails recently exhumed in a cemetery at Ft. St. Clair, Ohio. But hardware dealer can furnish you with Armce products—such as stoves, roofings, drain pipes, tanks, fencing, etc. If you have difficulty write us and we will see that you are suppiied, furnaces, The trace mark ARMCO carries the assurance that iron bearing that mark is manu factured by The American Re ing Mill Company with the skill, intelligence and fidelity as»ociat ed with its products, and hence can be depended upon to possess in the highest degree the claimet for it. ment “Defeating Rust.” Send for epehiael ANWAR TTT C Tle Y' )U can decide after learning the details of the Curtis Scholarship Plan. oO e e Any college course can be earned by an Educational Representative of The ora Job? COMPANY, Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentleman. For particulars, address Educational Division, Box 16, Tuk Curtis PUBLISHING Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. , GOODYEAR-AKRON $ Bicycle Tires Better Tires at Lower Cost Why pay as high as $4.00 for bicycle tires you can buy genuine Goodyear-Akrons at little over half that price? Higher price year- d cost more to make than others, For they are made of the finest materials and in the best way that when wings no greater value. In fact, Akrone wot nh most Sy tories. science has developed But you $2.48 each for emooth tread $2.75 for Non-Skid We offset the costly material and con- struction by wonderful fac- tory machinery and methods. an buy these pating tires at (Goop)y THE GOODYEAR TIRE by wero COMPANY, Akron, Ohio ' Makers of Goodyear Automate Tires A8 Each Smooth Tread $2.75 Non-Skid We can spend more on material because of this efficiency. You get the saving in lower prices. Goodyear-Akron Bicycle Tires are built with the same care as Goodyear Automobile and Motorcycle Tires. Better cannot be made at any price. At Your cycle tire. b mae s Remember this when you buy your next bi- Ask your dealer for Geodyear- $2.48 each for smooth tread, $2.75 each for Non-Skid tread. If he has none in stock he can get them quickly from our nearest branch. Accept nothing but the best year-Akron. (2385) EVENING POST August 14, 1915 Cc. 0. D. TO-NIGHT (Continued from Page 21) to one thousand dollars. And there would be other bulletins, as staggering as these, piling | up the gruesomely ridiculous aspect; and— the buzzer from Brackett’s office whined nastily under his desk four times in quick | succession. Henry Trindel, his solemn coun- | tenancestrangely set, moved across the gen- eral office to his superior and found that large, hard person tramping the floor with hands rammed deep in his pockets. “Storer starts on his coast-to-coast trip to-morrow!" he thundered at Henry Trin- del. The cashier nodded. “So he’s taking his wife for a long automobile ride to-day!” shouted Mr. Brackett, and every tooth showed. “Storer isn’t working to-day! And | Truscott, the next man to him in our al- leged sales department, was up all night with a toothache and may be out a week! Say! For a concern of this size, the selling end of this business is enough to make an angel stand up on the tips of his wings and curse!” His eyes poured fire at Henry Trindel for a moment and seemed to find that per- son asbestos. “Well, anyway, you'll have to go round there to Curleys’, Henry,” the firm said more mildly. “I positively will not go my- self, and something tells me that somebody ought to put in an appearance and do some talking. You go and hand it to’em straight, Henry. Talk quality and talk prompt de- | liveries, with no excuses. Talk reliability too; and if you have to knock Donovan a little, go ahead.” He laid a heavy hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Only—see whether there isn’t some way of nailing that million dollars’ worth of business for us. You can do that?” The cashier nodded and moved away again, this time for the hat that his numbed fingers located in the swimming gloom be- fore his eyes. Beside his mighty flat-top desk the elder Curley gazed - crm at the younger Curley and said “Of course Donovan will stick us on quality if he can, and Brackett won’t—we know that in advance. If there was a big enough difference in their figures I’d say take a chance on Donovan anyway—these | prices of Brackett’s are regular highway- | Mr. robbery stuff. What do you think?” “T’m darned if I know what to advise,” muttered the younger Curley. The elder Curley tapped with his pencil on the dozen typewritten pages in his hand and sighed. “I'd like to look into that Harveyized Brackett brain for ten seconds and find out how far we can hammer him down,” he stated. “Y’know, I hate to tie up with Donovan and start that eternal watching for poor stuff; but ——-”’ He ceased as his office boy appeared and handed him a card. “‘ Henry Trindel—Bland & Brackett, Incorporated,’”” he read with a start. “ Well—send him in.”” And when the boy had gone again he asked: “Who the devil is Henry Trindel, Joe—new salesman?” “New nothing!”’ the younger Curley said quite tensely. “That’s the little rat who’s closer to Brackett himself than any- one else in the world.” “Well, is Brackett so blamed anxious for the business that —-—’’ the senior partner began with sudden joy. “Watch Trindel and fjnd out,” counseled oe unior 5 as the door opened. us was Henry Trindel assured a mildly ae entrance. He improved it by shuffling inward with hig hat pulled down, nodding briefly to the partners and seat- ing himself across the desk from the elder Curley, his general air being that of a pecu- liarly pessimistic undertaker. “About our bid,” he said briefly. “Just—er—dropped in for an answer, Trindel?” the elder Curley smiled, | with some curiosity. “Yes.” — the — Donovan— people — the elder Curley said slowly. Henry Trindel sighed heavily. Brackett had sent him here with a mission, to be sure, as was the privilege of one who paid his splendid salary; but Henry was might- ily impatient of earth’s littler affairs this afternoon. Hence he directed at the elder Curley a stare so dark that the other sub- ” | sided, and said then wearily: “If you want first-class goods delivered promptly by a house of known reliability, take our bid. If you want trash delivered by an unreliable house at their own con- venience, take Donovan's.” “Is th at—er- all you have to say, Trindel?” the elder Curley inquired. “That’s all,” grunted Henry Trindel because, so far as he could ree all, it was all that Brackett had suggested saying. Over his head the Curleys gazed at each other, round-eyed. Seconds, and the younger partner smiled faintly and nodded. The elder, after a long, contemplative scowl at Henry Trindel, shrugged his shoulders and scribbled over the face of his type- written sheets. He folded them again and handed them to Henry. “There,” he said impressively, answer.” “All right!’”” mumbled Henry Trindel, rising and stuffing the papers into his pocket. “‘Good afternoon!” As he shuffled out again the younger Curley’s smile grew quite tart. “You always have to admire real inde- pendence in business anyway,” he reflected. “T suppose that’s about the way Julius Cesar or Napoleon’d have gone out trying to sell goods.” Mr. “is our Onrushing evening, nearer every minute now, cast its own terrible advance picture on Henry Trindel’s tired brain. They would be waiting for him, doubtless, when he reached home—messengers from the jew- elry store and the Paulon firm and the hat lady with the frolicsome name. They would be sitting on the long bench opposite the fireplace in the entrance hall, their hats on their laps, their accursed wares at their feet. They would rise, holding out their hands for nine hundred and forty-two dol- lars; and then—here Henry Trindel paused in the general office to thrust the Curley papers into the hands of an office boy and push him toward Brackett’s office. After- ward, breathing heavily in his own sanc- tum, he pondered the Curley matter fora full minute. Very likely Brackett expected him to come in and report the full details of the not unexpected disaster in person; if so he could push his buzzer button. It was no interview that Henry Trindel meant to court; but, on the other hand—and this was amazing — he felt no fear at all of Brackett's rage. No-—even though Brackett shout fury over his lost contract until the metzc] ceiling split apart; even though Brackett’s great fist pound his desk to splinters as he cursed Fate and theCurleys— Henry Trindel cared not one infinitesimal rap. The reason for this unusual state of mind was that Henry Trindel no longer cared for anything in the world. He had been quite wrong about the silliness of that feeling of impending bad luck—it was the most horribly reliable premonition ever visited on man; and, now that it was turning into fact, several courses lay before him, all steeped in misery: He might try borrowing enough to cover the C. O. D. nightmare; after all, he knew many prosperous people about town and he might collect a thousand dollars before the time for one of the later trains. He could not do it! Or he might return to Clythebourne as usual and, passing the messengers with a stony stare, take Gilda aside, hammer on the library table quite as Brackett hammered at his worst, and lay down the law as she had never heard it laid down before. Henry slid deeper into his chair and shook his head with decision, telling himself that he simply did not care to face a scene of that kind. Again, he might fail to return to Clythebourne. His assistant was elsewhere in the estab- lishment; he permitted himself one loud moan. Whatever wicked thing had over- taken Gilda this day, it would come to just that sooner or later. He could find a fur- nished room and send her a wire, stating that he had left and that Clythebourne stood on the verge of another scandal. He shrank before the prospect and then tem- porarily forgot it entirely as the door burst open. He had not been summoned to the Brackett interview; the interview had come to Henry Trindel. In the center of his office, when he had kicked the door shut after him, stood the firm. “Why, you—you tight-mouthed, pussy- footed little scoundrel!”’ cried the firm. Henry Trindel braced himself against his chairback and shut his teeth. “Henry, if I ever thought you lacked real punch I take it all back now and beg

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your pardon humbly!” Brackett vocifer- ated, gripping his cashier's limp hand and wringing it with the abandon of a happy boy. “You're the biggest thing that ever got into this house—and the least appre- ciated, too, by gad! I don’t believe Storer himself could have put it over!” “Huh?” asked Henry Trindel. “* And they never kicked on asingle item— not on a solitary item! They accepted every detail just as we bid on it—well, you saw Curley write that on the estimate, of course!” exulted Henry’s slightly mistaken employer. “We've got ’em, Henry! We've got ‘em nailed down for a million dollars’ worth of business and most of it’s good for a clean fifteen per cent profit. By crickey, , Henry, I never thought you had it in you! He sobered somewhat and patted Henry Trindel’s shoulder affectionately. ‘‘ You're as near a business genius as I’ve seen in a long time—any man is who can put that through under present conditions. I’m proud to have you here and I won’t forget it—believe me, Henry! And that’s just talk!"” Brackett Tumbled joyfully, striding to the big safe. “‘ How much cash is Storer taking with him to-morrow?” “Fifteen hundred dollars, because “T have it,” stated Brac kett. “What's this twelve hundred dollars in fives and tens, Henry?’ “The half-week payroll for the extra hands they had to put on at the factory,” Henry Trindel responded. ‘“Johnson’s memorandum s “Is there any more stray wealth in this safe?” “No.” “Take this, then—and blessyou, Henry!” cried the firm quite irresponsibly, and thrust the mass of perfectly good money into his cashier’s cold fingers. ‘‘It isn’t the half per cent bonus Storer’d have drawn; but you pay yourself a check for the bal- ance and sign a voucher for the whole amount.”” He stood away and considered his cashier with a vest, almost incredulous smile. “What gets me,” went on Mr. Brackett, “‘is, I never suspected before that you were really fitted for this sort of big stunt, Henry.” One great point in favor of pure happi- ness is that it brings quick recuperation from sorrows gone; five minutes of solitude and Henry Trindel’s own smile seemed graven into the bone. He had bothered Brackett with none of those superfluous details that constituted the truth about the Curley call. Henry Trindel had quite abandoned the notion of leaving home forever; instead, he went to the extreme length of putting his small, soberly shod feet on the armrest of his desk as he visualized the return to Clythebourne. Just what demon of wild purchasing had possessed Gilda to-day would have to be explained later and guarded against in future, of course; but, for once at least, reflected Henry Trindel—and in reflecting he patted the bulging hemisphere that was his trousers pocket—Gilda should learn that on occasion her husband might be not quite out of the tiara class after all. As on every other Wednesday evening, the Merriweathers were to dine with the Trindels. From afar the professional cook sent faint, teasing odors. On the long bench opposite the fireplace only Merri- weather smoked and read the stock market. In the library Gilda turned from the tele- phone to her closest friend. The gravity of Gilda’s countenance came from sheer remorse. “Well, I caught Paulon, too, before he closed. That settles him and the Fifine woman,” she said with much relief. “‘ When the wretched old pendant comes I'll tip the boy and send him back with it.” Mrs. Merriweather laid aside her maga- zine and shook her head. “You were silly to countermand those “Tt might be true,”’ said Myra. Real tears appeared in Gilda’s blue eyes. “Tt isn’t true at all!” she cried almost vehemently. “‘I know every penny Henry has in the world, and I ought to be helping himh save some of them. It was beastly of me; it was perfectly insane to try a thing like that. I knew it while I was doing it, but I didn’t really know how heartless it was until I got home. You started me!” “Did I?” Mrs. Merriweather smiled quite cheerfully. “You did! If you hadn't suggested it such a thing never would have come into my mind; and now poor old Henry’s been THE SATURDAY EVENING POST worrying himself to death all day—and it’s | my fault.” Mrs. Merriweather wrinkled the corners of her intelligent nose. “Even so,”’ said she, “it’s better to finish anything you start. Why didn’t Henry telephone and telegraph, and then storm in | himself, if ———" From the entrance hall came the click of the door and Merriweather’s hearty: “Hello, Trindel!” “Hello, Merriweather!" Henry Trindel nded, with astonishing blitheness. ow’s tricks?” Gilda, failing to catch the lighter note, | was hurrying to him; and, reaching him, her arms slipped round his neck and she kissed Henry Trindel with all the force of her genuine repentance. “Henry—you poor old boy!" she said swiftly and softly. “I didn’t ve With a vest-pocket edition of Brackett's overwhelming laugh Henry Trindel freed himself. ‘Just one—er—moment,” smiled he. Smiling, he looked about him—at pretty Gilda, with lips apart; at Myra; at Merri- weather, grinning beside him. He had anticipated just this stage setting; coming up on the train, indeed, he had rehearsed his own part in the scene. And, though in — ways it might seem cheap and spec- tacular, it was to Henry Trindel’s mind a part thrillingly effective—even downright splendid. Slowly, then, his hand moved to his eee. sers pocket. Appearing again, it held neat, tight roll of bank notes, the outer one conspicuous for its C. C, too, was the mystic letter engraved on the second and the third, and on all the rest, including the eleventh, as Henry Trindel stripped away the first ten with an impatient little twit« h. “For your—er—knickknacks, my dar- ling!” he said, playfully indifferent, and then dismissed the whole affair with his lan- guid: “‘Came up on the four- thirty-eight to-day—eh, Merriweather?” Obviously quite startle d that she should more than nod and toss the yellow sheaf to the stone mantel, he waved away smilingly the phrase or two of which Gilda was capa- ble. Fondly he glanced after her as, with tread suggestive of somnambulism, she moved into the library again. At her side was Myra, whose dark eyes glittered excite- ment. “1 was right!” breathed Myra. “TI told you you were silly to countermand those things!” For the time bereft of speech, Mrs. Henry Trindel merely stared at her and past her. She saw not Myra, but rosy, nebulous shapes—shadow forms of servile butlers and second men, and the wraith of a gardener imported from England; stern, clean-cut features of a misty chauffeur and his footman, imagelike on the front of a vaporous car not less than twice as large as the blue one. Floating visions she saw of shining, roar- ing speed boats leaping through spray to a long white yacht, and visions of an Italian garden, with columns, and a fountain that played in the sunshine, and a throng of charming, modis’ people who rejoiced in Gilda’s domination. '! Star-eyed, Gilda gazed into the future; while on the long bench Henry Trindel lounged and pretended to be quite unaware of Merriweather’s fixed stare as that gen- tleman stood by the fireplace. “What have you done, Trindel—robbed a bank?” Merriweather asked with deep interest, flicking his ash to the hearth. “Eh? Oh, no! I just picked up a dollar or two on the side, you know,” yawned Henry Trindel, rather wishing for an ash of his own to flick. For this is one secret of man’s brief con- tentment—that he may not lift the veil and look on to-morrow. a i 5 How Many Hides ‘ Has A Cow? 4° On the Cow — One Off the Cow —Three UT— while practically 90% of all cowhides are split there can be only one top sheet of grain leather. The under layers are merely splits —coated: to look like the real article and sold as genuine leather, but they give neither its wear nor service. Protect yourself! When you purchase upholstery insist upon genuine hand or machine buffed leather. can’t get it, don’t take split leather. If you Demand REG. U. S. PAT. OFF. The Ideal Upholstery Material Guaranteed Superior to Coated Splits Fabrikoid looks like leather, but is mot leather, noz is it offered as an artificial or imitation leather. It stands in a class by itself. It is made of an especially strong fabric, coated with a durable, flexible compound exactly duplicating the artistic appearance and luxurious feeling of the finest plain and Spanish leathers. Fabrikoid works easily—goes on smoothly —tufts beautifully and cuts without waste. It is water, dust and grease proof teed for one year against cracking or peeling. guaran- And back of this guarantee is the century-old Du Pont reputation for integrity of purpose, superiority of product and financial responsibility. Motor Quality Fabrikoid, for automobile, carriage and buggy up holstery, after two years’ satisfactory service on a quarter million of automobiles, i is being sold on another quarter million of this year’s cars of various leading makes. Insist that your car be up- ove either in hand or machine buffed le ather or Motor Quality Fabrikoid. 5 “*genuine leather. Remember that practically all split leather is sold > Craftsman Quality Fabrikoid occupies the same important place in furniture upholstery and home-made furnishings as Motor Quality does in the automobile field. Used by America’s highest grade furniture manufacturers. Sold by the yard by leading upholstery dealers and department stores in all popular colors, grains and finishes. Guaranteed same as Motor Quality Fabrikoid Rayntite for automobile, carriage and buggy tops is unsurpassed. Proved second to none and superior to many, by long and sincere tests at our Experimental Station. Made in both single and double texture. Both carry the Du Pont guarantee. Write for free samples and booklet, or for 50c we will send postpaid a usable piece of Craftsman Quality, Moorish Finish, size 18x25 inches, and the booklet. DU PONT FABRIKOID COMPANY, Wilmington, Del. Canadian Factory and Sales Office: Toronto

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——Se == ae oe . Horton! THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 14,1915 Doubled Output Last year the Detroit Electric led any enclosed car—either gasoline or elec- tric—in volume of sales. Clearly it won this preference among motor car buyers solely because of its value—for many enclosed cars ranked lower in price. August 12 we reduce the price $600 to $725 per car Remember — these are the same cars plus a score or more of 1916 refinements. ‘This price reduction is possible only because of doubled output. ‘Twice the buyers who bought Detroit Electrics last year must be supplied this season. You get these savings Our doubled production leads to many econo- mies in all overhead expenses, in purchasing, in advertising, in sales cost, in engineering. Great savings in production costs are effected through the use of the most advanced machinery, such as great automatic, multiple spindle screw ma- chines and turret lathes; gang drills; and mon- ster presses for forming aluminum body panels. All the savings effected by our larger operations we hand on to you —and take our benefit from doubled volume. ected ry OP G44 Se, World’s Largest Builders Model 57 Rear Drive Here are the 1916 prices The Model 61 Four-Passenger Brougham ( Formerly $2,600)— Now $1,975 The Model 60 Five-Passenger Duplex Drive Brougham ( Formerly $3,000) — Now $2,275 The Model 59 Five-Passenger Rear Drive Brougham (Formerly $2,950) Now $2,225 The Model 58 Five-Passenger Front Drive Brougham (Formerly $2,950) Now $2,250 The Model 57 Four-Passenger Rear Drive Brougham (Formerly $2,850)— Now $2,175 The Model 56 Three-Passenger Cabriolet (Formerly $2, 650) Now $2,075 You may have either the worm bevel gear or the worm gear; wire or wood wheels, as optional equipment. For its economy choose the Detroit Electric Motorists today question maintenance cost. They have come to rebel at upkeep excess. The 1916 Detroit Electric offers the relief you seek from operative over-tax. Current for bat- tery charging is furnished at low rates (averag- ing $5.00 to $7.00 per month) and is growing lower constantly. Repair, replacement, and adjustment charges—costs which swell the monthly bills of many motorists—seldom con- cern the Detroit Electric owner. ~~ i

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~ re THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Greatly Reduces Prices Model 61 Rear Drive Superiorities of 1916 Detroit Electrics Even while lowering the price, we bettered the car. In the 1916 Detroit Electric, you will find —we believe—the top place car of its type. We urge you to match it—if you can —in elegance, quality, utility, or value in the entire closed car field — gasoline and electric. Consider these features—a motor producing a continuous, vibra- tionless power-flow —a motor so mechanically efficient that but rarely does it need attention. A higher capacity battery of our own design (guaranteed) that provides greater mileage on one battery charge than you ordinarily use in a day’s motoring. An improvement in the steering mechanism which practically elimi- nates all vibration in the steering lever. Finest aluminum forms the body panels, battery hoods, fenders and window frames. The roof in one piece —pressed from a solid sheet of aluminum —will neither leak nor crack. Houk wire wheels, Perfection door window lifts, sashless side win- dows, Hanlon patented rain vision front win- dow and Goodrich Silvertown cord pneumatic or Motz Cushion tires as optional equipment. This is the car for ) all the family all the year | The obvious advantages of the enclosed car are winning more motor car buyers each year, ——_ | St WN especially those desiring a car for continuous service the year’round. Inthe Detroit Electric you find roomy comfort for all passengers. You find a simplicity of operation, a positiveness of control, perfect spring suspension and weight distribution —that emphatically recommend it for the entire family’s use. On hot days, with windows down, you enjoy open car coolness. On cold, stormy days, with windows raised, you have closed car comfort. Every town with electricity is a Detroit Electric town If you live in a town which has electricity you can enjoy the advantages of the Detroit Electric. Paved streets are not a necessity for this car with its great power and remarkably easy riding quali ties. Detroit Electric owners have demonstrated that it is just as good for interurban motoring as it is for driving about town. You will find the Detroit Electric dealer among the leading responsible automobile dealers in your territory. Call on him at once—and learn why the 1916 Detroit Electric is the preferable car for you. The Anderson Electric Car Co. Makers of Detroit Electric Cars Detroit Michigan *2075 mons os ’ onl

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\ wom Senpiedes ean nes SERS ¥) sd ~ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE GRAY DAWN (Continued from Page 6) ODGE BROTHERS MOTOR CAR Thousands of these cars have now trav- eled thousands of miles. As a result, every dealer has accumulated a mass of interesting and impressive in- formation. For example, they are constantly re- ceiving reports from owners, of unusual economies in gasoline consumption and tire mileage ‘ These owners’ experiences are so much out of the ordinary, and indicate such a marked saving, that we are sure it will be well worth your while to inquire into them. The wheelbase is 110 inches The price of the Touring Car or Roadster complete is $785 (f. o. b. Detroit) Canadian price $1100 (add freight from Detroit) Dooce BrRoTHERS, DETROIT —when you can “blaze away” without stint of ammunition. With .25 Rim Fire—cheap, powerful and reliable—will kill foxes, skunks, woodchucks, muskrata, etc., as quickly and surely as more expensive am- munition Model 27 Mata ie the only repeater made for this splendid cartridge —so age mg it is used successfully u deer, so cheap you can shoot it treely at shght ex- pense. Take-down; lendid sights; 8 shots; with 24-inch Round barrel, $13.15; Octa- gon, $15.00, Repeating Rifles you don't have to worry about cost of cartridges. They are remarkably accurate, but cheap because rim fire. nt use expensive ammunition where a cheap cartridge is just as good | -22 Rim Fire Warlin have a oly frame, sicle ejection and all other up-to- date features, They shoot all .22 short, long and -rifle cartridges—splendid for squirrels, rabbits, hawks, crows and other small eo am and target shooting up to 200 yards. "92 and "97 have lever action—25 shots— .22 rifles in the world; $12. Oo eee Models 29 and 20 have caiamion take-down; 15 and 25 shots; $9.25 and $11.50. Send 3 stamps postage for new catalog, -32 Rim Fire Model "92; lever-action ; 17 dain showing complete line of Maclin much more powerful than the t s. With round repeaters, rifles and s. ns. barrel, $12 fs. octagon, $13 Phe Harlin pene @ 19 Willow Street, New Haven, Conn. Model 27 “Tt may be, sir, that you favor the piano- box type, of the sort made by Smith or Van Ness?”’ he inquired politely. “It is a point on which my opinion is still suspended,” replied Keith with great gravity. The little man moved nearer and his shyness fell from him. “Oh, but really there is no choice, none whatever!”’ he cried. “I’m sure, sir, I can convince you in five minutes. I assure you we have gone into the subject thoroughly — this Hunaman cost us over five thousand dollars; and you may be certain we went very thoroughly into the matter before making the investment —— He went on talking in his self-effacing, deprecatory but very earnest fashion. The other men in the group, Keith felt, were watching with covert amusement. Occa- sionally he thought to catch half-concealed grins at his predicament. In less than the five minutes the claims of the piano-box were utterly demolished. Followed a dis- sertation on methods of fighting fire, and then a history of the Monumental Com- pany, its members, its officers and its proud record. ‘And our bell, did you know that, is the bell used by the Vigilantes?” He broke off suddenly in confusion, his em- barrassment descending on him again. A moment later he sidled away. “But I found him very interesting!” protested Keith in answer to implied apol- ogies. “Bert is invaluable here, but he’s a lunatic on fire apparatus. We couldn’t get along without him, but it’s sometimes mighty difficult to get on with him,” said someone. Keith was making a good impression, without consciously trying to do so. His high spirits of youth and enthusiasm were in his favor; and as yet he had no interests to come into conflict with those of anyone present. More drinks were ordered and fresh cigars lighted. From Sherwood they now learned that Keith had but just landed and intended to settle as a permanent resident. As one man they uprose. “And you wastin’ of yo’ time indoors!” mourned the dark Southerner, “and so much to see!” Enthusiastically they surrounded him and led him forth. Only a very old, very small, very decadent village is devoid of what is modernly called the booster spirit. In those early days of slow transportation and isolated communities local patriotism was much stronger than it is now. And something about the air’s wine on the Pacific slope has always and probably will always make of every man an earnest proselyte for whatever patch of soil he calls home. But add to these general considera- tions the indubitable facts of harbor, hill, health, opportunity, activity, and a genu- ine history, if of only three years, and one can no longer marvel that every man, each in his own way, saw visions. In the course of the next few hours Keith got confused and mixed impressions of many things. The fortress-like warehouses, the plank roads, the new Jenny Lind Theater, the steam paddies eating steadily into the sand hills at the edge of town, the Dramatic Museum, houses perched on the crumbling edges of hills, houses sunk far below the level of new streets with tin cans and ducks floating round them, new office buildings, places where new office buildings were going to be or merély ought to be, land that in five years was’ going to be worth fabulous sums, unlikely Jooking spots where historic things had stood or had happened— all these were pointed Gut to him. He was | called upon to exercise the eye of faith; to reconstruct; to eliminate the unfinished, the mean, the sordid; to overlook the in- adequate; to build the city as it was sure to be, and to concern himself with that and that only. He admired Mount Tamalpais over the way. He was taken up a high hill—a laborious journey—to gaze on the spot where he would have been able to see Mount Diabolo if only Mount Diabolo were visible. And every few blocks he was halted and made to shake hands with someone who was always immediately characterized to him impressively, under the breath— “Colonel Baker, sir, one of the most | divinely endowed men with the gift of eloquence, sir’; “ Mr. Rowiee, sir, editor of one of our leading journals”; “Judge Caldwell, sir, at present one of the orna- | ments of our Bench”; “Mr. Ben Sansome, August 14, 1915 sir, a leadin’ young man in our young but vigorous social life’; and so on. These introductions safely and cere- moniously accomplished, each newcomer in- sisted on leading the way to the nearest bar. “T insist, sir. It is just the hour foh my afternoon toddy.” After some murmuring of expostulation the invitation was invariably accepted. There was always a barroom immediately adjacent. Keith was struck by the number and splendor of these places. Although San Francisco was only three years removed from the tent stage, and although the freightage from the centers of civilization was appalling, there was no lack of luxury. Mahogany bars with brass rails, huge mir- rors with gilt frames, pyramids of deli- cate crystal, rich hangings, oil paintings of doubtful merit but indisputable interest, heavy chandeliers of prism glasses, most elaborate free lunches and white-clad bar- keepers. Such matters were, common to all. In addition, certain of the more pre- tentious boasted special attractions. Thus, one place supported its ceiling on crystal pillars; another—and this was crowded had dashing young women to serve the drinks, though the mixing was done by men; a third offered one of the new large musical boxes capable of playing severz! very noisy tunes; a fourth had imported a marvelous piece of mechanism, a piece of machinery run by clockwork, exhibiting the sea in motion, a ship tossing on its bosom, on shore a watermill in action, a train of cars passing over a bridge, a deer chase with hounds, huntsmen and game, all in pursuit or flight, and the like. The bar- keepers were marvels of dexterity and of special knowledge. At command they would deftly and skillfully mix a grect variety of drinks—cockt: uils, sangarees jule ps, bounces, swizzles, and many others In mixing these drinks it was their specie] pride to pass them at arm’s length from one tall glass to another, the fluid describing a long curve through the air, but spilling never a drop. In these places Keith pledged in turn each of his new acquaintances, and was pledged by them. Never, he thought, had c met so jolly, so interesting, so experi- enced a lot of men. They had not only lived history, they had made it. They were so full of high spirits and the spirit of play His heart warmed to them mightily; and over and over he told himself that he had made no mistake in his long voyage to new fields of endeavor. On the other hand, he too made a good impression. Naturally the numerous drinks had something to do with this mutual esteem; but also it was a fact that his boyish, laughing, half-reckless spirit had much in common with the spirit of the times. Quite accidentally he dis- covered that the tall, dark, Southern youth was Calhoun Bennett. This, then, seemed to him a remarkable coincidence. “Why, I have a letter of introduction to you!” he said. Again and again he recurred to this point, insisting on telling everybody how extraor- dinary the situation was. “Here I’ve been talking to him for three hours,” he exclaimed, “and never knew who he was. And all the time I had a letter of introduction to him!” This and a warm, irresponsible glow of comradeship were the sole indications of the drinks he had had. Keith possessed a strong head. Some of the others were not so fortunate. Little Rowlee was frankly verging on drunkenness. he afternoon wind was beginning to die, and the wisps of high fog that had been flying before it since two o’clock now paused and foregathered to veil the sky. Dusk was falling. “Look here,”’ suggested Rowlee sud- denly, “‘let’s go to Allen’s Branch and have a good dinner, and then drift round to Belle’s place and see if there’s any excite- ment to be had thereabouts.” “Belle, our local Aspasia, sah,” breathed a very elaborate, pompous, elderly South- erner, who had been introduced as Major Montgomery Miles. But this suggestion broughi to Keith a sudden realization of the lateness of the hour, the duration of his absence, and the fact that not only had he not yet settled his wife in rooms of her own, but had left her on the hands of strangers. For the first time he noticed that Sherwood was not of the party.

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“When did Sherwood leave?” he cried. “Oh, a right sma’t time ago,” said Bennett. Keith started to his feet. “T should like to join you,” “but it is impossible now.’ A chorus of expostulation went up at this. “But I haven’t settled down yet!” per- sisted Keith. “I don’t know even whether my baggage is at the hotel.” hey waved aside his objections; but finding him obdurate, perhaps a little pan- icky over the situation, they gave over urging the point. “But you must join us later in the eve- ning!” said they. The idea grew. “T tell you what,” said Rowlee with half- drunken gravity: “he’s got to come back. We can’t afford to lose him this =, And he can’t afford to lose us. The best life of this glorious commonwealth is as yet a sealed book to him. It is our sacred duty, gentlemen, to break those seals. What does he know of our temples of Terpsich- ore, our altars to the gods of chance, our bowers of the Cyprians?” He would have gone on at length, but Keith, laughing, protesting, trying to dis- engage himself from the detaining hands, broke in with a promise to return. But little Rowlee was not satisfied. “T think we should take no chances,”’ he stated. “How would it be to appoint a committee to ’company him and see that he gets back?” Keith's head was clear enough to realize with dismay that this brilliant idea was about to take. But Ben Sansome, seizing the situation, locked his arm firmly in Keith's. “T’ll see personally that he gets back,’ said he. said he, Vv HAT was mighty good of you; you saved my life!” said Keith to him gratefully as they walked up the street. “You couldn’t have that tribe of wild Indians descending on your wife,”’ said Sansome. He had kept pace with the others, but showed it not at all. Sansome was a slender, languid, bored, quiet sort of person, exceedingly well dressed in the height of fashion, speaking with a slight, well-bred drawl, given to looking rather superciliously from beneath his fine eye- lashes, almost too good-looking. He liked, or pretended he liked, to view life from the discriminating spectator’s standpoint, and remained unstirred by stirring events. He prided himself on the delicacy of his social tact. In the natural course of evolution he would probably never marry, and would become in time an “old beau,”’ haunting ball- rooms with reminiscences of old-time belles. Keith, meeting the open air, began to feel his exhilaration. “What I need is my head under a pump for about ten seconds,” he told Sansome frankly. “Lord, it was just about time I got away!” Arrived at the hotel, Sansome said good- by; but Keith would have none of it. “No, no,’ ’ he cried; “you must come in, now you’ve come so far! I want you to meet my wife; she'll be delighted!” And Sansome, whose celebrated social tact had been slightly obscured by his potations, finally consented. Truth to tell, it would have been a little difficult for him to get away. Poising his light stick and gloves in his left hand, giving his mustache a last twirl, and settling his heavy cravat in place, he followed Keith down the little hall to the Sherwoods’ apartments. At the knock Keith was at once invited to enter. The men threw open the door. Sansome stared with all his might. Nan Keith had made the usual miracu- lous recovery from seasickness, once she felt the solid ground beneath her. The beap- tiful, baby-textured skin had come alive with soft color; her dark, wide, liquid eyes had brightened. She had assumed a soft, silken, wrapperlike garment with a wide sash, borrowed from Mrs. Sherwood; and at the moment was seated in an envelop- ing armchair beneath a wide-shaded lamp. The firm, soft lines of her figure were sug- gested beneath the silk. Sansome stopped short, staring, his eyes kindling with inter- est. Here was something not only new but different—a distinct addition. Sansome, like most dilettantes, was something of a phrase-maker, and prided himself on the apt word. He found it here—to his own satisfaction, at least. “Her beauty is positively creamy!”’ he murmured to himself. THE SATURDAY to her, full of a sudden, engaging, tender solicitude. “How are you feeling now, honey?”’ he inquired. “Quite recovered? All right now?” But Nan was inclined to be a little vexed and reproachful. She had been left alone with strangers altogether too long. Keith excused himself volubly and convincingly: She had been asleep; she was much better of not being disturbed—that this was true was proved by results. She was blooming, positively blooming—as fresh as a rose leaf. Of course it was rather an imposition on the Sherwoods, but the baggage hadn't come up yet and they were kind people, our sort, the sort for whom the word “‘obli- gation” did not exist. He, personally, had not intended being gone so long, but by the rarest of chances he had run across some of the men to whom he had introductions, and they had been most kind in making him acquainted. Nothing was more impor- tant to a young lawyer than to “establish connections”; it did not do to overlook a chance. He urged all this, and more, with all his usual, vital, enthusiastic force. In spite of herself she was overborne to a re- proachful forgiveness. In the meantime Mrs. Sherwood had gone over to where Ben Sansome was still standing by the door. Sansome did not like Mrs. Sherwood. He considered that she had no social tact at all. This was mainly, though he did not analyze it, because she was quite apt to speak the direct and literal truth to him; because she had a disquiet- ing self-confidence and competence in place of appropriate, graceful, feminine depend- ence; but specially because she had never and would never play up to his game. ** Are you making a formal afternoon call, Ben?” she asked, in her cool, mocking voice. “ Aren't you really a little de trop?” “TI did not come of my own volition at this time, I assure you,”’ he replied a little stifly. The thought that he was suspected of a blunder in social custom stung him, as, in a rather lazy, amused way, she knew it would. At this reply she glanced keenly. toward Keith, then nodded slowly. “T see,” she conceded. Sansome moved to go; but at this Keith's attention was attracted. He sprang forward, seized Sansome’s arm, insisted on introducing him to Nan, was overeffusive, overcordial, buoyant. Both Sansome and Mrs. Sherwood were experienced enough to yield entirely to his mood. They under- stood perfectly that at the least opposition Keith was in just the condition to reveal himself, perhaps to break over the frail barrier that separates exhilaration from loss of self-control. They saw also that Nan had no suspicion of the state of affairs At sight of her Keith crossed directly | Indeed, following the reaction from her long | voyage and her illness, she responded and played up to Keith’s high spirits. Neither wanted her to grasp the situation if it could be avoided— Mrs. Sherwood from genuine good feeling, Sansome because of the social awkwardness and bad taste. Besides, he felt that his presence at such a scene would be a very bad beginning for himself. “No, you’re not going,” Keith was insisting; “‘you don’t realize what a cele- bration this is! Here we've pulled up all our roots, haven't we, Nan? and come thousands of miles to a new country, a wonderful country; and the very first day of our landing you want us to act as though nothing had happened!” Nan nodded a vigorous assent to his im- plied reference to her. ‘And what we're going to do is to cele- brate,” insisted Keith. “You're all going to dine with us. NO, I insist! You're the only friends we have out here, and you aren’t going to desert us the very first day we need you.” “TI wish you would!” cried Nan, sitting forward eagerly. They tried to expostulate, to get out of it, but without avail. It seemed easier to promise. Keith rushed out to look for his baggage, to arrange for rooms, leaving the three together to await his return. vi OTH Mrs. Sherwood and Sansome ap- plied themselves to relieving whatever embarrassment Nan might feel over this unusual situation. Sansome was pos- sessed of great charm and social experience. He could play the game of light conversa- tion to perfection. By way of bridging the pause in events, he set himself to describ- ing the society in which the Keiths would | EVENING POST PLSS Ges stesistesSrsesbesusesseesreeees CeePeETstebeet etl ees ?] Abe Noon- Iesps ss.ce ety «9 bers The Dentist | ~ I vaae. : “| always advise my patients § to use Dr. Lyon's preparations §& in the morning, at night and § by all means at noon. It is §& only this regular, three times a 5 day care that can fight off decay E and keep the teeth in perfect § condition.” F ly Before breakfast and bed-time you use i Dr.lyon , r.lyon's : PERFECT E | ° H| i : Dental Cream But have you ever considered how essen- tial to your teeth’s good health is the use of either of these scientific preparations at noon? See your dentist before you start on your vacation. DIDS itis Send 2c today for a generous sample of either Dr Lyon's Perfect Tooth Powder or Dental Cream. I. W. Lyon & Sons, Inc., 522 W. 27th St., New York City ~ \SORESSe Risishugerieeusesesebarraee SGRr Sere eRe le SSesssietestesstthLEESESESESESE ES (0S) StNSBTEES Peanut Butter HE mother instinct in these little maids shows itself carly. And like r grown-up mothers, in vacuum jars to conserve the hearts completely removed), roasted and crushed to a butter, and sealed delicacy At grocers’ and delicatessen shops 10 cents, 15 cents, 25 cents (in the / extreme West, a little more) 1 it’s Beech-Nut Peanut Butter they want—they know favor A blend of Virginia and Span ish whole large kernels (acrid Makers of America’s Most Famous Bacon—Beech-Nut Bacon BEECH-NUT PACKING COMPANY, Canajoharie, N. Y ————— : R= 5s =

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Even a King can’t dictate what you should like or not like If it so happened that Fatima were originally ‘‘Madeand blended for the King of Whatiz’’— would that fact prove that you were going to like Fatimas best? It would not \ man’s taste is his own A cigarette that might delight old potentate’s palate would not please you. ome necessarily That's why we leave Fatimas up 0 your laste, But there is than good taste portant to you. something that is mighty im more No matter how good tasting a cigarette may be-—it can only be the SENSIBLE cigarette for you if it is comfortable, too. Its pure tobacco must be cool ind comfortable to your throat at all times And it must leave you feeling fine and fit at the end of a hard-smoking day. THE SATURDAY Will it do all that? Then, it is the sensible cigarette for YOU, There are thousands and thou- sands of men who believe that Fatima is = most sensible ciga- rette there You may thousands of that Fatimas mellow taste ging for in a Try Fatimas yourself. discover as these other men have have just the coo/, that you've been lon cigarette. You may find that Fatimas have the kind of mildness which allows you to smoke more of them than you might of other cigarettes. You may find that Fatimas offer you a little more satisfaction in every puff than you ever before found in any other cigarette. Buy vour first package of Fatimas and test them today. | stodgy, stupid, | thusiastic over his little party. SA gee ae er toe 1) aE om S28 EN aR ANS sible to make or ively, mu peri antee ts pce What kind of roofing shall I buy? The General says: You can buy a cheap unguaranteed roofing and save a few dollars in initial cost — or you can pay this slight difference and get a roofing guaranteed by the world’s largest manufacturer of roofing and building papers. The final cost is what counts and you'll find it cheaper in the long run to buy Certain-teed Roofing his rooting is the highest quality pos- and it is guaranteed 5, 15 years, for 1, When st remain intact at least xi of the guarantee and a definite once laid, insurance roofing trouble. New York City Cincinnati 2 or 3 ply respect- Certain-teed oeaagh for the the guar- against all Roofing that is cheaper than Certain-teed 10 is cheaper in quality and is not guaranteed by a big mill and best responsibility. If the cheap roof falls down you will have to pay the double expense of laying a new roof all over again. Certain-teed Roofing is for sale by dealers everywhere at reasonable prices. General Roofing Manufacturing Company World's davgeet manufacturers of Roofing and Building Papers Chicage inmea polis St. Lewis Boston Cleveland Pittsburgh Kansas City ‘Seattle Detroit San Francisco Atlanta Hambarg Sydney EVENING POST | shortly find themselves launched. His re- marks were practically a monologue, interspersed by irrepressible gurgles of laughter from Nan. Mrs. Sherwood sat quietly by. She did not laugh, but it was evident she was amused. In this congenial atmosphere Sansome outdid himself. “They are all afraid of each other,” he told her, “becatse they don’t know any- thing about each other. Each ex-washer- woman thinks the other ex-washerwoman must have been at least a duchess at home. It’s screamingly funny. If they can get hold of six porcelain statuettes, a half dozen antimacassars, some gilt chairs and a glass bell of wax flowers they imagine they’re elegantly furnished. And their functions! | I give you my word I’d as soon attend a reasonably pleasant funeral! Some of them try to entertain by playing intellec- tual games—you know, riming or spelling games. Seriously!’’ He went on to de- scribe some of the women, mentioning no names, however. “You'll recognize them when you meet them,” he assured her. “There’s one we'll call the Social Agitator; she isn’t happy unless she is running things. I believe she spent two weeks once in London, or else she buys her boots there anyway. When discussions get lively she squelches them by saying: ‘Of course, my dear, that may be absolutely au fait in New York, but in London It corks them every time! And ’pon my honor, three- quarters of the time she’s quite wrong! Then there’s the Lady Thug. Square jaw, square shoulder, sort of bulging out at the top, you know. In décolleté one cannot help thinking: ‘One more struggle and she'll be free!’”’ “Oh, fie, Mr. Sansome!” half shocked. Sansome rattled on. The ultimate effect was to convey an impression of San Fran- cisco society, such as existed at all, as pretentious, unattractive. Nan was immensely amused, but inclined to take it all with a grain of salt. “Mrs. Sherwood doesn’t bear you out,” she told him, “and she’s the only one I’ve seen yet. I think we’re going to have a pretty good time.” But at this point Keith returned. He was quite sobered from his temporary exhilaration, but still most cordial and en- Sansome noted with quiet amusement that his light, curly hair was damp. Evidently he had taken his own prescription as to the pump. “Well,” he announced, “I have a room, such as it is. Can't say much for it. The baggage is all here; nothing missing, for a wonder. I’ve spoken to the manager about dinner for five.” He turned to Nan with brightening interest: “Guess what I saw on the bill of fare! Grizzly-bear steak! Think of that! I ordered some.” Sansome groaned comically. “What's the matter?”’ inquired Keith. “Did you ever try it before—tough, stringy, unfit for human consumption?” But Keith was fascinated by the name of laughed Nan, | the thing. “There’s plenty else,” he urged defen- sively, “‘and I always try everything once.” It was agreed that they should all meet again after an hour, and Sansome renewed his promises to be on hand. The room Keith had engaged was on the second story, and quite a different sort of affair from that of the Sherwoods’. Indeed it was little more than a pine box, contvin- ing only the bare necessities. One window | looked out on an unkempt back yard, now mercifully hidden by darkness. “This is pretty tough,” said Keith, “but it is the very best I,could do. And the price is horrible. We’ have to hunt up a living place about the first thing we do.” “Oh, it’s all right,” said Nan indiffer- ently. The lassitude of seasickness had left her and the excitement of new surroundings was beginning. She felt gently stirred by the give and take of the light conversation in the Sherwoods’ room: and, although she did not quite realize it, she was responding to the stimulation of having made a good impression. Her subconscious self was per- fectly aware that in the silken negligée, under the pink-shaded lamp, her clear, soft skin, the pure lines of her radiant, childlike beauty, the shadows of her tumbled hair, had been very appealing and effective. She moved about a trifle restlessly, look- ing at things without seeing them. “I’m glad to see the brown trunk. Open it, will you, dear? Heavens, what a mirror!”’ She surveyed herself in the flawed glass, mov- ing from side to side, fascinated at the strange distortions. August 14,1915 “T call it positive extortion, charging what they do for a room like this,” grumbled Keith, busy at the trunk. “The Sherwoods must pay a mint of ,money for theirs. I wonder what he does Her attention attracted by this subject, she arrested her posing before the mirror. “They certainly are quick to take the stranger in,’’ she commented lightly. Something in her tone arrested Keith's attention, and he stopped fussing at his keys. Nan had meant little by the remark. It had expressed the vague, instinctive recoil of the woman brought up in rather conventional circumstances and in a con- servative community from too sudden in- timacy, nothing more. She did not herself understand this. “Don’t you like the Sherwoods?” he instantly demanded, with the masculine insistence on dissecting every butterfly. “Why, she’s charming!” said Nan, open- ing her eyes in surprise. “‘Of course I like her immensely !”” “T should think so,”’ grumbled Keith. “They certainly have been mighty good to 1s.” But Nan had dropped her negligée about her feet, and was convulsed at the figure made of her slim young body by the dis- torted mirror. “Come here, Milt,’”’ she gasped. She clung to him, gurgling with laughter, pointing one shaking finger at the mon- strosity in the glass. “Look—look what you married!” They dressed gayly. His optimism and enthusiasm boiled over again. It was a shame, his leaving her all that afternoon, he reiterated; but she had no idea what giant strides he had made. He told her of the city, and he enumerated some of the acquaintances he had made—Calhoun Bennett, Bert Taylor, Major Montgomery Miles, Michael Rowlee, Judge Caldwell, and others. They had been most cordial to him, most kind; they had taken him in without delay. “It’s the spirit of the West, Nan,” } cried; “‘ hospitable, unsuspicious, free, eager to welcome! Oh, this is going to be the place for me; opportunity waits at every corner. They are not tied down by conven- tions, by the w way somebody else has done things He went on rapidly to detail to her some of the things he had been told—the con- templated public improverr ents, the level- ing of the sand hills, the building of a city out of nothing. “Why, Nan, do you realize that only four years ago this very Plaza had only six small buildings round it? that there were only three two-story structures in town? that the population was only about five hundred—there are thirty-five thousand now? that - ” He rattled on, detailing his recently acquired statistics. Oh, potent influence of the Western spirit! Already, eight hours after his landing on California’: shores, Milton Keith was a booster. With an expansion of relief that only a woman could fully appreciate Nan un- packed and put on a frock that had nothing whatever to do with the sea voyage and that she had not seen for some time. In ordinary, accustomed circumstances she would never have thought of donning so elaborate a toilette for a hotel dining room; but she was yielding to reaction. In her way she was celebrating, just as was Keith. Her hair she did low, after the fashion of the time, and bound it to her brow by a bandeau of pearls. The gown itself was pale-green and filmy. It lent her a flower- like semblance that was very fresh and lovely. “By Jove, Nan, covered from the sea!” ins sisted on kiss ing | her. “Look how you’ve mussed me all up!” chided Nan, but without irritation. They found the other three waiting for them, and without delay entered the dining room. This room, as indeed all the lower story, was in marked contrast of luxury to the bare pine bedrooms upstairs. Long red- velvet curtains, held back by tasseled silken cords, draped the long windows; fluted col- umns at regular intervals upheld the ceiling; the floor was polished and slippery; the tables shone with white and silver. An obese and tremendous darky in swallowtail waved a white-gloved hand at them, turned ponderously, and preceded them down the aisle with the pomp of a drum major. His dignity was colossal, awe-inspiring, remote. Their progress became a procession, a tri- umphal procession such as few of Cesar’s generals had ever known. Arrived at the you certainly have re- cried Keith, and .

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eee predestined table, he stood to one side while menials drew out the chairs. Then he marched tremendously back to the main door, his chin high, his expression glacial, his backbone rigid. This head-waiter was the feature of the Bella Union Hotel, just as the glass columns were the feature of the Empire, or the clockwork mechanism was of the El Dorado. The dinner itself went well. Everybody seemed to be friendly aid at ease; but by one of those strange and sudden social transitions it was rz 6 subdued. This was for various reasons. Nan Keith, after her brief reaction, found herself again suffer- ing from the lassitudes and fatigues of a long voyage; she needed a night’s rest, and knew it. Keith himself was a trifle sleepy, as an after effect of the earlier drinking. Sherwood was natur: lly reserved and coolly observant; Mrs. Sherwood was apparently somehow on guard; and Sansome, as al- ways, teok his tone from those about him. The wild spirits of the hour before had taken their flight. It was, however, a pleas- ant dinner, without constraint, as among old friends. After the meal they went to the public parlor, a splendid but rather dismal place. Sherwood almost immediately ex- cused himself. After a short and somewhat awkward interval Nan decided she would go to bed for her needed rest. “You won't think me rude, said she, Keith, whose buoyant temper had been sadly divided between a genuine wish to do the proper and dutiful thing by his wife and a gre at desire to see more of this fasci- nating city, rose with so evident an alac- rity under restraint that Mrs. Sherwood scarcely concealed a smile. She said her adieus at the same time and left the room, troubling herself orly to the extent of that ancient platitude about “letters to write.” I know,” vir THINK we'll find most of the proper crowd down at the Empire,” observed Sansome as the two picked their way across the Plaza. “That is one of the few old-fashioned, respectable gambling places left to us. The town is not what it used to be in a sporting way. It was certainly wide open in the good old days!” he streets at night were ill-lighted, ex- cept where a blaze of illumination poured from the bigger saloons. The interims were dark and the side streets and alleys Stygian. “None too safe, either,” Sansome under- stated the case. a people were abroad, but Keith noticed that there seemed to be no idlers; everyone appeared to be going somewhere in particular. After a short stroll they entered the Empire, which, Sansome explained, was the most stylish and frequented gambling place in town—a sort of evening club for the well-to-do and powerful. Keith looked over a very large room or hall, at the lower end of which an alcove made a sort of raised stage with footlights. Here sat a dozen “nigger minstrels”’ with banjos, strumming and bawling away at top pressure. An elab- orate rosewood bar ran down the whole length at one side—an impressive, polished bar, perhaps sixty feet long, with a white- clad, immaculate barkeeper for every ten feet of it. Big mirrors of French plate re- flected the whole room, and on the shelf in front of them glittered crystal glasses of all shapes and sizes arranged in pyramids and cubes. The whole of the main floor was carpeted heavily. Down the center were stationed two rows of gambling tables, where various games could be played faro, keno, roulette, stud poker, dice. Beyond these gambling tables, on the other side of the room from the bar, were small tables, easy-chairs of ample proportions, lounges, and a fireplace. Everything was most ornate. The ceil- ings and walls were white and much gilt. Heavy chandeliers with the usual glass prisms and globes revolved slowly or swayed from side to side. Huge oil paintings with shaded top and foot lights occupied all vacant spaces on the walls. They were valued at from ten to thirty thousand dol- lars apiece, and that fact was advertised. Leda and the Swan, the Birth of Venus, the Rape of the Sabines, Cupid and Psyc ~ were some of the classic themes treated : having taken place in a warm phony Susanna and the Elders and Sclome Danc- ing gave the Biblical flavor. The Bath of the Harem finished the collection. No canvas was of less size than seven by ten foet. The floor was filled with people. of blue smoke hung in the air. A haze There was THE SATURDAY no loud noise except from the minstrel stage at the end. A low hum of talk, oc- casionally accented, buzzed continuously. Many of the people wandering about, leaning against the bar, or integers of the compact groups round the gambling tables, were dressed in the height of fashion. But on the other hand, certainly half were in the roughest sort of clothes—floppy old slouch hats, worn flannel shirts, top-boots to which dried mud was clinging. Fascinated, Keith would have liked to linger, but Sansome threaded his way to- ward the farther corner. As Keith passed near one of the close groups around a gam- bling table it parted momentarily, and he looked into the eyes of the man in charge, cold, passionless and aloof, eyes neither friendly nor unfriendly. And he saw the pale skin, the weary, bored, immobile fea- tures, the meticulous, neat dress, the long, deft fingers, and caught the aloof, deadly, exotic personality of the professional gam- blor on duty. The whole place was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Whether it was pri- marily a bar, a gambling resort or a sort of a public club with trimmings, he could not have determined. Many of those present, perhaps a majority, were neither gambling nor drinking. They seemed not to be add- | ing to the profits of the place in any way, but either wandered about or sat in the easy-chairs, smoking, reading papers or attending to the occasional outbreaks of the minstrels. It was most interesting. They joined a group in the far corner A white-clad negro instantly brought them chairs and hovered discreetly near. Among those sitting about Keith recognized sev- eral he had met in the afternoon and to several more he was introduced. Of these the one who most instantly impressed him was called Morrell. This was evidently a young Englishman, a being of a type raised quite abundantly in England, but more rarely seen in native Americans—the lean-faced, rather flat-cheeked, high-cheek- boned, aquiline-nosed, florid-complexioned, silent, clean-built sort that would seem to represent the high-bred, finely drawn product of a long social evolution. These traits, when seen in the person of a native- born American, generally do represent this fineness; but the English, having been longer at it— che production of their race can often produce the outward semblance without necessarily the inner reality. Many of us even now do not quite realize that fact; certainly, in 1852 most of us did not. Morrell was dressed in riding breeches, carried a short bamboo crop, smiled en- gagingly to exhibit even, strong white teeth, and had little to say. “A beverage seems called for,” remarked Judge Caldwell, a gross, explosive, tobacco- chewing man with a merry, reckless eye. The order given, the corversation swung back to the topic that had occupied it be- fore Keith and Sansome had arrived. It seemed that an individual there present, Markle by name, a tall, histrionic, dark man with a tossing mane, conceived | himself to have been insulted by someone whose name Keith did not catch, and had that very afternoon is sued warning that he would “shoot on sight.” Some of the older men were advising him to go slow. “But, gentlemen,” cried Markle heat- edly, “none of you would stand such con- duct from anybody! What are we coming to? I'll get that —— as sure as little apples.” “That's all right, I don’t blame you,” argued Calhoun Benftnett. “Do not misun- derstan¢ me, suh; I agree with you, lock, stock an’ barrel. My point is that you must be circumspect. Challenge him; that’s the way.” : “He isn’t worth’ my challenge, sir, nor the challenge of any decent man. You know that, sir.’ “Well, street shootin’s have got to be little, a little He fell gilent, and Keith looked up in surprise to see why. man was slowly passing the table. He was a thick, tall, strong man, moving with a freedom that bespoke smoothly working muscles. His complexion was florid; and this in conjunc- tion with a sweeping blue-black mustache gave him exactly the appearance of a gam- bler or bartender. Only as he passed the table and responded gravely to the formal sclutes, Keith caughv a flash of his eye. It was gray, hard as steel, forceful, but so far from being cold it seemed to glow and change with an inner fire. The bartender impression was swept into limbo forever. (Continued on Page 44 God made | EVENING POST 41 There are more of us — over two hundred styles of Parker Lucky Curve Fountain Pens—Standerd, Self- Filling, Safety, Transparent—selling at from $2.50 up. Level Lock Clip 25c extra on standard pens. Catalog on request PARKER PEN COMPANY, 90 Mill Street, Janesville, Wis. I simply press the button and fill myself in 2 seconds >» Iam the Parker Luc N tain Pen. I’m self-filler, y ky Curve Foun- TWO IN ONE —a a safety pen— the advance herald of two great ideas, into one pen — The Concealed Self-Filling Device. The Jack Knife Safety Cap. I'm so easy wrought to fill I wish it took longer in eae You can dump me around like a traveler's trunk and the ink can’t get out, yet when called upon I respond like a trained sol- diet you will never catch me napping vow t — anne SELF-FILLING FOUNTAIN PEN I am a real self-filler with a filling device ingeniously concealed under my cap—and since the Jack Knife Safety Cap has been added to my reg ular equipment, I can lie flat, right side up or stand on my head and the ink is locked in. The Safety Cap keeps it back. I like to drink Parker Foun- tain Pen Ink because it's pure and works so well It costs only 25c in a pat- ent bottle. a Aas Ne be OIF me By I am the best kind of a traveling com- panion, a cheerful worker, without humps, bumps or slits—a safeguard against accidental spills. You can find me on deck at any one of the 15,000 Parker dealers —if not, write to the house, New York Retail Store in the Big Woolworth Building tao The purchasing test of big business demands the Royal Big business chooses the Royal on a result-cost, actual-value basis. It regards an order for Royals as an investment, not an expense. The Royal ends the two great evils of the typewriter business — excessive repairs and ‘‘trading-out.”’ With it your stenographer can do more work and etter work with /ss effort. Whether you require one type- writer or a hundred, get the facts. Write for these two Free Booklets Today They te row tl Royal ts t ‘ t of typewritter ¢ t tant 1 t i te f the ¥ it saves t W ‘ nl t i \ ! t Telephone or write any Royal branch or agency for a demonstration r ah . . rr . ‘“ ’ . RoyaL TYPEWRITER CoMPANY, INC. 502 Royal Typewriter Building, 64 Broadway, New York City Branches and Agencies the World Over Penvensnnnsonnennen oor 2600) 1 OUHENUGLLALALANU400 P1108 ot AQgENN NEN OmTanORME TAO TOPUEENROONEGLEMERNNU EG TED PRANTL YAwPNADed4aNAA Lad OVO NA0L GURNEE: G4 ARO O94 040 ONRMNREN wend vane cnr ney cH anabb caste ee r Oe on ee pads ony nanny ete 19s q

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 14, 1915 ©, — - 40 Horsepower 7-Passenger Touring Car, Weight 3075 lbs. Valve-in-Head Motor with Overhead Camshaft HE battle of the giants is on. It is a battle royal for the supremacy of the medium priced motor car field. It is the battle of that type of motor which smashed all speed and endurance records at Indian- apolis and Chicago—against other style motors. It is the battle of the principles of construction that went 90 miles an hour for 500 miles at Indianapolis, and 100 miles an hour for 500 miles at Chicago—against other principles of motor construction. It is the battle of the manufac- “Let your next Car be a Chalmers’ turer against the middleman, of the producer against the assembler, of buying for cash against buying on time, of new efficiency in methods of manufacture and administration against inexperienced methods. It is the battle of Quality and lower profits against higher profits and lack of quality. It is the battle of new service ideals and co-operation against old methods of expensive upkeep and neglect of the owner. Into this contest the Chalmers Motor Company enters the greatest car it has ever built, the Chalmers Six with valve-in-head overhead camshaft motor. It is the lowest price at which Chalmers Quality has ever been sold— $1350 for a big 7-passenger touring car! It is a new car at a lower price sent to battle with cars at cut prices. With new service to owners, bigger plans, bigger output, new buildings, increased factory facil- ities and quadrupled production the Chalmers Motor Company moves forward to the great battle with supreme confidence.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7. A - New Motor WO years ago we saw three things: First was that the tendency of the public demand in both Europe and America was to a compact high-speed motor that was more efficient, would get away quicker, run more smoothly, have greater flexi- bility, show greater economy and last longer under hard service. Second was that a public temporarily diverted to cars that looked well and rode nicely for a while, would swing back to de- mand quality manufacture and the ability to “stay put.” Third was that only those manufacturers who built their own cars in large volume and bought their own materials for spot cash at the advantage of the market could survive. Motor Designed in Europe So we sent our engineers to Europe to design a new motor and began to lay our plans for a production of 20,000 cars this season. Twenty thousand cars! Nearly four times as many as the Chalmers factory ever tumed out before! We are now building two big new factory additions to handle the work. We added machines that cost $72,000.00 apiece to do work in our factory in order to give this remarkable quality car to you at $1350. Here is the result. No one dreamed that such a car could be built for $1350. It is not excelled by cars that sold for $4000 three years ago. It isn’t a made- over model, reduced in size, or certain things New Service to Owners Buying a motor car without a definite guarantee of service is unwise and costly. Every Chalmers dealer gives to every buyer of a Chalmers car a definite service free of all charge. This service consists of a Universal Interchangeable Service Coupon Book, each coupon being exchange- able for a definite amount of work at any Chalmers dealer's anywhere at any time. New Car Increased Factory Facilities —Quadrupled Production for 1916 New Price eliminated to fit the price—it is a brand-new car, designed specially as a Quality car at a low price. The Quality Car at Small Profit We are marketing this QUALITY car on the lowest profit per car possible in the motor car business. The great valve-in-head motor, with over- head camshaft, costs us $80.00 more to build in our own shops than the ordinary type of motor can be bought for on the out- side. When Chalmers engineers went to Europe to study design two years ago, they found European designers at work on high-speed motors of the valve-in-head type with over- head camshaft. European makers had already tried out this type in their racers. They were perfect- ing it for a road car. We hoped to be the first in America to adopt this style of motor. But when the war stopped European makers—fate decreed that we should lead the world in the use of the valve-in-head overhead camshaft motor for a stock car. Speedway Racers All of This Type We were not surprised at the showing at Indianapolis and Chicago, where this type of motor won all honors. We knew a year ago that these results would be achieved. We knew that to attain a speed of 90 to 100 miles an hour that the motor would have to be a valve-in-head, overhead camshaft type. Quality First igh gt es ben Ae me “DETROIT, U.S. 5° ey New Service to Owners Think of it! 90 miles an hour for 500 miles at Indianapolis, and eight of the first ten to finish were valve-in-head motors with over- head camshafts! And then the Chicago races at 100 miles an hour for 500 miles—the first three, and seven out of the first eleven, were of this type! Some one said a short time ago that people buy motor cars largely on three P’s— Paint, Price and Performance. You can measure this Chalmers wonderful car, at $1350, by any one of these three standards. It is right in Paint, which indicates finish and weanng qualities. It is night in Performance, because no car at any price performs better than this car does. And it is nght in Price, What manu- facturer in the history of the industry ever approached such quality at sucha price before? Take a Ride in This Car “Take a ride in this car,” and see for yourself if you do not get in this Chalmers type of six-cylinder motor all the smoothness, all of the flexibility, all of the pick-up, and all of the “pep” that are claimed for any other motor built, no matter how many cylinders it may have. Therefore, we say that all of our strength, all of our organization, all of our money, all of our reputation, are back of these six words: “TAKE A RIDE IN THIS CAR.” Demonstrators are now in the hands of our dealers. “TAKE A RIDE IN THIS CAR.” The Chalmers Club Every Chalmers owner is invited to join the Chalmers Club. Each member receives regularly without charge “The Chalmers Clubman,” a magazine devoted to the interests of Chalmers owners. Also a member- ship card signed by Mr. Chalmers commending the owner to the courtesies of all Chalmers representatives every where. “Let your next Car be a Chalmers” ie PEt OR ul oe Soe Mar 3 7 . sei! eo ES

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ? =a Ae cat start ; a iad Coolness is Born of Self-Confidence Some eventful night, terror may momentarily strike your senses numb. Then it will be that the feel of a Colt Automatic under your pillow will steady your nerve and prepare you for peril. Or, should you be away, the Celt in your home will stamp out the heart-flutter and steel the courage of your wife at the approach of danger. Many a man has regretted too late the error of being caught unprepared. So you buy a LT Automatic Pistol against that day. matic safety device. Acquaint your wife, mother, sisters with its auto- Show them how the Colt is automatically locked when cocked; how it can be fired only when you grip the grip and pull the trigger simultane- ously. The Colt is unfailing, safe and shoots instantly with automatic precision. Besides, its price to you is not greater than the ordinary pistol. The Colt was adopted by the Army and Navy because of its “Marked superiority to any other known pistol.” eer Write for free Colt booklet, “How to Shoot,’’ and cata- log No.85. Firs “The Colt Fires the = ad Shot THE COLT’S PATENT FIRE ARMS MFG. CO., Hartford, Conn. UTDOOR men— motorist, golfer, sports- man—all favor the Hav- one—the Cigarette Case with the “lefi-hand drive”! Opens instantly in the hand that takes it from the pocket. Cigarettes are stand- ing in a row, each in its own compartment, ready to be taken with the fingers, or the lips if necessary. Right hand need not be used. HAVONE No tumbling about in the case; no broken or crushed cigarettes. The Havone is as easily filled as the ordinary cigarette case. Havone Cigarette Cases are made in Sterling Silver-plate, in Solid Sterling, 10K Gold and 14K Gold — Prices, $3.50 up. If your dealer hasn't stocked up on the HAVONE, send us $3.50 and we will mail you one direct —either plain finished or with monogram spot, or one of the all-over patterns. At any rate, send us your name on a post- card for one of our handsome catalogues. HAVONE CORPORATION Dept. L, 21-23 Maiden Lane NEW YORK The Firget-me-not ' of Gifts (Continued from Page 41) “That’s one good reason why,” said Calhoun Bennett, when this man had gone on. But Markle overflowed with a torrent of vituperative profanity. His face was con- gested and purple with the violence of his emotions. Keith stared in astonishment at the depth of hatred stirred. He turned for explanation to the man next him, Judge iirvin, a gentleman of the old school, | | weighty, authoritative, a little pompous. “That is Coleman,” Judge Girvin told him—“ W. T. Coleman, the leader of the Vigilance movement of last year.”’ “That’s why,” repeated Calhoun Ben- nett with quiet vindictiveness, “there is lawlessness, disrespect for law and order, and mobrule. Since this strangler business no man can predict what the lawless element may do!” This speech was the signal for an out- burst against the Vigilance Committee sO unanimous and hearty that Keith was rather taken aback. He voiced his be- wilderment: “Why, gentlemen, I am of course only in the most distant touch with these events, but the impression East is certainly very general that the Vigilantes did rather a good piece of work in clearing the city of crime.” They turned on him with a savagery that took his breath. Keith, laughing, held up both hands. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I'll come down!” he cried. “I told you I didn’t know anything about it!” They checked themselves suddenly, ashamed of their heat. Calhoun Bennett voiced their feeling of apology: “You must accept our excuses, Mr. Keith; but this is a mattah on which we feel strongly. Our indignation was natu- rally not directed against you, suh.” But Judge Girvin, weighty, formal, digni- fied, was making a pronouncement. “Undoubtedly, young sir,” he rolled forth at Keith, “undoubtedly a great many scoundrels were cleared from the city at that time. That no one. would have the temerity to deny. But you, sir, as a lawyer, realize with us that even pure and equi- table justice without due process of law is against the interests of society as a coher- ent whole. Infringement of law, even for a good purpose, invariably brings about ultimate contempt for all law. In the ab- sence of regularly constituted tribunals, as in a primitive society, such as that prior to the Constitutional Convention of Sep- tember, 1849, it may become necessary that informal plebiscites be countenanced. But in the presence of regular'y constituted and appointed tribunals extralegal func- tions are not to be undertaken by the chance comer. If defects occur in the administra- tion of the law the remedy is in the hand of the public. The voter ——” He went on at length, elaborating the legal view. Everybody listened with respect and ap- proval until he had finished. But then up spoke Judge Caldwell, the round, shining, perspiring, untidy, jovial, Silenus-like jurist with the blunt fingers. “We all agree with you theoretically, Judge,” said he. “‘ What these other fellows object to, I imagine, is that the law has such a hell of a hi ing-fire to it.’ Judge Girvin’s eyes flashed and he tossed back his white mane. “The due forms of the law are our herit- age from the ages!” he thundered back. “The so-called delays and technicalities are the checks devised by human experi- ence against the rash judgments and rasher actions by the volatile @ement of society! They are the safeguards, the bulwarks, of society! It is better thdt a hundred guilty men escape than that One innocent man should suffer!” The old judge was magnificent, his eyes alight, his nostrils expanded, his head reared back defiantly, all the great péwer ‘ of his magnetism and his authority brought to bear. Keith was thrilled. He consid- ered that the discussion had been lifted to a high moral plane. By rights Judge Caldwell should have been crushed, but he seemed undisturbed. “Well,” he remarked comfortably, “on that low average we must have quite a few innocent men among us after all.” “What do you mean, sir?’”’ demanded Judge Girvin, halted in mid career and not catching the allusion. “Surely, Judge, you don’t mean to imply that you indorse Coleman and his gang?” ut in Calhoun Bennett courteously but incredulously. August 14, 1915 “Indorse them? Certainly not!” dis- claimed Caldwell. “I need my job,” he added with a chuckle. Bennett tossed back his hair and a faint disgust appeared in his dark eyes, but he said nothing more. Caldwell lit a cigar with pudgy fingers. “My advice to you,” he said to Markle, “is that if you think you're going to have to kill this man in self defense’’—he rolled an unabashed and comical eye at the com- pany—‘“‘you be sure to see our old friend, Sheriff Webb, gets you to jail promptly.” He heaved to his feet. “ Might even send him advance word,” he suggested, and waddled away toward the bar. A dead silence succeeded his departure. None of the younger men ventured a word. Finally Judge Girvin, with a belated idea of upholding the honor of the Bench, turned to Keith: “Judge Caldwell’s humor is a little try- ing at times, but he is essentially sound.” The young Englishman, Morrell, uttered a high cackle. “Quite right,” he observed. it all right for you, Markle.” At the bad taste of what they thought an example of English stupidity everyone sat aghast. Keith managed to cover the situation by ordering another round of drinks. Morrell seemed quite pleased with himself. “Got a rise out of the old what?” he remarked to Keith aside. Judge Caldwell returned. The conversa- tion became general. Vast projects were discussed with the light touch—public works, the purchase of a theater for the town hall, the sale by auction of city or state lands, the extension of wharves, the grant- ing of franchises, and many other affairs involving apparently millions of money. All these things were spoken of as from the inside. Keith, sipping his drinks quietly, sat apart and listened. He felt himself in the current of bigaffairs. Occasionally men drifting by paused a moment. Keith noticed that-they greeted his companions with respect and deference. He experienced a feeling of being at the center of things. The evening passed pleasantly. Along toward midnight John Sherwood, without a hat, stopped long enough to ex- change a few joking remarks, then sauntered on. “T know him,” Keith told Calhoun Ben- nett. “That’s John Sherwood. He’s at our hotel. What does he do?” “Oh, don’t you know who he is?” re- plied Bennett. “He’s the owner “of this place.” “A gambler!” Keith, a dashed. “Biggest in town; but square.” Keith for a moment was a little non- plused. The sudden intimacy rose up to confront him. They were kind people and Mrs. Sherwood was apparently everything she should be; but a public gambler! Of course he had no prejudices, but Nan (TO BE CONTINUED) Shifting Quotations OME years ago a hard-working tobacco planter of Montgomery County, Ten- nessee, paid his first visit to the East. With him as traveling companion came a buyer of tobacco for one of the foreign govern- ments. The planter had already shipped his season’s crop to New York, intending to sell it after his arrival, he being dissatisfied with conditions in his home market. It so chanced that the ferry which brought them across the Hudson to Man- hattan landed alongside a pier where two big freighters were loading with tobacco for Liverpool. Catching the familiar whiff of the weed, the Tennesseean followed his nose until it led him into a great freight shed where countiess hogsheads of tobacco more than he had ever seen at any one time in his life—were awaiting transpor- tation. He took one look and turned to his companion, the foreign buyer. “Old man,” he pleaded, “if you kin sell my tobacco here, sell it right away. It don’t make no difference what price you git for it—sell it! There’s more tobacco here already than ever’body in the world kin use up in a hundred years.” He spent a day on Broadway and Fifth Avenue and then in haste he sought for his friend. m Don’t you sell my tobacco at any price,” he ordered. “I’ve done seen enough people in this here town to chaw up all the tobacco there is in less’n forty-eight hours.” “He'll fix Johnny, cried trifle

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HOW ABOUT RUSSIA? THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 11) The principal difference between a Ger- man and a Russian is that the German has force and the Russian has imagination. The Russian has the gift of belief, an investi- gating mind, and the faculty of specula- tion; but he is lazy, he is indifferent, he is casual, he is insincere, he is temporary Nitchevo?—What does it matter? The German is strong, determined, practical. It is not hard to understand why the Ger- mans were the principal commercial factors in Russia before the war. To traders and financiers like the Germans the conquest of Russia commercially was mere child’s play. Hence, when the war came Russia and the Czar kept their engagements with France and Great Britain because that seemed the safest part to play and the most advantageous. If the Allies won Russia would be freed from this strangle hold Ger- many had on her. If they lost it would be no worse than it was before. Besides, there was the great prize of the Dardanelles dan- gling before Russia—and Constantinople. The Church plays a greater part in the state life of Russia than in that of any other country. A Russian is a retigionist before he is anything else—not religious, but a religionist. It has been the dream of Russia to return the Orthodox Church to Constan- tinople. It has been the dream of Russia to have an open way to the sea in the south. Likely as not there were promises to Rus- sia about Constantinople. Anyway, Russia came in—and Russia is still in. There had been a measure of reform in the army since the war with Japan; but it was casual, as all Russian reforms are. The bureaucracy was still so powerful that it resisted too much progress or retarded it for reasons of its own. You cannot change a Russian bureaucrat overnight—or ever. The system must be eliminated before there can be any real relief. There was some reform and some preparation, however. During the Balkan War Russia came very close to war with Austria—and, of course, with Germany, as Austria’s ally. I heard the speech Von Bethmann-Hollweg, the German Chancellor, made in the Reichstag when he warned Russia that Germany would not forsake her ally, Austria. How- ever, all this had not its legitimate effect. On to the Holy War Russia One is And the They are Two words in constant use in typify the real Russian character. Nutchevo?— What does it matter? other is Zahftra!—To-morrow! the most casual people on earth. The result was that Russia—like Great Britain—-found herself in war, at war, but not prepared for war. Great Britain had one arm of her service— the navy—in trim. Russia has not much of a navy or much of a place to put one; but neither her navy nor her army was ready. Still, Russia accom- plished miracles. Germany has seventeen railroads running toward the Russian fron- tier, and Russia has but five lines that lead toward Germany. Austria has eight rail- roads to be used for sending troops to the Russian frontier, against four that Russia can use to get her troops toward Austria. Of course Germany and Austria were bucy on the western frontier, also, against France and England and Belgium; but, at that, the eastern frontier was not entirely neglected. However, Russia, mobilizing as far to the east as the Manchurian frontier, in the villages that are close to Mongolia, from all parts of Siberia, as weli as from her own Russian domain, brought in millions of men, equipped them as well as she could, and sent them out toward Berlin and through Galicia. It was a sort of triumphal procession for a time. The peasants were imbued with the idea that this was a holy war. They understood something of it because of the awakening of the previous years. They knew both Church and Czar were heartily for it, and they sang and shouted and pressed forward. They were like schoolboys out on a foray, and their generals were not much better. They fell into traps. They were maneuvered into deadly positions. They shot away their ammunition as though ammunition grew on trees or could be planted and raised like wheat; but they went on and on, and they were miles and miles toward their destina- tion in five or six weeks. The English and the French, filled with admiration for this epochal sweep of these

millions of singing peasants into the coun- try of the enemy, spoke of it as the “ Rus- sian steam roller” and pinned many hopes on it. I often heard, when I was in Eng- land and France in the early days of the war, such comments as this: “All we have to do is to hold them in the west until the Russians have a few more weeks. Then it will be all over!” But after a time the Russians stopped. They met with obstacles. The Germans arrived. They contested stubbornly. It was hard fighting. And they sat down in the trenches, facing one another, and held out through the winter. One would sup- pose that this time of waiting would have induced the Russians to prepare for spring So it did, to a degree; but there was a good deal of Zahftra! about it too—Let’s do it to-morrow! And when the Germans began pressing there was nothing much for the Russians to do—in the circumstances— but go back. They went back kilometer after bloody kilometer. They lost cities they had taken. They gave up positions they had bought with immense loss of blood. Soldiers Die While Grafters Haggle Now why? Was it from any deteriora- tion in the fighting force of the Russians? Was it because those singing soldiers had lost their fervor and their force? Was it because of deaths or sickness, or lack of courage or determination? Not a bit of it! The soldiers were as good as ever— better, indeed, because they were seasoned cam- paigners. They were as fervent and as de- termined. There had been many losses, but these meant nothing to Russia, with her immense reserves of fighting men. These were not the reasons. The reason why Russia lost so much ground she had taken earlier in the war the reason for all those heartbreaking re- treats in May and June of this year— was not deterioration in men. The reason wa lack of ammunition. They had not enough guns, shells, rifles and cartridges. The re- quirements of this immense battle front had been too great. The Germans had shells and big guns and small guns. The Russians lacked them. That was all there was to that. “Itis heartbre aking!”’ a Russian general said to me. “We are out there and the Germans are raining big shells and little shells and grenades and shrapnel and bul- lets on us; and we have not enough ammu- nition or enough guns to hold them off. We must retire. There is nothing else to do.” Often, in these engagements, Russian soldiers, without rifles, were held in readi- ness; and when a soldier with a rifle was killed or wounded that rifle was given to a man who stood waiting without one, and he was pushed into the gap. Men—they had millions of men, but they did not have mil- lions of rifles. And in that condition you find the reason for the insistent question: What of Russia? There they are—brave, simple, honest Russian soldiers; and in Petrograd the bureaucrats are quibbling over details in contracts, demanding percentages for them- selves, holding off on pretexts of one kind or another—quibbling, uncertain, changing from day to day, altering specifications, exacting tribute, delaying—delaying—de laying! If you mention any munition of war, any medical supply, any item of trans- portation or equipment, you will find that the Russians have not enough. Of cour: it is beyond human resource that, in thi short time, they should have enough, for they did not begin to prepare until after the war began. That is not the point. through thei: own inefficiency or worse, they have not nearly so much as they might have. Everybody on the face of the earth, save Germany and her allies, is trying to help the Russians. Why, the best artillery they have is Japanese artillery, manned by Japanese gunners—men who fought them to the death ten years ago—and Japanec« experts in all lines are assisting them. Pre- cious munitions and medical supplies lie in countless tons at Archangel and Vladivos- tok while contracts that mean victory in- stead of defeat are haggled and higgled over by grafting officials. The Russian bu- reaucracy is making its last stand, and the singing soldiers are retreating and being slaughtered by thousands because of it. The point is that,, EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST If a Giant Cut the Winns Suppose all telephones were silent, and that for forty-eight hours you could not even call a telephone exchange anywhere in the Bell System to ask what the trouble was! Imagine the confusion which would prevail—with personal visits and messengers substi- tuted for direct, instant com- munication; with sidewalks, street cars and elevators jammed; with every old-fashioned means of communication pressed into service; and all of them com- bined unable to carry the load. The instant contact of mer- chant with customerof physician with patient, of friend with friend, would be severed; the business man and the housewife would lose the minutes and hours the telephone saves them. The eco- nomic loss would be incalculable. AMER! AND One Policy There would not be time paralyzed. Such a condition is almost in- | | the officers had neither interest in their conceivable. TheBell System has developed telephone service to | the highest degree of usefulness | and made it so reliable that its | cers—especially the younger ones; but with availability is never questioned. It has connected cities, towns and the remotest places from coast to coast, and has taught the people the advantages of nation-wide telephone facilities. Plans are made, buildings built and businesses run with Bell Service taken for granted, and yet we have to imagine what without telephones before the great value of this ever-present service can really be appreciated. CAN TELEPHONE AND TELEGRAPH COMPANY ASSOCIATED COMPANIES One System

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| the lack of ammunition.

| grab at the | desperately.

| coming. There is no secret about this, or I would not write it. The Germans know the fact and are utilizing the conditions to their advantage at the very moment this is writ- ten, which is in the latter part of June. Relatively the conditions as regards shells | and ammunition in Russia are the same as those in England, where there came a re- | organization of the government because of | similar lack. | Russia is much more serious than in Eng- | land, for Russia has a much greater need, a In reality the situation in larger consumption, and more millions of men to supply—to say nothing of a five- hundred-mile battle front to provide with guns and ammunition. So far as I could learn, the only two war- making materials Russia has in adequate supply are men and food; but a German shell kills a well-fed soldier who has no gun just as easily as it would kill a hungry one. Men and food are two great essentials, but you cannot fight Germans with chorny | klep—which is black bread. The Russians | need black powder and black guns and black shells for that. Though there has been no open repeti- tion of the scandals of the war with Japan, | and the utter worthlessness of the officers has not been shown in such ratio as in that “ | war, there has been a certain percentage of enough to do the things we are | accustomed to do, and social as | well as business life would be | inefficiency—particularly among the older and higher commanders. As an ambassador expressed it: “‘ The Russian officers are very competent up to a certain point.” Those who were familiar with the officers in the Japanese War and with those in this war say the difference in the morale of the corps is astounding. In the war with Japan work nor enthusiasm for it. In this war there is an eager enthusiasm—too much of it at times—and a close application to busi- ness. There are no slackers among the offi- the older ones, the men who by seniority were in important commands at the begin- ning of the war, there was the taint of the old system. There were men who were in the army before the dawn of the new day. The commander in chief—the Grand Duke Nikolai—as I understand it, was not in that war, but some of his subordinates were; and there were excesses of attack and ex- cesses in the use of ammunition, useless sacrifice of men and bad strategy at times, | which made necessary many removals and much shifting of commands. The older generals in this war have been | largely failures—not all, but in big propor- r . | tion. it would mean to be entirely | Many a Russian private was killed unnecessarily and many a position was lost that might have been held; but far over and above all causes for these disasters was They had men enough and to spare, but not enough guns and bullets; not enough cannon and shells; | not enough of anything save raw material men. And it is probable there never will be | a reckoning of those who were lost—a cor- | rect reckoning. Universal Service | The Last Grab at the People It must be remembered that the Russian organization was not geared for so great an emergency as this. It was not built for so big a war. To be sure, it contemplated the moving of vast masses of men, but not by millions as they were moved. Some day Zahftra!—it had been the purpose of the | General Staff to obtainjall the needful mu- | nitions and supplies; but peace seemed reasonably secure—ang life is very short anyhow. There must be no lack of credit fault is with what they gave not been doing. The infernal bureaucra¢y is having its last | for the Russians for a te they did do. The yple, and it is grabbing t takes autocracy and bu- reaucracy a long time to find out what ails them—to diagnose their own cases; but that will be remedied. There is already a disposition in Russia not only to diagnose the cases of these relics of the old days but to apply the proper cures. The gradual regeneration of Russia is The leaven of patriotism is work- ing. We learn of boards of trade, of finan- cial organizations of business men and manufacturers, who in former days would not have dared to interfere, interfering rather pointedly and demanding reform, and pledging support to adequate methods | for providing the army with its essentials. They are aware of the inefficiencies and the delinquencies of the bureaucracy, and they are in a way of making themselves felt. They are demanding that they be allowed to do their share, despite the contempt of official August 14, 1915 Russia for business Russia; and they want to help from patriotic motives, instead of re- tarding from personal and financial motives. The Russian Army organization, per se, is right. It is the Russian administrative organization that is wrong. If you give the Russian Army an adequate supply of muni- tions there is no army in the world that will give a better account of itself; for no army has better potential raw material, and no other army I know of has the added incentive of such intense religious fervor unless it is the Turkish Army. Armies in the field cannot make shells or guns or powder; nor can armies in the field—or their leaders—-make arrangements for se- curing these needfuls. That must be done by the administrators; and there the lapse in Russia has come. If the Russians were forced te retreat from their advanced posi- tions—if they lost Przemysl and Lemberg, and other places their valor had won—not all the credit for the victories can be given to the German force of arms, or all the blame be laid on the Russians in the field who lost. A good’ share of it rests with the chaffering, huckstering, grafting, procras- tinating, incompetent officials in Petrograd; with the bureaucrats; with the survivors of the old Russian system of corruption and bribe taking and bribe soliciting. A Genius in His Youth And so the world repeats the questions: What of Russia? Will Russia be great enough to utilize her full strength? Or will Russia be weakened and dismayed, and perhaps defeated by the parasites in Petro- grad? Any answer must be relative, for the complexity of Russia’s position makes any- thing more than a guess an assumption. Two things stand out clear: The first is that the morale of the army and of its leaders—except at the top—is —, better than it was during the Japanese War. The second and major one is that in Russia—long the autocracy of blood and terror—there is a stirring of patriotism, a sensing of nationalism, a functioning of the people as people and as citizens, and not slaves, an awakening of the spirit, a spread of intelligence, a desire for light, which will mean much, both in the war and in its aftermath. The greatest individual act ever done for Russia—not excepting the freeing of the serfs—was the prohibition of vodka. It does not matter whether the Czar did it of his own volition or the Grand Duke Niko- lai made him do it. It was done. That means a sober army; but it means more than that—it means that Russia has changed from a drunken to a sober nation. This has resulted in a passion for this war by the people, for they always have a pas- sion for something. Once it was vodka. Now it is the war. This, also, will result in a passion for a new Russia, which will not only be a greater Russia but will contain a people who, sensing the fresh spirit of the times, will climb at least a little higher than the low level where they have soddenly existed for these many centuries. It is the opinion of those who know Rus- sia, and who know Russians, that the abuses will be wiped out; that the deficiencies will be supplied; that equipment and muni- tions of ample quantity will come—and certainly money enough is being spent to insure this—provided the bureaucrats can be held in check. If that is the case no per- son who has seen the Russian Army can have anything but confidence in the splen- did performance of its part. But will that be the case? There comes the question again. Has Russia, with a beginning of rezeneration at the bottom, been regenerated at the top? The prohibi- tion of vodka, the promise to the Poles and other things show that there may be a start; but is it sincere? Who can tell? The only sure things are that Russia has been knitted together by this war; that her multitudes of people are making the war a common cause; and that a dim sort of patriotism or nationalism is observable. Whatever the outcome of the war, Russia will then be facing far greater difficulties than she is facing now, for Russia will need a man to hold the nation together; and the emergency must produce the man, for none is in sight at present. Furthermore, for many years after the close of this war the future of Russia will rest with the man who controls the army. If an enlightened statesman could attain that control Russia could advance to tre- mendous achievements; for potentially Russia is a genius in his youth.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 14, 1915 iat ey The Best Kiesler Ever Built | 7 ISSELKARS always were cars of pronounced quality, and the new models are detter than ever. Evidence of their superiority is unmistakably reflected from every angle — in construction—appearance—finish— performance. ‘These KisselKars measure up to those standards that give assurance of service far beyond the average, because the enduring things are 4ui/t in—because they are manufactured cars in every vital part. Therefore, there is deep significance in the fact that bigger plans and increased output have brought about a new alignment of prices, including a four at $1050 and a six at $1485. And looming in the background is the perfected ALL-YEAR Car— an original feature that gives a Kisse/Kar distinction, attraction and utility exclusively its own. KISSELKAR. ALL-YEAR The ALL-YEAR Car—invented and introduced by Kissel—was the paramount (a } achievement in body design last season. It met for the first time a demand for the continuous service of one body—an open touring car in summer and closed car in winter. ‘The top is easily attached and detached by inexpert men. The new ALL-YEAR Cars are perfection: beautiful Roths- child lines — masterly workmanship— worked out so skillfully that not even an expert can distinguish them from the finest closed coach in passing. In addition to the ALL-YEAR Sedan Top, there is a new ALL-YEAR Coupé Top mounted on the smartest four passenger roadster vet concerved. 32-Four 5 Passenger Touring Car 42-Six Five Passenger Touring Car The complete KisselKar line—including the new 32-Four, 36-Four, 42- Six, five and seven passenger four door, two and three door corridor bodies, ALL-YEAR Touring and Sedan bodies, ALL-YEAR Roadster and Coupe bodies, Limousines and Coupélets—is fully described in our new catalog. Write for it and learn the full story of KisselKar values and prices, as well as the comforts and conveniences of the ALL-YEAR Car. KISSEL MOTOR CAR CO., 400 Kissel Avenue, Hartford, Wisconsin New York, Chicago, Boston, St. Louis, Cleveland, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, St. Paul, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati Columbus, Toledo, San Francisco, Los Angeles, New Orleans, Dallas, Omaha, Nashville, Rochester, Troy, Dayton, New Haven, Hartford, Conn., Providence, Marshalltown, Cedar Rapids, Montreal, Calgary, Victoria, and hundreds of other leading cities in the United States and Canada.

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The pen with the positive filling device clean, straightforward, above- board. Nothing intricate or delicate. Nothing to get out of order or give way with use. Gonklins. Self-Filling & Fountain Pen NON-LEAKABLE The **Crescent-Filler’ is the original self-fill ing device for fountain pens and the acme of simplicity—no springs, no hinges, no pivots. | THE CONKLIN PEN MFG. CO. 289 Conklin Bidg., Toledo, 0., U.S. A. U Prevents pen from rolling off desk. Never fails to fill the pen full in four seconds. Sold by Stationers, Jewelers, Druggists. $2.50, $3.00, $4.00, $5.00 andup. Write for catalog. ON EVERY Piece and freight prepaid on the new 1915 “RANGER” bicycle. Write at once for our big catalog and special offer Marvelous improvements. F xtraordinary values in our 1915 price offers in not afford to buy without getting our latest propositions. WRITE TODAY Be a “Rider Agent” and make big money taking orders for bicycl@ and supplies on a sample to in GER.” equipment, sundries and every thing in the bicycle line half usual prices. Lowest prices on Motorcycle and Automobile Supplies ’ MEAD CYCLE CO., Dept. W-55, CHICAGO THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE ANGLE OF REFRACTION Eas Continued from Page 9 Whatever license Heinemann may have taken with Holt’s lines, he never touched the construction. Now, as the structure began to take form under her hand, for the first time she came to see why the old man- ager had drilled with such cruel insistence in scenes of seeming triviality. A word, a ges- ture, a look, at the psychological moment, was the stepping-stone to carry from one impression to the next, with cumulative in- tensity in the minds of the audience. The whole was planned to intrigue this mass of staring faces deeper and deeper in the sub- tleties of Amos Holt’s “ consequences.” Fannie felt the growing emotion of her audience gradually react on her; and the full meaning of the play came to her like a revelation. With dexterous touch she ac- centuated the trifles; she forgot all the grueling fatigue of the last furious hours of rehearsal. Withasense of exaltation she felt the supreme power of her art. Not only did she control her audience as though it were a plastic thing, but the members of the com- pany were playing to her as though alone carried the burden of the action. Warren Ellis was superb—a perfect foil. This finished actor, in his own words, had been “kissed and cussed”’ by all the female stars in Heinemann’s bag. As leading man he had never encroached; his effort was spent in preserving a balance to make the woman star effective. Once or twice Fannie stole a look out and up through the darkness to the high gallery where the old man-—the god of this ma- chine—sat silent and alone. When she came off, at the end of the first act, Amos Holt seized her two hands and began to pump her arms vigorously, as the only man- ner in which he could express his feelings. She freed herself and ran to her dressing room. Then came the great second act and, with its finale, the deafening crash of applause from the house, which until this moment had held its feelings in check. Again and again the curtain rose on the tumult. At first the full company were bowing—then only four of them remained—at last only she and Ellis faced the mad house. Ellis turned to her, took her hand, pressed it and hurried off, leaving her alone. She bowed again and again, mopping her misty eyes with her handkerchief. Then she found herself being pushed out in front, through the curtain drawn aside—once, twice, and still again. The last time she dragged Holt with her, freed herself, and left him to make one of his crisp, clever speeches. She moved through the next act without conscious effort, and through the fourth act, to the amazing ending, herself a prey to the spell she had invoked. Heinemann was waiting for her in the wings as she made her final exit; she threw her arms about him, her head fell on his shoulder and she burst into uncontrollable weeping. “So muttered the old man ingly; he gently disengaged himeelf, patted her clumsily, and passed on. Warren Ellis found her in her dressing room as the maid was drawing on her furs. “You are going to stay, aren’t you?” asked Ellis. “Holt has extemporized a spread on the stage—to celebrate. Holt thinks Heinemann is the greatest man in the world now, outside of himself.’” And he smiled sardonically. “Come, Fannie! It couldn't go on thout you. You must stay.” she i so! sooth- “No—no!” sh@cried. “I must go—to Worden—1I must@urry! Oh, Warren, you are wonderful at could I have done without you?” “But, Fannie,” he persisted as she started away, “stay a little while anyway at least until the morning papers come up. Not later than one-thirty, I promise you.” “No—no! I must not!” she repeated resolutely. “‘ Heinemann, let me have your car. I must go to him.” She must go to him! As she spoke the words she felt a sudden chill cold at her heart. Until this moment had not thought of him. Through the wonderful morrents of this night of nights he had been as remote from her thoughts as she had been from his on that afternoon when she ran in on him as he pored over his all-engrossing idea. Fannie found the limousine filled with flowers that had come up over the foot- lights at the close of the second act. She ordered them taken back to the table then she being spread; and in the bitter cold of mid- night she gave herself over to her thoughts as she sped along. But before she had gone far her nervous exhaustion overcame her, and she lay back on the cushions like a dead woman, conscious of nothing. She did not know when they reached the gate, and her servants half carried her in The sun was shining in the windows when she opened her eyes in the morning. With her breakfast tray came the morning papers. There it was in black and white, staring out at her in glaring headlines, in the first paper her trembling fingers opened. Mrs. Worden Searelle had scored a per- sonal triumph in the Holt play —the Fannie Chesbro of the old days, whose Helen, in the Hunchback, still lived in the memory, had reappeared and attained heights in The Sea Anchor of which even her most devoted admirers had not known her capable. The most critical audience in the world had paid her such tribute as is seen only once in a generation along Broadway! Fannie Ches- bro was no longer merely the “sweet” woman; now she was the woman glorious, the woman triumphant! She had attained moments in this new and greatest Holt drama that gave her rank with And 80 On. So the lines ran before her streaming eyes. And not alone for her; Warren Ellis came in for his usual share of distinguished approbation. And away down toward the end the stock adjectives—adequate, pleas- ing, appealing, promising were reserved for the lesser members of that wonderful company old Heinemann had hammered together. But not a word about Heine- mann. That would be eminently satisfying to the old man, who abhorred publicity for himself as he cultivated it to rank excess for his puppets. It was a moment to live for. She dressed herself in her prettiest and was humming an air as she tapped on Searelle’s door. The nurse met her with uplifted finger, to say that he was still asleep—the formality of the sick room still surrounded him, though his recovery was so far advanced. Fannie, unable to curb her spirits, started out for a brisk walk; the tang of the air, the crunch of the snow underfoot, and the bright winter sky line—all seemed to frame a pic- ture for her exhilarated thoughts. She saw faces, myriad faces, acclaiming her. When she returned the nurse seized her impulsively. “Oh, Mrs. Searelle! Something wonder- ful has happened!” the woman cried. “He speaks again! Words have come back to him!” She laughed. “It’s quite like old times — he called me out of my name shame fully just now. Such a tantrum as you never saw in your life!”’ Fannie sprang forward and up the stairs with a joyous exclamation. She opened the door, slipped in noiselessly, and slyly waited for him to discover her. When he looked up from the morning paper he was reading he regarded her for what seemed an eternity of time without moving a muscle of his face. Then he smiled. She felt afraid. Then he began to laugh—the open, full-throated laugh of a man who had never known, much less feared, a numbing stricture of the vocal cords He sprang to his feet, dashing the newspaper he held in his hand to the floor and stamping on it She noted mechanically that there was a heap of papers, torn and crumpled. With a gesture of amazing energy he swept them all into his arms and thrust them, in a bundle, into the fire Fannie watched him as he jammed them into the flames “Mrs Worden Searelle!” he cried, sneering as he watched them burn. “ Mr Worden Searelle!”’ he repeated, with suct a world of hatred and contempt in his tone that the woman involuntarily shrank back. He strode to the door of his bedroom, entered, slammed it shut behind him. As she beat on the panels, crying “ Worden! Worden!” she heard him shoot the bolt in the lock. “Open! Open!” called Fannie, her voice raucous with fear She waited breathlessly. The fate of the Inchquin woman, who had flouted him on the stage, came to her mind. He had driven her from him with sneers and gibes that could not be parried. “Go away, woman!” through the door “Go mann, where you belong.” shouted Searelle back to Heine- One Guarantee back of every | M Automobile Accessory Why be ibe pute’ 12 grav? oy line feed troubles when you can be assured of an un failing and constant, uniform flow of fuel to your carburetor on the steepest hill by using a Carter AutomaticGravity Tank? The action of the Carter Tank is en tirely automatic. It does away with the annoyance and uncertainty of a pres sure feed system. Unlike any other gasoline feed system, it insures an abso lutely uniform flow of fuel to the car buretor at all engine speeds The absolute positiveness of its action, the simplicity of its few parts, the fact that it does not depend for its efficiency on air-tight lines, make it the most prac tical solution of the fuel feed problem You need a Carter Tank on your car. Look for the Carter name on the tank you buy (cee am ‘oni peal Price 10 With All Fittings Canadian Price $12 l 4 OTHER J-M AUTO ACCESSORIES Jones Speedometer; Leong Hern; Carter Carburetor; Johns-Manville Shock Absorber J.-M Non-Burn Brake Lining; J-M (Mezger) Seot-Proof Spark Plug; J-M Auto Cleck; J-M Non-Blinding Lens; J-M Fire Extinguisher; J-M Automobile Tape; J-M Packings and S. A. E. Gaskets; “Noark” Enclosed Fuses; G-P Muffler Cut-Out; J-M Narco Tire end Tep Repair Materials; J-M Dry Batteries Write for booklets H.W. JOHNS- MANVILLE Co. 294 Madison Ave., New York 47 Branches Service Stations in Al! Large Cities

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CHAUNCY HALL SCHOOL 563 Boylston St. (Copley Sq.), Boston, Mass. Established 18 Prepares boys exclusively Massachusetts Institute of Technology and other scientific s Every teacher Reeotane r. ialiet Aspectaiis Kurt Principal | The Phillips Exeter Academy Unusual opportunities for boys of excep and ability. 135th year « — Sept. 15th, 191 The Phillips Exeter A - saat Perry, Peat pal, Exeter, New dampshire tion 1 character SEMINARY MAIN BUILDING In the foothilis of the White Mountains. 7 buildings, including a $30,000 gymnasium and new dining hal! Separate dormitories for young men and women Athletic fields. Preparation for college or business Music, Art, Elocution. Manual Training. Special courses for High School Graduates. Home kconomics including Sewing, Dressmaking and Domestic Science Moderate rates. Chase Cottage for Young Boys Entirely distinct building. Number limited. Al! ad vantages of Seminary faculty, gymnasium and athletic fields. House mother. Endowment permits moderate terms. For information of either department address George L. Plimpton, Principal, 34 School St., Tilton, N. H. EVENING POST At this moment Dr. Vossberg entered. In a word Fannie told him what had hap- pened. The old physician rapped on the barred door, calling on Searelle to open. His taunting laugh answered them. “Thanks, no! Take that woman away first!’”’ came the voice through the door. “Mrs. Worden Searelle! I want none of her!” Vossberg cocked an ear at the sound of the familiar biting accents. “Fannie! Fannie! Don’t you hear? His voice—holy of holies, it has come back to him!” whispered the old physician his rage—that I should she burst out miserably—‘‘theshock of it has restored his faculties! He abhors me because I have traded on his name his name!” “Open, Searelle! It is only Fannie and I,” pleaded Vossberg as he bent his head to listen. “Only you and Fannie—eh, Vossberg?” Searelle croaked. “ Well, Vossberg, that is one too many. Mrs. Worden Searelle!’’ he reiterated with satirical emphasis. ‘ With her spark of divine fire—ha-ha! That’s good! Send her back to Heinemann! Heinemann—bah!” There was a sound of a chair being slammed down with vicious emphasis. “It is useless,” said Fannie, looking help- lessly at the doctor. So it seemed. He had turned her out. This was the culmination of her hour of triumph. Twice during the morning she tried to reach him; but he only jeered at her through the door and bade her go back to Heinemann. Vossberg, oblivious to her misery, walked about shaking his head, muttering: “Wonderful! It found his speech!” At noon, among a sheaf of congratula- tory telegrams from friends and admirers, came a peremptory summons from Heine- mann for a rehearsal, at five o’clock, of the finale of the third act. She shut herself up in her room. An hour later, when she emerged in her wraps to go to the train, she stopped at Searelle’s door for a final effort. It was opened by the nurse, who faced her aghast. is wonderful! He has “He is gone!” she said with trembling | voice. Fannie stared, incredulous. “But where? Where? When did he go?” | she cried at last, desperately. He had called his man, after lunch, to get his things together, and they caught the two-o’clock train fortown. The nurse said he was singing and seemingly in high spirits as he departed. mr after the matinée at the National, Fannie set out for a walk of a few blocks. She nodded to Heinemann, who was consuming a long cigar in the vestibule; and she had reached the curb when she heard her name called. Turning, she saw an electric cabriolet drawing up to the pavement beside her. A white-gloved hand waved at her; then the face of Mar- garet Inchquin appeared. There had always been a dead line be- tween these two women which neither had ever tried to cross. Margaret Inchquin had on many occasions given evidence of her hatred of the actress, who not only had NE afternoon, had | | Vietor J. Evans & Co., 1 Ninth St., August 14,1915 ee Steel Need Not Rust ! | Wood Need Not Rot! Nor Concrete“Dust’’! REMEMBER 77S WATERPROOF PRESERVATIVE PAINTS ~- COMPOUNDS IX different “R. 1. Ww. specifics were wu The Woolworth crumbi ne and imegration I will perform the everyday miracie for your arge of smal the Toch Red TOCH BROTHERS Established 1848 Inventors and Manufacturer of Preservative Paints and ’ V armtshes 320 E Sth Ave., New York Work s N.Y. ‘ Long Island Cul ond Toronto, Oni Cansds wor ine be ut ao " " ’ mt “ "“ mm. " wr " Lo 1s peht " ihe |\REMEM BERVTS Reh aenet ith iret WATERPROOF ee OLIVE OIL ALWAYS FRESH PURE-SWEET-WHOLESOME | WANTED NEW IDEAS ‘z's ‘°° List of In ventions Wanted by manufacturers and $1,000,000 in prizes offered for inventions. Our four books sent Free. Patents secured or our Fee Returned. Washington, D.C. E A Fortune to the Inventor who reads and heeds it, is the possible enern s of the | book we send for 6 cents postage. Write us at onc B.8.&A.B. LACEY, Dept. A, WASHINGTON, D. C. \ TANTED—AN IDEA! Who can think of some simple thing to patent? Protect your ideas, they may bring you wealth Write for “ Needed Inventions” and “How to Get be cour P atent and Your Money.” Raxpoirn & Co., Dept . Patent Attorneys, Washington, D. BYU OL OG supplanted her as leading woman for Sea- | | relle but had become the wife of the great man in the bargain. At sight of her now Fannie felt the old impulse to freeze; but Margaret was smilidg at her and beck- oning. “Let me give you a li Margaret Inchquin, head, conseious that passers-by were caught by her sensational charms. , Fannie,” begged Fannie’s first thought was to pass on. | Instead, she stopped and returned the smil- ing greeting. She had suffered too deeply herself to give pain wantonly to others. She had sounded the very depths of desolation during the past few weeks when, night after night, she had been offered adulation for her | art—adulation that was forever mounting like a tide—knowing full well that with every bitter draught she was widening the gulf between herself and Searelle. She had not seen him since the morning when, in his rage, he had first turned his back on her. She paused and gently declined the offer. “But, Fannie, I have something wonder- ful to tell you!” insisted the ravishing creature. “‘Come, just for a turn—then (Continued on Page 52) arching her pretty | Nashville, Tennessee Uniting Belmont College for Young Women and Ward Seminary (51st year). Opens Sept. 22. Half - million - dollar equipment. Campus, 30 ee Modern buildings, gymnasium, swimming etc. Junior Clee College Prep., Rios, Art, Expression, Home Economics, Physical Education. Delightful climate. Tennis, Horseback riding, etc. Students from 32 states. Certiheate privileges. Attendance limited. For catalogue and View Book, address JENNIE S. MASSON, Registrar An Unique School of Music Dr. Little’s Conservatory BEAVER. In Penna. near W. Virginia and Ohio. Full Courses. Famous results Address the Secretary. Fall Term opens September 7th . (16th Chicago College of Osteopathy ‘!°" A distinguished institution fully recognized. Faculty num bers 129. Regular and Special courses. Interesting and profitable profession. Method growing steadily in put favor Self-Help” plan. Write for catalogue 1420A W. Monroe Street, Chicago

Page 53

THE The result of 23 ears successful experyence im building motor cars SATURDAY EVENING POST be 9 What greater FLEXIBILITY can you get than 1 to 60 miles per hour on high? With a full load of passengers, the Haynes “Light Six” will pick up and maintain a speed of 60 miles per hour — yet you can throttle it down and creep along silently and smoothly at one mile per hour on high — slower than a walk. Press the foot throttle, and the car picks up and gets away instantly. It has made 30 miles per hour in 742 seconds from a standing start. No matter how suddenly you open the throttle, you can't choke the high-speed motor of the HAYNEs’LicntT s[X You can climb hills on high, with turns so shi arp And don't overlook Haynes appearance, upkeep, that the car must be slowed dow n, without touch- e conomy, durability. In finish and workmanship, the ing the gear shift lever. Haynes “ Light Six” does not suffer by compari- Atall speeds, and under all conditions, you get son with cars of the highest price consideration. in the Haynes a smooth flow of power. You Its upkeep is notably economical. Has averaged really control the car with the foot throttle. 18 to 22 miles per gallon of gasoline, 7500 miles Not only is the Haynes motor a high-speed to a set of tires, 400 miles to a quart of oil. motor, but it develops that wonderful pulling And remember that it is made by a company power, that ability to hang on at the lower that is furnishing repair parts for cars built as speeds—and that is flexibility! long ago as 1899. See the Haynes—nde in it—know its flexibility— its performance —its high class in every detail—and we will leave it to your own judgment if it doesn’t deserve its name, “America’s Greatest Light Six.” If you do not know the nearest dealer handling the Haynes, we will gladly inform you. Catalog with complete specifications on request. The Haynes Automobile Company 40 South Main Street Kokomo, Indiana ; =. — Model 34—5-passenger Touring Car (illustrated) . $1385 In Canada, duty paid, $1825 Model 34—3-passenger “So-Sha-Belle” Roadster . $1485 In Canada, duty paid, $1955 Model 35—7-passenger Touring Car $1495 In Canada, duty paix d, $1975 All prices f. o. b. Kokomo, Ind (j Before paying $2000 or more fora car, inspect or ride in this luxurious “ Light Six” — $1385.

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oan ni i Mmmm THE SATURDAY | The 1916 Briscoe settles the question whether you want a Four or an Eight A new Four $750 —a new Eight $950 and a wonderful exchange proposition The new Briscoe Four is an exceptional car. stylish than ever, roomier and more powerful. More If it’s a Four you want here is fhe car for you—but perhaps you are thinking of duyimg an Eight. Decide the question the Briscoe way. If then you decide you want the Eight, difference and a small charge for installation work, and have the month. sensational Briscoe Eight. “The best designed car in its class,” say dealers who double orders after seeing new Briscoe designed car in its arefully made, too, Looks hundreds of dollars more than It has 114-inch wheelbase — §-passenger body — Q. rims and 32-inch Ajax tires—38 h. p. motor with three-bearing crankshaft— cantileverspringsand everything inthe the best most « Its clats it costs roomy Early deliveries Write for booklet giving complete Briscoe models, and our epoch-making exchange offer. Buy the Four. Use it a simply pay the LMM way of electrical equipment. Unique features of the Briscoe Eight include overhead valves with cylinders and upper half of crankease in a single casting, insuring perfect piston travel and bearing alignment. Valve tap- pets are quickly adjustable from top. Pressure-feed lubrication. information of the new BRISCOE MOTOR COMPANY, Inc. 81 Wildwood Avenue Jackson, Michigan OOLS & At the renowned summer and health epares for Univer ain service with Northern cities, Ideal ve life, 1700 ft. elevation. Rate §200, Upper and te from 20 States. Catalog Nerr, P ” D Principal, Berxecey Spaincs, W.Va. SCH OLD DOMINION ACADEMY &:,. f or manly boys of 8 to 20. Pr Stet Vear. Individual Instruction All branches of music, theoretical and ap Modern, efficient methods of instruction and ihunagement Teachers’ Courses. -ublic School Supervision. Tuning. Confers Degrees. Com- Pupiie’ Symphony Orchestra of seventy-five Personal Super Univ. of Pa. Dormitories for women piration, achievement. Write for our 1 Book. It je free ead coptains valuable information Calbbest men Gate, Director, 1323 S. Broad Street, Philadelphia For Boys and Young Men. Front Royal, Va. branch of the Randolph-Macon System. berai gifts make unusual advantages possible. itipment cost $100,000. Prepares for College Scientific Schooia. Gymnasium, physical ulture and outdoor sports. Terms, $275. 24th ssion Opens Septe list, 1915. For cata- ogue and illustrated pamphlet, address CHARLES L. MELTON, A. M., Principal Box 411, Front Royal, Va. oe iber | Established 1881 ~& COLL A} OES The ext | The Sargent School ey Prac argest normal department for physical educa tion in the world. General and special courses prepare for healthy | womanhood. Sessions at y* seasons. New buildings in 1904 and 1914. | | college.”" | HENRY FRANKLIN DEWING, Principal, peers Macon Academy | Address for bookiet, Dr. D. A.SARGENT, 12 Everett 8t., Cambridge, Mass. “I have always considered Monson Academy a school of the highest class, and admirably adapted to fiiting boys for Henry B. Brown, Ex-Justice of the U. 8. Supreme Court MONSON 4“A2EMY Fifteen miles from Springfield Over 2000 graduates have entered college privilege, Beautifully Equipped Athletic » ield. New Dormitories s. Gymnasium. Resident Physical Director 250 to $350. Fund for boys of proven worth, For catalogue and book of views address Certificate Monson, Mass. | for me | wants me to play the lead in Marco Polo! | simply stunning in Holt’s play. | girls | gayly. | so high and that Searelle wants me to come | said; An_ endowed school. | AWLIN G SCHOOL For Boys Frederick L. G H 64 miles from New York on Harlem R. R. Complete Equipment. Thorough preparation for College and Scientific Schools. Send for Catalogue PAWLING SCHOOL PAWLING, N.Y. | volubly. | over in a moment. reduced to tears. EVENING POST (Continued from Page 50) I’ll set you down. I have just come from Searelle, Fannie!” There was a note of malicious triumph in her voice. She was leaning out of the cab; her shining eyes, her white teeth and her complexion, just a shade overdone, made a wonderful picture in the subdued | light of the evening. “He sent for me, Fannie!” she went on, “ Just think of it—Searelle sent He ” all aglow. of all persons in the world! She was eying Fannie rr studying the effects of her words. “It all goes to show, Fannie, what a wonderful man Searelle is. | He can rise above personalities—he can | even forget that silly trick of mine all those years ago. Of course he would rather have you, dear! Iknowthat. But you have gone on and up and up—they tell me you are They say it is the best thing ever seen on Broadway.” Margaret was all enthusiasm and pretty concern. As she paused, Fannie, white to the lips, rallied to the occasion. y friends are too good!” she replied as she ‘Saved the shadow of a smile. “Searelle is like a boy again!” broke in the other woman. “ When I came in to-day he seized my hands ecstatically. He is a to make Marco fho was Marco Polo anyway? I swear I don’t know him from Adam! Searelle plans to make it the greatest spectacle of all—the sharks would not finance him in it, he tells me, except at exorbitant rates—and he has | got ahead of them by selling his library. | Think of it, Fannie! That library of his, all rags and tatters, is going for thousands and thousands of dollars. We are going | into rehearsal next week—I’ll let you know when we get along. Perhaps you'd like to drop in some afternoon. Well, ta-ta, dear if you really refuse to come with me. No? You won’t, surely?” And the Inchquin woman, posing for the curious onlookers, drew her silks and furs | clear of the door and was about to shut it. “We have been like a pair of silly school- bickering all these years,”’ she said “But, now that you have climbed back, we can forget it all, can’t we? You | wish me every success, don’t you, Fannie?” “It’s splendid if you can help him,” said | Fannie, braving it out to the last. And as the door closed she started down the street, watching the little cabriolet as it darted this way and that through the traffic, like a sasibnene charger driven by some vixen who controlled it with a touch. At the corner Fannie suddenly threw her | hands before her eyes as though the elec- tric lights were blinding her. She fell forward heavily and would have struck the pavement had not a man in passing reached out and caught her. He steadied her for a moment. “It was just a moment of dizziness,” she said. “I am quite myself again—thanks to your help.” An ever-watching cabby, scenting a fare, slowed up insinuatingly; Fannie stepped in. Heinemann had witnessed and caught | something of the significance of the whole scene from his vantage point in the vesti- bule.- As she fell he came running forward, but, with his clumsy gait, arrived too late. For a moment or two the old man pulled hard at his cigar; then he raised his cane and summoned a taxicab. He looked at his watch. “T think ve vill drive in the Park,” he an hour later he.drew up before a pretentious apartment house in the eighties and gave his name to the hallboy. I vill see Miss Inch’in,” he said. Word came back that the actress was not in. Heinemann suddenly bristled up, leaned over, with his lips close to the mouth- piece of the telephone, and breathed rather than said: “Oh—she’s not in, eh? Vell, tell her for me that it iss 1—Heinemann- and that she iss in!” The effect was instantaneous. In a mo- ment he was in the elevator; Margaret Inchquin received him at the door, gushing Heinemann checked her with upraised hand. His business with her was When he left she was “He would murder me if he knew I told you!” she cried. “Huh! And I vould murder you if you did not tell me,” retorted the old man. “So vat iss the difference? Bah!’ Fannie was bound to the wheel. The public, which had bought out this house August 14, 1915 four weeks before, had a right to expect Mrs. Worden Searelle at her best. It would be the same to-morrow night, and the next and the next—indefinitely. The privilege was so much merchandise bought and paid for. No one could deny them the right—least of all the woman whose fame drew them here—not even though, an hour or two before, she had been struck a blow from which she was still reeling! She must be the vivacious, the glorious woman, her eyes unveiled, her tones silvery, her art untarnished. Heinemann appeared earlier than usual. When Fannie came in he watched her go to her dressing room, curiously. Some few minutes later he tapped gently on her door and, at her summons, entered. He had something to say—but he did not say it. Instead, he sat down, fidgeted about un- comfortably, twiddled his hat in his fingers; finally he gave it up and left her. In her abstraction she scarcely noticed him. She had been telling herself that she could not go on this evening. But when her call came she rose and walked out on the stage, took her moment of applause from the house, and found herself in the lines which now, through habit, had be- come second nature. She was conscious wonderingly of a strange mental and phys- ical reaction from her recent lassitude. Her step was elastic; every sense was sharp- ened. Whenshespoke she was thrilled at the sound of her own voice. Warren Ellis had caught the infection, had absorbed some- thing of her strange exhilaration, and the scene went with an intensity it had never possessed before, It was a tradition that Heinemann him- self never occupied his own box, though it was always tenanted. Fannie was dimly aware that there were several persons in it now. Heinemann himself was there. He had drawn his chair well forward, watching the play as though it were something new. The company was in a flutter of excite- ment. Why was Heinemann so intent on them all to-night? Was he not satisfied with the lashing he had administered in a score of unnecessary rehearsals? Or was he planning some fresh deviltry? He did not even leave his chair during the intermis- sion. Fannie was completely submerged in her part; with the blindness of desperation she had lost herself completely in her char- acter. In this surcease of her own woes she was conscious of that strange sense of merged identity when her own personality dropped from her and she became in truth the woman she seemed. But the final cur- tain brought sudden awakening—she was again the fagged and weary woman as she dragged herself off the stage. Heinemann came in when she for the street. “Come mit me, Fannie,”’ he said thickly. “Where are we going, Heinemann? I am so tired!” She sighed wearily. “Up here, child—so,” said the old man as he drew her up a short flight of steps. He pulled aside the curtain of his box and gently pushed herin. “Sit down,” he c om- manded; “presently I vill come back.’ The theater was empty—the yawning seats meeting her gaze. The main drop had been run up and the stage stripped for the night. The bare brick walls at the back stared at her. Only a few lights were left burning and the place was full of shadows. Fannie heard a slight sound behind her, and, turning, she saw Worden Searelle sitting there. He was slouched down in a chair; his arms were folded across his chest; and his heavy brows were drawn to- gether like a cornice over his eyes. She put out a hand and caught at a chair to steady herself, slowly let herself sink into it. He seemed unconscious of her presence. Her lips framed’ the word “ Worden!”’ but no sound came from them. Her first impulse, with returning strength, was to fly to his side, fall on her knees before him, implore his forgiveness. If Searelle had lifted his eyes—if by a single gesture he had acknowledged her near- ness—she w wuld have been the suppliant. But he made no move. To all appearances he heard nothing, saw nothing, cared nothing. With a sudden rebound Fannie regained mastery of herself. Her confused thoughts crystallized. Implore his forgiveness? Had she wronged him, then? Swiftly she brushed aside the petty hypocrisies with which she had sought te beguile herself during all those weeks of stealthy coming and going. No; it was not for him, who would benefit by it, was ready

Page 55

Will Your Teeth Be as Good 10—20—30 years from now as they aretoday? The answer de- pends largely upon whether you use a dentifrice which checks “ Acid-Mouth”—the cause of 95 per cent. of all tooth decay. PEBECO TOOTH PASTE helps save teeth by neutralizing ‘“ Acid- Mouth.” Get rid of ‘“Acid-Mouth” and you remove the worst enemy of your teeth. Do you know that 9 out of every 10 people have 3y helping to stop “Acid-Mouth,” Pebeco you the best chance in the world to keep your teeth for life. gives Once the enamel is pierced, the bac teria of decay make short work of the soft, inside tooth Don't let them! Vouth “7 Check ** Acid “T like real worker men and women who ish big things It’s just natural that accom pl

] should like Pebeco It does a real work. Pebeco for me, every time.” | that she had done this thing THE SATURDAY it was for herself. And in yielding to the passion of her nature to stand alone, to win through her own talents, she had not been derelict by word or deed in her love and duty. Was she less the wife, she asked herself as she watched his bowed head, now that she had stepped out of the shadow, now that she had fulfilled herself as a woman? The applause and the acclaim were the breath of her nostrils. She had won that which was her right—she would retain that which she had won—and she would win again and again. The line of her life had been en- gulfed in his these last ten years; but now, as when a beam of light is split into rays by the refraction of a crystal, her line had emerged, was running parallel with his— no longer lost or subservient. “Come, Searelle; it grows late,” He looked up quickly; nothing. i Was this his submissive Fannie, this smil- ing woman, with cool gaze and sure poise? she said. but still he said | She should be at his feet! * Acid-Mouth"’? | “Well, how did you like me?” lenged him audaciously. the name? Mrs. “Am I worthy of Worden Searelle?"’ She | laughed as she leaned forward and looked | desolate! Sample Tube and Test Papers FREE | A ten-day trial tube and acid-test papers to test your mouth for acid sent free. May we have your name and address? LEHN & FINK 122 William Street New York MAKERS OF PEBECO Canadian Office: 1 & 3 St. Helen St., Montreal

| SCHOO) LS & COLLEGES

Special One and Two Year ‘ourse in Home Economics A teacher's special course in Domestic Science which

Trainin Schoo ( ‘ ra } e Con Bu K splendid equipment and the "Resid nee Building xoept al facilities for s Complete Curriculum. Courses in every bra M applied and theoretica ling Opera Owing to the practical training in our N« al D t nt, graduates are much in de and as teac The free privileges f lectures, concerts and re the opportunities of ensemble practice and appearing before au noes, and the daily associat invaluable advantages to the mu ident A Complete Orchestra ers av ed pu in vo piano, organ and violin experier teh cals ar uUbDiC appearances with orche i @ npar t tin vess RALPU L. FLANDES eneral Manager RY Year opens MASS. Sept. 16th, 1915

Home School for Girls Genuine happy home life some and beautiful ideals groves, 1000 feet of especially for resul Domestic Art seashore, sin health, ¢

Distinctiwely Devoted to Developing Personality personal attention and care 4 useful womanhood able for an outdoor life, which we make attractive ar pontes " French, German, Spanish patient and enthusiastic instructors Rev. THOMAS BICKFORD, Miss FAITH BICKFORD, Prins., P.O. Box M, Brewster, Cape Cod, Mass, Growing girls inepired by whole The Cape climate i optionally teaver nd refining. One hundred acres; pine horseback riding Hygiene and morals observed ter and education. Gy tics, Music, Handiwork, native te All branches af etudy under Address

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{Lasell Seminary] Auburndale, Massachusetts. Ten Miles from Boston.

Courses in Language, Literature, Science. Art, with thoro of Household I Music and instruction in the theory and practice onomics. Training is given in the

Art of Entertaining, House Furnishing and Manage ment, Marketing, Cooking, Dresamaking and Mil linery Twenty acres, twelve buildings Tennis Boating, Swimming, encouraged. Address G. M. WINSLOW, Ph. D., Principal Riding and other sports are

116 Woodland Road at BREN AU conservatory GAINESVELE, GA.

Summer Session June 24th. I m Sept. 14th. Special course for musi | ads anced stu- dents. Location foot tidge Mountains Delightful climate Sum Winter Many | attractions. Beautiful illustrated catalog on request BRENAU, Box F, Gainesville, Ga

_~LOWTHORPE SCHOOL | LANDSCAPE RE AND GARD ARCHITECT! ne. ENING HORTICUI OF rt for Women. Fous

SWEET BRIAR COLLEGE For Women Sweet Briar, Va. The College—offers a four-year course leadin degree of A. B, 1000 feet high in the foothill of the Blue Ridge Mountains on estate of 3000 acres. Health conditions unsurpassed. Modern equipment; capacity for 300 students. Ar, Music, Domestic Science. The Academy —offers preparatory courses. On main line of Southern Railroad. 10th year begins Sept. 21,1915. Forcatalog and book of views address The Secretary, Sweet Briar College The Technical Normal School of Chicago Professional training given in Music

Drawing, Domestic Science, Physical Education

Domestic Art One and two year an Finest | Diplomas granted Graduates assist cal srece also offered. Fall term « Director for catalogue. 3207 Mich

FERRY HALL FOR GIRIS 2.

ted 1901 ago. High scholastk (pens to women a new and lucrative te id work. Thr standards. Certificate privileges. Colle year course. For information apply to Tas Paincira Junior college and special courses. Gy mn GROTON, Massachusetts ming pool. Address Principal, Box 305, Laks For DEAN ACADEMY, Franklin, Mass. For Women. The Wellesley a aS Lindenwood amy Aad reer le: Baw, thorough and efficient training in « 4 manent tat ad Colleges. Hea a) be | * A bomelik t 4 al and t al m I r * al with proper ¢ tia pence. Special d ents: § al terms 8300-4550" por yar al Coarse in Domest vocal, violin, art, ex a. and domest ence ype an Sovence : . os patatorium Modera D. emitories Address ARTHUR W “PEIR( E, Litt. D., Principal Missover, St. Charles, Box 1¢1. De. J. L. Romwas, Pree COL BY AC -ADEMY LESLEY NORMAL SCHOOL FOR KINDER “s GARTNERS AND GRADE TEACHERS New London N.B Int Hills. Co+ at al Courses given by Harvard | educators. Prepares for lege ce ate, Genera ses. Agr I Arts kindergarten, player if second and third grades laa new t Soh i residence and © thot t was Ul M t w Me I “dhe Ley WoLrarp

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A high-grade preparator a moderate tuition 103d year opens Sept. 8 High elevatios Fight build 1g 100 acres ‘ amd » ra fjormitories f girle and bx New gymnasium. Playing fields. School farm Cuargies Atpen Teacy, Principal, Meriden, N. H

Mae eet, Cambridg The eons A. Smith Froebel Kindergarten and Training School We have found graduates greater than w

supply ne and tw FANNIE A. SMITH Principal, e771 Lafayette | St., Bridgeport Conn

CUSHING ACADEMY ASHBURNHAM, MASSACHUSET SS th Healthfu Our 40-year recor H. S. COWELL. A. M., Principal year for a school w iperior advantage lowe 1 of r kind can do th Our zg i girl the personal attenti © nece home life Ih s worth knowing. Address for catak

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST re

mul encouraged culture years old Charges $360

Staunton Military Academy An Ideal Home School for Manly Boys 375 Boys from 45 States last session. Largest Private Academy in the States. Boys from 10 to 20 years old prepared for the Universities, Government Academies 1,600 feet above sea-level; proverbially healthful and beautiful Valley o! eral spring waters develops obedience, health, manty carriage equipped gymnasium, swimming pool and athletic park Daily drills and exercises in open air and refinement only desired our tutorial system. New $150,000 barracks, full equipment, Handsome catalogue free COLONEL WM. G. KABLE, Ph.D., Principal, Staunton, Va. or iness. mountain air of the famous the Shenandoah. Pure min Parental discipline. Military training Fine, shady lawns, expensively All manly sports Boys from homes of individual instruction by Academy fifty-five absolutely fireproof pure, dry, bracin, igh moral tone Personal, Standards and traditions high Address

including Engineering, Chemistry, a $200,000.00 for experimental and research work. Architecture K. G. MATHESON, Atlanta, Georgia Trains young men for positions of use- fulness, responsibility and power in in dustrial and business life. Its graduates are able to do as well as to know. Their the school's greatest asset lhorough courses in Mechanical, Ele« trical, Civil, Textile, and Chemical and Commerce. New equipment, Power Station and Engineering Laboratory For catalog address President success 18

(The oldest mili- tary school west of the Mississippi and largest in Missouri River Valley) i ' Is noted for high scholastic honors. } Wer s study well because the life ia interesting. Went vorth belie sin boys “doing things.” sereare “live” meninsympathy y kteale and are the boys’ wte and social life struction Rated an by U.S. Government wuimitted without ex ading colleges and uni ew gymnasium Swim iimilestrom KansasCity « address The Principal WENTWORTH MILITARY ACADEMY Lexngton, Missouri aK bor catal

St. John’s Military Academy The School has a national reputation for the high character of its scholastic work, the excellence of its military instruction and the perfection of its physical training. Write for catalog.

| sideration of finesse or safety.

ee Academy Military and b usiness men say that for a widely 1.i ‘ gtippi raining that pute a boy t for life re is nothing else in ike Culver. The catalogue shows why an produce such remarkable results. on hie fe \mert s whool « The Commandant’s Secretary CULVER MILITARY ACADEMY, Culver, Ind. (On Lake Maxinkuckee) TERT

festa Military Institute with a Winter Home in Florida Founded 1845. In Kentucky: 96-acre country campus 9 miles from Louisville. Enrollment limited. Wood working, machine-shop practice. Physical and chem ical laboratories. Hall for younger boys. In Florida: $60,000 home with open-air swimming and sea bath ing. 11th season in Florida Southern trip included in regular terme, $500. Only school in South desig nated Honor School by War Dept. in 1914-1915 Address THE PRESIDENT, K. M. L, Lyndon, Ky

An Erect Figure is an indication of strong character and personality— both are dominant factors in the business world Frect Figures, Punctuality, and 8y atic Order- liness ar art of the curriculum at MISSOURI was ACADEMY nize r De “i Courses preparatory to Uni ty, i » Mu an ene, including Agriculture. New nein ul Sw Po Broad Student Activities. Dry & A. and Wabash, Fe catalogue, address Cc ol, E. Y. BURTON, 105 Bellvue PL, Mexico, Mo. who nes of

MILITARY ACADEMY Designa War Depart- mest, the highest voting given. Prepares for College or Business. Work accepted by Col- leges and Universities. Fireproof Barracks. Al! athletics. Swim- ming Pool 20 x 60. Tuition, $500. For catalog address Western ited an “ Honor School” COL. A. M. JACKSON, A. M. Su periniendent

RY SCHOO unde. All athletics to idings Ample ¢ st t i” by t Lb tment, highest rating « COL T. A. JOHNSTON, Bape, A echool for boys, Roonville,Mo. High stand S. War catalog address rar , 732 "Third Street, Boonville, Mo. Box 45, Ailton, lil. High, beautiful Ohio Military Institute [!'s";0°4)" tary drill subordinate to academic work. Lower school for younger boys. Certificates admit to colleges. Athletics. A. M. Hensuaw, Superintendent Ohio, College Hill, Box 22 (near Cincinnati)

Chattanooga College of Law Two years gree of LL.B., State and U.S. Courts butiding, strong faculty of 15 portiay Next term begins Sept 19 1s course leading tothe de and admission to the Fine law Terms reasonable. Students may be self -sup 22, yor illustrated catalog, address | WILLIAM S. SAYRES, Sec’y Detroit College of Law Established 1891, Prepares for the Bar in all States. Two distinct schools—Day and Evening. Large Law Library. Three years’ course leads to the degree of LL. B. Students may witness 22 courts in daily session. Catalog mailed free. Self-supporting students should write for pamphlet describing our efficient Bureau of Self-Help. Address , 34 Witherell St., Detroit, Mich.

JUDGE CHARLES RB. EVANS, Box P, Chattanooga, Tennessee a Seyret ery TT TTT TTT

ii tit ti Hit

eNKPsoee MILITARY INSTITUTE - $300 Sweetwater, Tenn Box 60. Me Mountain HE SCHOOL with a national patronage. States. Students from 35 Prepares for Universities, Government Academies or Business. In the mountains of East Tennessee. 45 acres. Champion Athletic teams, all manly sports. Trip to Chickamauga and Lookout Military department under U. S. Army Officer Special department for boys under 14. For catalog, address MAJOR CHAS. N. HULVEY, Commandant. Rates

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| open. | said. | estate,’ “So you were after that!” cried the law- | | yer, Mr. Lewis; “the half of your father’s “T will lend it to you,’ “But, Pendleton,” said Charlie, “you haven’t got a thousand dollars in gold in your pocket.” “No,” replied my father; “but if you will give me a lien on the land I will under- take to pay the money. The estate is in ruin, but it’s worth double that sum.” And Mr. Lewis said that, among the other strange, mad, ridiculous things of that memorable, extraordinary day, he wrote a deed of trust on the Madison lands to secure Charlie’s note to my father for a thousand dollars. So great virtue was there in my father’s word, and such power had he to inspire the faith of men, that he rode away, leaving old Charlie at peace and confident that he had escaped from peril—whether, as Mr. Lewis wondered, it was the peril of the pirate as- sassins in the great swamp or the gibbet of Virginia. Two hundred yards from the house, where the strip of bush, skirting the meadow, touched the road, my father got down from his horse and tied the bridle rein to a sapling. “What now, Pendleton?” cried Mr. Lewis, like a man swept along in a current of crazy happenings. “TIT am going in to arrange about the payment of the money,” replied my father. The lawyer swore a great oath. If my father was setting out to interview desperate assassins—as his acts indicated—alone and unarmed, it was the extreme of foolhardy peril. Did he think murderers would parley with him and let him come away to tell it | and toleadin a posse? It wasa thing beyond all sane belief! And it is evidence of the blood in the lawyer, Mr. Lewis, that in this conviction, with the inevitable end of the venture before his face, he got down and went in with my father. The path lay ‘along a sort of dike, thrown up in some ancient time against the swamp. Now along the sides it was grown with great wet lands. | reeds, water beech and the common bush of | They came to the old tobacco house | noiselessly on the damp path. My father did not pause for any con- He went straight ahead to the door and flung it It was rotten and insecurely set, and it fell with a clatter into the aban- | doned house. At the sound a big, gaunt figure, asleep on the floor, sprang up. In the dim light Mr. Lewis looked about for a weapon—a piece of the broken door would do. But my father was undisturbed. “Dabney,” he said, “I came to arrange about the money. My agent, Mr. Gray, in Memphis, will hand it to you. There will be nothing to sign.” Mr. Lewis said he cried out, was astonished: “Dabney Madison, by the living God! | I thought you were dead!” My father turned about. “How could you think that, Lewis?” he “You yourself pointed out how the dog was killed by somebody who knew him; | and you must have seen that there was no | blood on the floor where the dog lay | consequently that the dog was killed in and the bed to furnish blood for the pretended murder.” “But the money, Pendleton!” cried Mr. | Lewis. “ Why do you pay Dabney Madison | this money?” “ Because it is his share of his father’s ’ replied my father. estate. Damme, man, you took a lot of hell- turns on the road to that! Why didn’t you sue in the courts? Your right was legal.” “Because a suit at law would have brought out his past,”’ replied my father. The man roused thus abruptly out of sleep had got now some measure of control. “Lewis,” he said, man runs on the sea. The trade of the sea south of the Bermudas is no business for a gentleman or to be told in the land of his father’s honor. Pendleton knew where I'd been!” “Yes,” replied my father. your bleached face; when cropped head under the pirate cloth; when “When I saw walk, and turn—TI knew.” “That I had been in the Spanish Main?” said Dabney. “That you had been in the penitentiary !”’ said my father. The tumble- | | down door had been set in place. because he | of owr graduates are engaged before graduation “no law of God or | saw your | | WAYLAND ACADEM | Tri-State College of Pharmacy i°; | trical and Mechanical Ea ng, La A. I saw you take three steps in your nervous | August 14, 1915 * replied my father. | j Military Academy 12 miles from Philadelphia, in a residential town with no fac- tories or saloons. Combination of individual and military train- ing. Healthful outdoor life produces unusually successful athletic teams. Only N. J. preparatory school under U. S. Army detail Riding school in connection with the Academy. Special school for juniors For catalog address Dr. CHAS. H. LORENCE, President CLAYTON A. SNYDER, PhB., Supt. Box 410, Wenonah, N. J.

men trical are in Schoo! and laborat« ” qua alified to gi € - 4 condensed course . “Rector | Box D, Chartesten. 8 | for catalog Washington, D. C

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Bordentown Military Institute Our purpose is the individual development of a boy's scholarship and character for the work of the world, either in college or business. A large thetic, efficient faculty, carefully selected pur high character, adequate equipment, carefully vised athletics, military discipline, healthful locat 3ist year. For catalogue, address Rev. T. H. Lanpon, A. M., D. D., Principal. Col. T. D. Lanpon, Commandant BORDENTOWN-ON-THE-DELAWARE, N. J MECHAT TU HAST UTE iy a A ROCHESTER, N.Y. oe Trades, Art, Home Economics, Teaching (Manual Training, Do tic Science and Art, Applied and Fine Arts One Three Year Courses. Mechanical, Electrical, and other special courses for grammar school graduates Engi neering and professional courses for high school preaentes Inexpensive. Apply for special bulletin. syn

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Tue Recrstrear, 63 Plymouth Avenue » N exceptional opportunity for Study 4 you to study dentistry at an extremely moderate cost for 1 Ze tuition and living expenses. The Dentistry course is three yeare for 1915 and 1916. Four-year course be at the gins 1917. Able faculty. Clin ical facilities unexcelled. Write } for catalogue. Address LUGS e.W DIANA DENTAL COLLEGE 3 W. North St. DENTAL COLLEGE LAW SCHOOL* :22=i2" University A one-year course covering the entire field of American Law. Not a lecture school. Text-book work is assigned as daily lessons and exemplified in daily moot court pra tice. More than 3000 Alumni, representatives of whom are found on the Bench of the United States Supreme Court, as Judges of the Supreme and Inferior Courts of many States, as Governors of others, and in both hou of Congress. Sixty-ninth Year Terms begin second W ex nesday in September and fourth Monday in January Students may Ser aes with either term. For catalog address W SCHOOL, Lebanon, Tenn. A Department of Harvard University Modern buildings and equipment. Degree of D. M.D. Certificates from recognized preparatory echools accepted. Catalog EUGENE H. SMITH, D. M. D., Dean, Boston, Mass

10-8 Chemieal St, dagen, standard « Makes one a fits for examination in Pharmacy in any - = fessional Chemist in 72 weeks, consecutive or otherwise Expenses: Fu nished room, heat, light, bath, tuition, library and all chemical! a drug fees. $4.80 a week, if paidinadvance. No entrance New Haven Normal oaecci. 1466 Chapel Street, New Haven, Conn. 29th year. Fits for teach ing. physical training, playground work. Vocational bureau. Summer session. Dormitories. 2 sew gymnasiums. 7 buildings. En j-acre campus. Boathouse, 20-acre athletic field, camp on So: DETROIT TECHNICAL INSTITUTE Offers « examina School of

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST t ' ” * 4 Se Is Your Town a Small One? Do you feel that its size limits your own growth? Do you want to earn more money, to make business acquaintances of men outside of your own little circle? If you do, Mr. John Hopkins Chamberlain is one of a thousand men who can show you the way. He helps to edit a newspaper in a small Wisconsin town. His pay is not large. He needed more money, and secured appointment as local subscription representative for the Curtis periodicals, The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentleman. He specializes on these three, giving as his reason that the national demand for the Curtis periodicals makes it possible for him to secure five orders for them where he could secure one for any other publication. His interests have spread beyond his home town. He has formed a connection with one of the world’s greatest publishing houses. The sales literature and correspondence that we send to all our representatives give him new ideas; the salary and commission that he makes from the few moments a day that he can give to Curtis work have totaled $60.00 or more at the end of a month. We have a proposal concerning The Country Gentleman that is of particular and timely interest to the man or woman who lives in a small town, and who wants to make more money. For full particulars address AGENCY DIVISION, BOX 20 THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE, PHILADELPHIA AE Sg NESE! AORTA He TR a RS a ae Tee ee eee Seen a re —— TWh 2 AEF OTE. . E

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SATURDAY EVENING $1,000,000 Tread The Goodyear All-Weather Here’s one example of the efforts which make Goodyears sovereign tires. Our anti-skid —called the Goodyear All-Weather —is not a regular tread pressed to form shallow projections. It's an extra tread about as thick as the regular, so it gives you a double-thick tread. It’s a special tread, made extremely tough by a secret Goodyear process. So you get deep, enduring grips. They are sharp and they stay sharp. They are flat, so the tread runs smoothly. This tread costs us $1,000,000 more than a regular tread made anti-skid, on this year's output of All-Weathers. All Called Anti-Skids Yet all rough treads, thick or thin, deep or shallow, efh- cient or impotent, pass for anti-skids. And all tires are called good tires, of course. But con- sider the degrees of goodness. Goodyear Fortified Tires have five costly features found in no other tire whatever. They have other features which are rarely found. Those extras will cost us, on this year's output, $1,635,000. That's outside of the All-Weather Tread. they are so important that we spend these vast sums to have Goodyear users get them. Men Are Finding Out It took years for Goodyear to attain top place, despite these many extras. It took years more to reach their present prestige. But now there are hundreds of thousands of users telling what these tires do. And every week is bringing armies of new users. The number of dealers carrying Goodyear tires has trebled in a year. Our present output exceeds 10,000 tires per day. We are adding new betterments this year — extra rubber, extra fabric —which will cost us $500,000 on the 1915 output. Yet this year’s price reduction saves Goodyear users about five million dollars. The Trouble is This Tires are affected by mishap and misuse. Many are over-taxed, many under-inflated. And luck is a factor in service. So it is pretty hard to get a clear idea, and many buy tires blindly. But the best-built tire is bound to average best. And Goodyear leadership, held year These things are unseen. Most tire buyers, even yet, don't know them. Mil- lions of tires are sold without them. Yet Punctures ard (jOOD)° YEAR | * ae4 AKRON, OHIO eg: © Fortified Tires Fortified Against Rim-Cuts—by our No-Rim-Cut feature Blowouts—by our “On-Air” cure Loose Treads—by many rubber rivets Insecurity—by 126 braided piano wires Skidding—by our double- thick All-Weather Tread after year, shows that men have proved Isn't that logic fair? Any dealer will supply you. THE GOODYEAR TIRE & RUBBER CO. AKRON, OHIO August 14, 1915

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the national joy smoke makes men tobacco happy because it cant bite tongues and can?t parch throats; the patented process fixes that! RINGE ALBERT This is Mr. H. Staerzbach of 199 E. 76th St., New York City. Mr. Staerz bach is 75 years of age and has smoked a pipe almost 60 years. He has just joined the “Old- Time IMMY pipe and cigarette makin’s joy is handed out to men via Prince Albert! It’s the direct one-two- three blazed trail—and so inviting that even a whiff of this friendly tobacco gives you the hurry-up-hunch that you’ve found your brand, at last! Sit-in on this bit-of-buzz: Prince Albert hits a// the pet-high-points in your smoke appetite! It’s cheer- ful, and chummy, and cool, and fragrant. And you can go to it like you can go to a friend with a bank- balance! It hands you a lot of happiness without a comeback! The patented process fixes that—and cuts out bite and parch! And then, this little fact, too: You don’t have to take a correspondence course in tobacco smoking to enjoy P. A.! You just jam that old pipe brimful, or roll a makin’s cigarette quick like that—and you're off, natural-like, soon as you can make fire! R. J. REYNOLDS TOBACCO CO., Winston-Salem, N. C. Get it settied in your mind that this line of talk is fact backed! Prove it to your own absolute satisfaction that Prince Albert meets every demand you can make! Because, it certainly reasons-out that if men al/ over the world prefer P. A, it’s worth while taking a slant at it! You can’t any more afford to duck P. A. than you can to gather hops in a frog pond! So, get that “lead me to it’’ spirit sparking, for there’s a tobacco shop down the road with Prince Albert awaiting your cheery howdy-do! The toppy red bags (fine for “‘rollers’’) set you back a nickel, while the popular tidy red tin sells for a dime. Also there’s P. A. in handsome pound and half-pound tin humidors. But when you are pals with P. A., you'll hitch up to that dandy crystal-glass humidor with the sponge-moistene1 top that keeps the tobacco in such bang-up trim! Sure!

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———— i MORNING SHAV. With the rich abundant lather of William — Every Day Williams Holder Top Shaving t_&: 3 Stick |