The Saturday Evening Post 1919-06-28: Vol 191 Iss 52

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THE SATURDAY G POST a” NOTICE TO READER. When you finis reading this n ne, place a U. S. 1« | > - > 3 tamp on this notice, mail the magazine t will be placed in the hands of our soldier © sailors NO WRAPPING—NO ADDRESS wa + an 4 - F 3 - 4 & ¥ ‘ et : 3 g . 4 2 ‘ 2 3 i ¢ : 4 i aA z z. & ¢€ ae [~~ ? fo? 4 Aa @ & .- » SES A. S. Burleson, Postmaster General UNE 28,1919 Nae 0 Ly Norman - Reckwell julian Street — Ben Ames Williams — William Ashley Anderson — George Hibbe Turner Henry Watterson — Rob Wagner — Herbert Quick — Alice Duer Miller — Grace Torrey

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- * HE drink of drinks.” The purple red juice of the grape with all the freshness and flavor of the frost- ripened fruit. ‘“‘Here’s to your real health.” Truly spoken. Welch’s has healthfulness in it. And rejuvenation. That’s the word that describes the after- Welch's feeling. sunlight and fresh air—the glorious sunlight of frosty mornings and the pure air of vine-clad hills, blended by Nature herself. Welch’s is the pure juice of premium Concords nothing‘ idded —nothing taken away. In its Fiftieth Anniversary year, It is a draught of Welch’s is more favored than ever as The National Drink., Founded on the true American principle of wholesome goodness; its standard of quality has never been lowered. The Welch name has become an institution, standing for all that is best in grape products. Insist on having Welch’s. Serve cold, diluted with plain or charged water. Added to lemonade or other beverages, Welch’s gives character as well as color. At fountains and in bottles from grocers and confec- tioners. Write for Welch Ways, a beautiful Book of 99 recipes for using Welch's Ask the fountain man for a Grapelade Sundae Aiftie th Var of National Service Welt h's Welch’s Grapelade a pure grape spread that is a real discovery in goodness. Made of whole, ripe grapes, without seeds, skins or acid crys tals. Itiswonderfully fine on biscuits, bread, muf- mam, taste, etc. Grocers sell it in 15 ounce glass jars at 35¢ and 25 ounce enamel-lined tins at 50c. | | { | | Tne Welch Grape Juice Company, Westfield, NY

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST = = = = = = ail SU A IAIN er THUY Cover Your Investment with a 20-Year Guaranty Bond— Every one knows that a structure of brick and steel and concrete will endure for a generation and more. But how about the roof that covers the structure? Frequently that is not only an unknown quantity but a liability rather than an asset. It is a short-sighted and costly policy to put a poor roof on a good building. As one of the oldest and largest manufacturers of materials used in constructing roofs, we have done our part to make all roofs good roofs. Years ago, for that reason, we induced the leading architects and engineers to unite in the adoption of The Barrett Specification as a satisfactory standard specification. Now we go a step further by sending our Inspectors to check up on the construction, and if they find that The Barrett Specification has been properly complied with, we will, without charge, issue a 20-Year Guaranty Bond exempt ing the owner from all further expense for repairs or up-keep on that roof for twenty years. This service may be had on all roofs of fifty squares or larger in all towns of 25,000 population or more and in ee Got et F 20 Year Guaranty Bond Detrou, Mich ctheation 20-4 wie Compan Aracke Flander la General Con Huggar Bro Montgomery, Ala a. i Bond [iS that i Saco 2 — guaran- : i fees en aca aoe — your i Winrae Bee os _. & roof for ; aut. 20 ~ years. yas 7 THUD TPE DE 5) 0 smaller places where our Inspection Service 1s available. Our guaranty is a real Surety Bond issued by Fidelity & Guaranty Company of Baltimore, one of the largest Surety Companies in America. Our only requirements : are that The Barrett Specification dated May 1, 1916, shall be strictly followed and that the roofing contractor shall be : approved by us and his work subject to our inspection, Thus, in spite of the fact that we do not build roofs ourselves, we are put in a position where we can guarantee the delis ery of the long years of service which these roots are capable of giving. A copy of The Barrett 20-Year Specification, with roofing diagrams, sent free On quest, | Company New York Chicago Phi Iphia Bosto st. | ( Cincinna Pittsburgh Detroit Birminghar New O h Minneapolis Nashville Salt Lake Cit Seatt P Atlant Dallas Duluth M B Wa al Johnstow: Lebanon Yo : “ | ’ ( K ) Latrobe Bethleher I yeth Butt B THE BARRETT COMPANY, Lin Montr I Wint Z Vancouver St. John, N. B Halifax, ~ ~ the . AAA i iii Li ‘AA RASA ri iu This is the 2.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 why have tough pastry ? Your pie-crust and fancy pastries can be luscious, tender, flaky if you shorten with Crisco. Crisco produces ideal results because it is so delicate. It is strictly vegetable — made from choice vegetable oils—clean, pure, wholesome, tasteless, odorless. Crisco produces ideal results because it is so rich. It is all shortening — the cream of the oil—contains no water, no salt. Every particle enriches. It is so rich that a fifth less is needed in hee Aandi heals. ge any recipe calling for animal fat. Get it in this air-tight, dirt-proof ee ee container 1 lb. net weight; also arger sizes. Use Crisco also for biscuits, short breads, frying and cake. It is the better fat for every purpose. It fries foods without making them greasy. It gives cake butter richness at half butter cost. You get the ideal fat for every use when you order Crisco. Try it. aiaienemee eee Send 10 cents for this 25 cent book: “The Whys of Cooking.” Tells why Crisco makes foods more deli- cious and digestivle. Tells how to set the table and serve meals. Gives over 150 appetizing recipes, with many colored illustrations. Written by Janet McKenzie Hill, founder of the Boston Cooking School and Editor of ‘‘American Cookery.”’ Address Dept. K-7, The Procter & Gamble Company, Cincinnati, Ohio

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ont ee a Published Weekly George Horace Lorimer EDITOR The Curtis Publishing HE SA URD Churchill Williams, F. S. Bigelow, Company A.W. Neall, H. D. Walker, E. Dinsmore, Associate Editors Cyrus H. K. Curtis, President : .C. H. Ludington, Vice-President end Treasurer Walter H. Dower, Art Editor | P. S. Collins, General Business Manager susaiueltiesiaaatanesias Walter D. Fuller, Secretary William Boyd, Advertising Director Entered as Second-Class Matter, November 18 7 “ 4 1579, atthe Post Office at Philedelphie, Independence Square, Philadelphia Founded AD! 1728 by Benj. Fran klin Under the Act of March 3, 1879 | London: 0, Henrietta Street Entered os Second-Cless Mater at the Covent Garden, W. C. Copyright, 1919, by the Curtis Publishing Company in the United Stetes and Crcat Britein Post-Office Department, Ottiewe, Canada Volume 191 BC. voc: tn Coneds PHILADELPHIA, JUNE 28, 1919 $2.00 Wr susccrqon Number 52 By BEN AMES WILLIAMS vu §S TRA T E D B}Y w. H. D. K O &§ RN F Re HE sun woke him; that and his aching head and his yearning stomach. He had not have chosen to sleep in such a place. But they had not been clear. When the had nothing to eat since breakfast the day before; and he had had too much to marshal, back in Muskoka, told him to yet out of town or go to jal, the man had been drink in the interval. The sun hurt his eyes. He groaned in his sleep; but when in possession of a pint bottle of whisky, no more than half empty. The marshal had he woke he quit groaning and began to grin. For it was the nature of the man to said he must get out or go to jail, so the man got out. He had never been in jail | be cheerful. His grin was pleasing; but otherwise the man was a disreputable object. did not want the experience. Besides, he knew if he were sent to jail they would take He was a tramp; and he looked it. He needed a shave; he had been needingashave — the whisky away from him. for three or four days at the least. He needed a bath; and there was no guessing how So he had taken the north road out of Muskoka. There would be no trains till mort long that need had existed. He needed a new suit of clothes, and a hat, and a pair of ing, and the marshal would not let him wait. He had managed some seven miles along hoes. Also he needed breakfast and he needed a smoke. This last need was the that road before the whisky gave out and he decided to go to sleep. Having mad ! one that seemed to distress him, for when he fumbled through his ragged this decision he had tottered a few paces off the road, dropped in his tracks, and slept pockets and found only a few crumbs of near-tobacco, and no cigarette papers at all, It was as simple as that. he said ‘*Shucks!”’ The night, except for the wind that played across the levels, had been reasor It was a mild expletive, but it was quite obviously a sincere one. warm. He had needed no covering, but he could have done with a mattress. He said The man had been sleeping on the bank between the road and the river. At his as much now, aloud; for the man had a way of talking to himself feet the muddy stream gurgled and swirled past where he lay. Ten yards up the bank “The accommodations at this roadhouse,” he told the surrounding atmospher the black ribbon of the road ran, ankle deep in dust. Some two weeks before, the river “are wretched. Simply wretched!” had been u its bank flooding that road knee aeep; and the pot where the man And he grinned at his own words There had been a certain refinement in h lay was from that overflow. His very marrow was chilled from lying for tones that emphasized the wretchedness of his apparel by suggesting that things had half a d s on th odden ground; and when the man got stiffly to his feet his not always been thus with him. Until he spoke he had seemed to be simply a com bone » was stiff and sore. If his senses had been clear last night he would mon tramp; after he had spoken he became a gentleman, reduced. ** Marshat Told Me to Get Out of Muskoka and I Got Out. This Was the First House I Struck,"’ Jubilo Told Him

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The haded by a pot where he had slept was thinly cl] imp of willows that grew above the water He moved so that one of them would keep the sun out of his eyes, and then he worked his painful joints to get the aching stiffness out of them. Also he began to think of washing his face. The idea attracted him, but the muddy waters of the river did not, He gave up the notion. As for breakfast—well, he had no sandwiches in his pocket, and there was no manna dropping from the skies. The idea of breakfast, like the idea of washing his face, went by the board. He climbed ip to the road ar d prepared to start on his way be a chance for food at the first house: but he the first house Far There might had no notion how far away might be. enough, probably. Houses were few and far between on this vast prairie. The country was new, not opened up yet. There n ght not >a house for miles The land about him was so flat that when he stood on the road level, the road at that particular point crossing a lov ile, he could look far and wide. Seven miles away catter of tin roofs that marked Muskoka, and the chimne f the bakery there In the other direc- tion he could look for half a dozen miles along the railroad track that ran as straight as astring across the level, black bottom land. When he looked that way he saw something that attracted and held his « e, Ile saw That in itself was had a fa train coming toward Muskoka. enough to hold his attention, for trains The y had taken him out of the morning cination for this man. difficultic before thi and he felt sure they would do so again. If this train had been going in the other direction, for instance, he would have risked boarding it; but it was going into Muskoka, and the marshal was there. He would most certait ly be discovered. So he had no thought of boarding this train; nevertheless, what he saw when he looked toward it surprise d him, and made him wonder and made him watch, The first thing he saw was that the train had dropped two cars. One of these two cars was four or five miles behind the train, standing quietly on the tra The other was about a mile behind the train, and still rolling slowly. Even while he watched, the train dropped another car, and the man could see the gap between train and car rapidly ‘ Now tl is not the sort of behavior to be expected of a normal train in good he ilth. Self-respecting trains do not drop passenger cars at hap hazard along the right of way: they do not abandon passengers in this fashion, a dozen miles from the nearest tation. Obviously there was omething the matter with this train The man won dered what it was; he watched to see Che approaching train yould cross the river about a mile southeast of where the tramp stood, It was per- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST one man stood at the rear of the last car shooting casually along the windows to keep all heads in. Then there was another large puff of smoke, and another detonation, and the tramp saw the door of the express car tumble inward. After that matters passed quickly. The tramp in the shelter of his willows took very good care not to risk being that distance. Nevertheless, he could see He caw men climb in and out of the door of the express car; he heard anot! He saw men mount the horses that had been waiting for them; and within ten minutes after the train had stopped he saw these men, six of them in a close group, gallop away from the train and strike due north, parallel with the river, and parallel with the road the tramp had been following the seen, even at quite ¢ le arly. er explosion. day before A mile or so north of where the train still stood t) men on horseback dipped into a shallow depression in the level swell of prairie, and were no more seen. The tramp, straining his eyes, had marked only one identifying cir cumstance about them: this was the fact that one of the men rode a bay horse with a curious and distinct splash of white upon his rump. A horse so marked, the tramp thought, must be fairly well known; and he decided the rider was a reckless dare-devil and careless of recognition, to use such a mount. After the horsemen had disappeared the man remained where he was for a time, watching the train. Men had poured out of the cars when the riders were gone; and one man climbed a telegraph pole beside the track. He would be cutting in on the line and sending word of the holdup, the tramp knew. At the same time the engine backed up to collect and the tramp remained where he was till it came on again with its train complete once more, and picked up the men who had been exam- ining the scene of the holdup, and then started on toward Muskoka. About that time the tramp decided he had better move A posse would be coming out; and if they found him did not wish the abandoned cars; on, there to would be questions of a sort he haps a mile from him now, yt - ipproaching the bridge at : ee. a tangent. Neverthelesssave i “ for a straggly and wind wrenched tree here and there, nothing cut off his view: he had, asit were, a grand-stand seat at the little drama. And he was able to see quite clearly that which came to pa When the train was about half a mile from the bridge it slowed down and came to As it did so there came a puff of smoke at the rear end of the express car, and adull detonation reached Then there were more puffs of smoke, little crackling sounds this dis And then half a dozen horses came up out of a dip in the land u stop the man’s ears and that had, even at tance, a deadly menace. between the man and the train, and he saw that one of these horses had a rider, and that the rider held the halter ropes of the others the crac kling about the train had By this time s0unds June 28,1919 answer. He would be locked up as a witness, if nothing more. And—he did not want to be locked up. He set his face to the north, up the river road; and as he began to move on his way he sang softly under his breath in a pleasing tenor voice some snatches of song. One might have caught the words: Go ‘long de road some time dis mornin’, Like he gwine to leab de place? The man chuckled at that, and repeated, still singing: I’m sure gwin to leab dis plac ; This song that he sang was a favorite with him. Some iow it as Kingdom Coming. The tramp had sung it beside hobo fires in half the states in the Union; and from it he had been christened. The first time he sang it the gentry of the road joined in the rollicking chorus: De massa run? Ha, ha! De darky stay? Ho, ho! It mus’ be now de Kingdom comin’ An’ de year ob Jubilo! After that the singer had been known, wherever his lilse forg ithered, as Year ob Jubilo. He had almost forgotten his other name. um IM HARDY’S house and stable stood on a knoll above the river, ten miles or more in an air line from the spot where the train had been robbed, and fully as far by the road from that sodden bank where Year ob Jubilo—or Jubilo, for short—had spent the night. About the knoll where the house stood the fertile lands rolled in placid waves to the far horizon on every hand. They were like a calm sea which is disturbed only by the lazy progress of the long ocean swell. From the house the roofs of Muskoka, seventeen miles away, could be seen like the sails of hull-down ships, black against the sky rim where it met the earth. The earth itself seemed at first glance as flat table; for the swells merged indis- tinguishably into a level } whole. It was only when approaching vehicles or pedestrians dipped fora little out of sight, and these de- the magic po kets of a conjurer, as a pressions, like swallowed them up, that one realized the unevenness of the landscape. The yellow river crept furtively along its shallow valley like a snake winding through tall grass and stalking the knoll. Only the occasional foliage of sparse and half-drowned wil- lows marked its course upon the land. All about the knoll where stood the house and stable there were signs of cultiva- tion; and from the black earth the crops were sprout- ing lustily, like a gasping swimmer who fights his way to the surface to gulp great breaths of air after a long immersion. Fortheriver had but recently returned to its bed after its periodic flood; the earth was marked with the detritus it had left, and save in these cultivated patches the black mud was cracking and drying into dust under the compulsion of the sun’s hot lash. The flood had crept up the knoll halfway to where stood the buildings; and a skiff stranded there marked high water. Where it lay it was a full hundred yards from the yellow water in the winding ribbon of the river. The road from Muskoka followed the river bed with some fidelity; and for much of its way it was hidden from the house on the knoll. But traffic had churned its dry mud into a thick blanket of dust; and when this dust was stirred by a passing foot a dark cloud of it rose and drifted lazily down wind. sO Men were running along beside the cars, and stopped She Gave Him the Jug and He Drank Tili He Couid Drink No More (Continued on Page 101

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST As For Henry Bell Brown—The Song Sung in His Honor Was a Lament at His Departure From the Paper ROM the outset the event was spoken of as a banquet. Little Jimmy Otis called it that when he proposed the plan, and his fellow workers on the staff of the New York Evening Dispatch accepted e term with even less question than they did the plan, } viously the right term in the case of HNecause Henry Bell Brown. In honor of someone else a feed or a lowout might have been suggested, but for Henry Bell Brown nothing less than a banquet seemed to suffice. Even in those days, you see, he was tacitly recognized as i banquet sort of person, so to speak. Nor is it more revealing of the thing Brown called his y that the farewell festivities proposed in his honor should take this sumptuous form and title than t is revealing of the character of Jimmy Otis that he should have been the one to think of giving Brown a send- off. For Otis was by nature one of those amiably disposed individuals who may broadly be classified as givers; vhereas Brown was by nature a taker—or at the least, and the politest, an accepter. Otis always had a cheap ciga- rette for anyone who wanted it; Brown always had a good ¢ igar for himself But where Otis’ cigarettes, being purchased to suit his own taste and pocketbook, were at least uniform, Henry Bell Brown’s cigars had no uniformity, but reflected in their various brands and shapes the taste and affluence of such men as had recently been interviewed by him. There was that about Brown which caused men to offer him cigars, though just what made them do so might be difficult to say. With Otis it was different; he did not get so many or such good ones; and as he did not smoke cigars those he did receive usually found their way to Brown’s breast pocket, whence in due course they were removed, to be moked by Brown, if good enough; or if not, then to be presented by him, with that handsome liberality of gesture he ¢ ommanded, to one of the compositors or to his barber, or, if very dubious, to a certain colored man who ran one of the elevators in the Dispatch Building and enjoyed Brown's good opinion because he always touched his cap to Brown but never to any other reporter. Otis suggested his plan one afternoon when the last edition had gone to press and the city room of the Dis- patch had turned into a place of peace, tobacco smoke and mild political discussion. Having finished a Saturday special and lighted one of his bad cigarettes from the very brief end of another he put the cover over his typew riter and strolled to the desk of the assistant city editor, Yoakum, round whom several men in their shirt sleeves were re- clining on desks and tilted chairs. “Say,” he said, addressing the entire group, “I’ve been thinking about Brown.” “So has Brown,” returned the column conductor dryly. By Suliam Streel v0 i som at siemens wien yom ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN “Sure he has,” admitted Otis. ‘‘And why not? If he doesn’t think of himself, who’s going to? If some of the rest of us were to do a little n re thinking for ourse lves, along similar lines, we'd be a lot better off.” “That's no dream,” agreed one of the group. “T call it pretty neat work,’’ Otis continued, “for a fellow to think himself out of a forty five-dollar-a-weel job in this rotten newspaper game, and into seventy-five a week in a decent, respectable business. “But are you sure it is that?” asked the city-hall man. “IT hope it is, but Beman says 2s rhe advertising business?” broke in Otis. ‘Of course ””? it is!’ “IT don’t mean the advertising business,”’ returned the other. ‘I mean this firm Brown's g Beman ought to know, and he says it’s not one of the most rep utable agencies. He says they do a big business and put up a big front. But it’s too much front and not enougl back, according to him. Too many oil and mining stoc! to sell, and a lot of that ‘ Free-to you-m) iffering-siste! medical advertising.” **I don’t believe it,”’ Otis said. “Well, if it’s front they’re looking for,” put in the make-up editor, who had recently been married, ‘“‘ Brown's got that, all right.” ‘*He’s got more than front,”’ Otis defended, “He's got initiative.” ; “Yes,” added the column conductor; “Henry Bell Brown has lots of initiative, but very little referendum “Well, I didn’t come over here to take him apart and find out what makes him tick,” Otis went on. ‘“‘I came 1 I ing with. over to propose that we give him a nice little send-off a week from Saturday night after he quits.” “What kind of a send-off?"’ asked Bolton, the soc ety editor. “‘A testimonial banquet. “Very nice,” approved a young reporter. “I know a little restaurant where “TI think he might accept a testimonial banquet if it was done in a style to suit his rank and station,’’ inter- rupted the column conductor, ‘At times he’s quite democratic.” ‘All the same,” said the city-hall man, who was finane- ing his daughter in a stenographic course, “Brown's the highest-paid man on the reportorial staff, and if, as he says, this advertising firm has offered him nearly twice his present pay, why, then = “That's it!’”’ broke in the young reporter. “It ought 7 to be a farewell banquet from him to us } on it Ct went on patiently I will elucidate He going to a new job, and if we aren't a lot of biliou knocker we h him well We may kid about Browr but just the same there isn't a man here who doesn't Hlere’s a man that has made good on this paper “Sure iid the irrepressible youth. ‘I respect any newspaper man that has his clothes made to order and carries a cane,” “Oh, I don’t know,” interjected the column conductor, “Bolton carrie i cane,.”’ “T said ‘newspaper man,’” returned the other. “That has nothing to do with society editors.” ‘Be careful, young fellow,” said Bolton good-nat ired]y . you may find out why I carry a cane **So,”” continued Oti peaking as though there had been no interruption whatsoever, “the proposition is befors ou. How about a banquet for Brown?” “What's it going to cost?” asked the city-hall man a head,” said Otis, “including cocktail dinner, red wine, oratory and a solid silver loving cup with all our names engraved on it, to be presented to the victim.” “Two dollars! And a loving cuy man. “Why not buy him a limousine too ‘Here's the way it figures out,”’ Otis went on placidly: “T thought Rafaelli’s in West Thirteenth Street would be a good place to give it. I saw Rafaelli about it this morning Not too che ip and not too dear regular table d’héte and give us a big private room on the second floor without extra charge.’ “That'seighty-five cent uplece,} n’tit?”’asked Murpl “Yes. Fifteen cents more each for tips make in evel dollar; and seventy-five cents more on top of that yu ing on twenty of us being there make fifteen d which will cover the cost of a very decent littl that Beman say he an get at the wholesale rate f some advertiser.” “That's a dollar seve nty-five each, so f ur,” ¢ nuted Murphy grin “Yes A pie cover the engray t I t other incidental ‘It won't,”” declared Boltor ** Ar has to come out of the general fund for] and tip. Remember, we have to pay that. Be it two and a quarter each, Jit ‘Not on your life!”’ protested Murphy. “We a Brown. We're all for tl cheme But t ( ir too much Cut out the ip, | say f place.”

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“Il know a little restaurant " began the young reporter But he wa cut hort e eolumn con- ductor, demanding “Who tor you there If we're going to do this thing at all,” Oti aid, “‘we ought to doit right — especially as it’s for Henry Bell Brown.” *Correct,”” put in Yoakum, who had not poken before “Tf it’ made a real occa on t ought to make him feel good all the rest of hi fe. Call it two dollars a head, and Wf it rur over that we'll get i, the Old Man to dig.” vf “ The others chiming in with tl Otis nominated the column con- é ductor and the ociety editor to erve with him in making the ar rangement Thu , when, in the middle of Brown's final week on the paper, it was decided to inform him that a banquet in his honor vas impending, the pleasant duty) of giving him this information fell to Bolton’s lot Hie caught Brown at noontime in the lower hall of the building. “'T here’ you a little farewell banquet on a plan on foot to give Saturday night, old man,” he said. The fellows wanted me to let you know so that you wouldn’t make any other engagement.” “That's certainly very nice of the boys,”” said Brown, ‘Where is it to be held?” At Rafaelli’ aid Bolton. Rafaelli’s? Let's see; that’s a little table d’héte place, isn’t it?” Ye West Thirteenth Street Haven't you ever eaten there Brow! hook h head I've gotten rather into the way of dining at illivan’s,”’ he aid I've often thought of trying some of those little places in the ide treets I suppose I'd have saved a good deal of money if I'd done it.” Somehow, without quite knowing w began to feel a little bit apologetic You'll find Rafaelli’s pretty fair,’’ he said “Of course it isn’t Sullivan's. That's understood Hut we're going to have a private room and a good , Bolton time just the same “Oh, of course you understand I appreciate that it’s like this that count it costs.’ “Still, it ought to be done right,” Bolton said. Then after a moment's hesitation he went on: ‘The fact is, we could have given the banquet at Sullivan’ we have Brown hastened to say. ‘Naturally the spirit of a thing not where you give it or how much enough money to do it But the fellows thought they'd rather go a little easy on the cost of the actual meal and put the extra money into something you can always keep as a souvenir of the occasion,” ‘That's bully! Do you know what they’re planning to get me?” A loving cup with an inscription and all our names on it,”’ said Bolton But don’t let on that you know, It’s meant to be a surprise.’ “Oh, I'll be surprised,”’ Brown reassured with a smile. ‘A loving cup will be fine. To get all the names on will tuke quite a fair ed ¢ up, too, I should think.” Ye It ought to be quite a nice cup.” As long as you're picking it out,” said Brown, “I know it will.” “The cup’s not my part of the job,” Bolton said. limmy Otis is handling that end of it— the business end.” “Oh,” commented Brown. ‘ Well, I'm sorry you're not handling that end, too, old man, Otis is a good chap—a mighty good chap but | don’t know how he is on taste, He certainly doesn't show any in the way he dresses. Has he bought the cup yet? I don’t know.” “Well, if he hasn't you might get a chance to put a flea n his ear. Why don't you go with him when he picks it it What I'm afraid of is that he'll get something too nate. He'll probably think an ornate cup is handsomer than a simple colonial design, But you try to edge him oward something simple, old man. The simple ones look 1 lot richer.” I'll try Not that any cup the fellows give me won't be highly valued,”’ Brown added, “but only that since they are giving it they'd rather it would be just the thing I'd like.” Naturally How did they me to select Otis to pick out the cul THE SATURDAY EVENING “If You Can Show Me Anybody More Important Than the Doughboy, Not Oaly on This Ship But in This Worid, I'd Like to Tatk With Him" “They didn’t select him, exactly. He said he’d under- take that part of the job. You see Otis suggested the whole idea of giving you a banquet.” “It was certainly very decent of him,” said Brown. **T’ll have to thank him personally.” “Then it’s all understood,” Bolton said. ‘We'll be looking for you at Rafaelli’s next Saturday evening at seven thirty sharp.” “Righty you are.” Then evidently feeling that a special show of apprecia- tion was in order Henry Bell Brown drew from the breast pocket of his waistcoat three dissimilar cigars—a large thick cigar, a middle-sized cigar, and a small cigar—and inspected them. “‘Have a smoke, old man,” he said, passing the one of intermediate size to the society editor, while with the other hand he returned the corona and the chica to his pocket. “Thanks,” returned Bolton gratefully as he accepted the gift. ‘‘Coming from you, Brown, I know it’s a good one oa ‘You'll find it all right,"’ Brown returned, nodding. “It’s really worth while giving you a good Havana, Bol- ton, because you're the kind of chap that knows what good tobacco is. That’s more than any of the other fellows do. One reason I'll be glad to leave this shop is that I'll be free from the stink of Jimmy Otis’ cigarettes.” With this interchange of compliments they parted, each filled with a curious and agreeable feeling of sophistication and importance. “There's a fellow; that’s going to win out,” thought Bol- ton as he went up in the elevator. “With just a bit of help,” thought Brown, ‘‘that fellow might get along in the world.” um O FAR as Henry Bell Brown had been able to ascertain he was one of but three reporters on the Dispatch possessing dress suits, and was alone in the possession of a garment he termed a tuc—meaning a tuxedo— meaning a dinner coat. But whereas in the past he had rejoiced, more or less privately, in this sartorial equipment, as symbolic of the superiority of which he could not help being con- scious, he now found himself wishing that every man on the Dispatch staff owned evening clothes of one kind or another. Nor was this wish as generous as might at first appear. He did not care whether the others had evening POST June 28,1919 clothes at that moment or whether they had them next week. His wish was that they should have them on the approaching Saturday night, in order that his festival should present such a picture of brilliant dignity as may be attained only where lustrous white shirt bosoms and silken facings garnish a banquet board. He would have liked to feel that there would be dress suits round him. In view, however, of the fact that there would not be dress suits round him he found it necessary to ponder considerably the matter of his own attire for the celebration, and it was not until he came to the point of dressing for the banquet that he succeeded in making up his mind what to wear. In doing so he developed a philosophy of dress to which he determined to adhere in future. “The thing to do,” he said to him- self, ‘‘is always to be dressed correctly, regardless of what others may wear. Let them be wrong if they like; that is not your affair. You be right.” No one who has read a theater pro- gram between the acts can be in any doubt as to what is the correct costume to be worn at a banquet attended only by men. “For such an occasion,” says the theater program, ‘the dinner suit, with its air of semiformality, is preéminently, solely and par excellence the proper thing.” Henry Bell Brown therefore donned his tuc. Then after placing in his pocket one single large cigar he left the room-and-bath he was given to calling his bachelor apartment, and walked down to Madison Square, stopping on the way to purchase a white car- nation for his buttonhole. It was twenty minutes past seven when he reached Madison Square. He strolled about for ten minutes, then took a hansom and ordered himself driven to Rafaelli’s, That, he felt, was the way a man ought to arrive at a banquet given in his honor—alone in a hansom, and alittle late. He could fancy their already beginning to look for him anxiously, and he hoped that they would see him as he drove up. Unfortu- nately, however, the banquet room was on the second floor at the rear of the old brownstone residence which Rafaelli had converted for his purposes; consequently the arrival of the guest of honor in his equipage was not observed. Henry Bell Brown looked at the front windows of the little restaurant as he alighted; seeing no one peering out he ordered the cabby to wait, and entered the building. In the hall he paused and drew from his wallet a twenty- dollar bill. Then he ascended to where familiar voices echoing down the stairway from the floor above told him his hosts were gathered. “‘Ah, here he is! Here’s Brown! Here he is at last!” came the genial chorus of welcome as he appeared. “Hello, fellows!’’ he returned. ‘‘ Will somebody give me change for a twenty?"’ He held out the bill. “I want to pay my cab.” “A twenty?” exclaimed Otis, making a field glass of his two hands and gazing at the bill. ‘‘ Nobody here ever saw a twenty before, let alone changing one.” “And for a cab too!” cried one of the young reporters. Of the entire group only Bolton took the request gravely. Drawing out his own wallet he inspected its contents; then with a shake of the head he said: ‘I thought I could fix you, but I can’t quite make it. Sorry.” “Oh,” said Brown turning to the stairs, ‘‘then I'll just run down and get it from the cashier.” “Hurry back,” someone called after him. ‘‘ Here come the cocktails.” Near the bottom of the stairway Brown paused, and looking back to see that he was unobserved drew forth his wallet again, put back the twenty-dollar bill, and took out instead a greenback of the denomination of one dollar. After replacing the wallet in his pocket he proceeded to the street and paid the cabman with the dollar bill, receiving back fifty cents in change, out of which he tipped the driver with a dime. Then he went upstairs again He felt a little conscious as he took off his overcoat and muffler, revealing the magnificence beneath, for his white shirt bosom shone forth alone in the assembly. Nor was he unprepared for the brief tornado of not unfriendly jeering that ensued, in which he heard himself hailed variously as a waiter, as a sweetums and as Queen of the May. At this jesting he smiled blandly, sipping the while at a cocktail which, it struck him, was rather raw in flavor, having been made, he supposed, of gin of an inferior grade. Of the entire gathering Bolton alone refrained from un- seemly comment on his costume. “I wish I'd known you were going to dress,” the society editor said as they seated themselves side by side at the head of the table. ‘I'd have done it too.” Hearing which Brown felt more than ever pleased with himself and with Bolton. ee

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as “You've got a mighty good head on you, old said. And as the evening progressed so did his good opinion of the master of ceremonies. He had always recognized the fact that Bolton wore his ck a certair so that even when the clothes themselves newest, thes wit! Swagyer, were not of the ted cracked cuffs, a shirt ripped in front near the neckband ora becoming fuzzy from long was what in those days even when close observation dets wear even the n, the Brown was wont to term classy: but now he begar tosee th at Bolton possessed social talents that harmonized with his appearance. He presided tact- fully, genially and with discretion. intervals while the dinner was being served song which had been prepare d to umty-tum accompaniments thumped out or old piano j os hinted of very recent « rters whose by one of the junior r p llege days. Most of the parodies in which the traits of familiar office figures were set forth. Thus, for example, Beman, of the advertising department, who was allowed to attend by reason of | having secured the loving « ip at the wholesale price, found himself celebrated in a new version of The English- nan, from Pinafore, running in part as follow 7 ee spatior . He's a er ! So too, though M Rosenstein, the alluring secretary to the managing editor, Was not present at the banquet, the oceasion did yuut reference being n to the attentions paid he t more than one member { the staff; to the expense attaching to such enterprise; and to the voung womat! well- cnown talent for extricating herself not only with a from these affair } wl { le heart ! t oftentimes wit] of character of the profit in the way loot. The version of th office histor) a irranged by t he rm columr conduct r to the tune of The Rosary, may be gathered from the first four lines: T he coin I’ ve spent to win your heart Would / a buy a , } , 1 mond pin, so fine; I count it ¢ erytime we over part Miss Rosen- stein. . Miss Rosen- stein. As for Henry Jell Brown the song sung in his honor was a la- ment, albeit not withoutacertain note of ribald criticism, at his departure from thepaper. It was set to the tune of We'll Drink the Nut-Brown Ale, and some- thing of its sentiment may be gath- ered from the t line of the , Which Was: What ail Brown, nut? old the The small souvenir edi- tion of the Dispatch prepared by facile column ductor, the words of contained Brown Was in France Six songs, tendency on the part of the company to ¢ and as the red wine f } owed and make each song unanimou amiably d ruses musi not on the harmony of cally harmonio hand hay otner When the coffee had bee were pas sed The guest cigars, but after ir pecting laid it on the tabl th and d H ivana with wi h he } himself. Though the cockta the benetic Bell He settled back ! chair, smoke and looked about | twenty men gathered to do} of his importance? Suppose been leaving the Dispatct testimonial banquet? No. personality. It pers mality Not that tl vanquet was From cocktails to coffee drinks either good or bad But the et it be remembe weren't |} hall Others | things he had pr ed were cigar. And both, he felt, we “T can stand a poor dinner a e ota tir I ‘ I We roved Boltor n i can afford ¢ ha P Believe t end I for Oo e Dispatch, « , eve ¢ f that Il: ed a little bu time next Glad to hear it, old mat l 1dvert g } More or I I te gz su Just wnat Months. 7 he +} ‘ an ever before, perhaps, Henry ful it a cloud of fragrant Here m he Im hn e most lenied at of good fe served, cigarett honor wit! ew out and lighted the id niow ad co ou any Wot d yn't oO ’ crabbed person could that acce icce mint anda ft there man posed person could not have called : 1a frankly doubting eye } j i they } ited THE SATURDAY EVENING POST reflected a llowship. sand cigar one of the ae een marge ‘ fortify rraw and served their important. were more than r. Wasn't that one of the other had he lave rece ed a none of them had ; you somewhere g remarkable, at that yu couldn't call the dinner or the tive Everything was middling, d, the dinner and the drinks id provided them. The sole preset and his owt of the best ed expal e] to Boltor “4 ee 1 poor drin right if I’m wiure si not without a sl f ad d , wl In't LONE e ‘ _ er. I’ve got ¢ ks pret a] ‘ iand } ne tr | know if t Anyhow, want to | t } most refit oratio t? one of pasteboar It was ar | | | | } } | | | CORNI L “we ative n or u init in ¥ ca Ty , %ROv. ts Men Reatly Behaved Very Well When He Spilled SJunbeams on Them Did you ever hear of a society paper calle tle? to me I have the ve ipproacher me with a proposition ft ihave a ge jeai to do with the busine er cerir now ! tock In the compa! ght be able to give l me if ir Dusines n with a large a of liberalit Just let me ere anything our corporation can do for j our offices and see me once in a while eep in touch with you, Bolton. Besides I'd 1 the 1) it we ve got up there It about the ed and tast propositior the ne of office de t nd t town or any other Here new iT As he poke he drew an engrave from | \ t d passed it to the othe anged as I A RVICI EFFICIENCY | MR. H. BELL BROWN | REPRESENTING THE PusLiciry DIRECTORS OF THI UNITED STATES, IN | ADVERTISING ENGINEEI R FIFTH AVI E AND FORTY-SEBCOND STREET neat iid Bolt egard the card appre e | ty his } ‘ I rely rur before long By th Va I see mu re ng al ead of your first name in full. I like that, Seen name char te ist the id Br n said As the president pa \ name nothing but a trade mar} Ifaman’s, y into the advertising profe the thing for him t ive t ime Bolt greed Ihe is the coffee was drunk and the cigal nd cigarett ere alight, he rapped upon the table for order, and in his capacity as master of ceremonies rose and said some ver flattering thing f H. Bell Browr He mentioned several of Brown's most notable achievements as 4 reporter, re ferred to } ibility to “ meet big men on their own level,” and poke of the } iniversal high regard in which Brown was, he affirmed, held not onl sutside the office but vithin it Bell Brown i leaving u It wa from the first ne tanvle We have all could at me ‘ but a stepping tone to higher achievement Wi could meet without fr gat once that the fair yy 14 of CCE had nut he " mar n } But f he eve Continued on Page 150

Page 10

HIS is locust year in our neighborhood. You doubtless know about the seventeen year lo- cust no, probably you do not; or at least not very much. There are some of them every year, and even those of you who because of your environment think of the earth as a body of land almost completely covered by buildings, with belts or strips of flat surface between them coated with a surface called pavement, must be aware of certain rectangular or irregularly shaped islands named parks, in which thereare green things termed grass and trees. Thi ummer those visiting these parks or the country will hear in the quivering heat of a sunny day a perfect din of high, ear-piercing long-drawn-out from the Each bar of thi a little explosion of sound, which grow ty and ther receded to a greater distance, and the rendition finally ends notes which come tree trident song begins with for a few seconds in nten gradually lessens as if the songster had n an adagio movement of snaps and clicks. The whole manner of the performance reminds one of the shrill zing of a powerful but tiny watch, the mainspring of which has broken loose and made the wheels perform in one minute what they are supposed to do in twenty-four or thirty-six hour and if you happen to live in a part of the country where these insects are numerous, every seventeenth sum mer you may sigh for the corner of Fiftieth Street and troadway or of State and Madison, so as to enjoy com- parative For the they remind Tre u l quiet eventeen-year locusts, like some people of whom hall hereinafter set forth—are noisy. And there is something portentous about them too, Each of them has on each wing a dark figure like a capital W "and that stands for war, as anyone with the right ort of faith must see at a glance Let us hope that their wings are marked this year according to hindsight instead of the spirit of prophecy. Or better still, let us turn the pretty little insect end for end, and we may read the markings on the wings a capital “‘M’s,”” which may stand for ‘‘ moderation,” which will almost always keep the world from war, and allow us to enjoy merriment and attain magnificence. We may, as i matter of fact, turn the seventeen-year-locust portent either way, just as we may the seventeen-year people of whom I shall presently speak the ‘‘W" may mean war or wisdom or welfare; and if we call it an ‘*M" it may mean mania or manfulne There is nothing unusual in the receipt into our body politic of seventeen-year people Many seventeen-year people are born of native parents every year. They behave very much like the locusts, which in the egg form are de posited in living twigs of trees and shrubs and after a few weeks hatch out, and letting go all holds tumble to the ground and burrow into it, just as the seventeen-year peo ple bury themselves in society and are lost to view. For eventeen years these insects live in the earth— harmless, forgotten, developing; and on the seventeenth year come forth, filling the air with noise, doing some harm, disturb ing the minds of the excitable with their portents of wars ind disturbance The Most Dangerous Aliens nove WITH the seventeen year people They are the lost, W) the forgotten, tl buried-alive. There of them who cannot read or write he neglected, the are five and a half millions the English language, and of several hundreds of thousands f these the tripes ever dreds of thousand read or write any have been living under the Stars and ince that banner was designed. Many hun- of these who are our disinherited cannot language. They nourish a blind life in the the locusts do in the ground, But these do not make up all our seventeen-year people; for they are not of themselves as dangerous as their fellows who read, write and think to malevolent purpose, These are those of whom it may be said that the light that is in and how great is that darkness! Many ancestor oil of society just a them is darknes locust swarms of all these are coming out in these days, and like their humbier brethren of the clod they bear on they fill the air with noise, We know that the seventeen-year for all the harm they do sand shrubs which they sliver opening the way for the of diseases. But the seventeen- in the minds of other people, and anything which affects the When the opened to the entrance of mental blight, their wings the mystic mark, and they do some harm locusts will never bring calamity; is to the tender twigs of tree ind sphit in depositing their eggs, entrance of the infection year people lay their eggs especially the tender twig mind is not to be minimized in importance. national mind is fungus and disease germ, and made the home of maggots at those who make themselves the agents of omething far more important than and unfortunately we have to endure the the same time, the process are doing creating a din ain also, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST YEAR By HERBERT QUICK These intrusions into and lesions of society must be taken as they come and dealt with as wisdom and enlight- enment may dictate, when they are born among us; but for generations we have been importing seventeen-year people, letting them past our customhouses with little or no thought as to whether or not they might turn out pests of society, and with no effort to sift the good from the bad, save in later days, and only a perfunctory observance of certain rules governing the admission of foreigners, which were in the first place designed to prevent only those out- rages upon society which were plainly obvious, and in the second place have been administered in the main without any full conception of the real problem to be solved. Immi- grants came from most of the countries of the world freely. Armenian, a Finn, a Hindu, a Irishman, a Mon- would all be- It was assumed that an German, a Swede, a Scotsman, an tenegrin, a Bosnian, an Italian, a Russian come Americans at the same rate per cent per year; that a stunted Englishman from the East Side of London was as good a man as a yeoman from Kent or Sussex; and that all of them were magically transformed when the gentleman on the bench speaking to the ward heeler in front of it granted the alien naturalization, often at the behest of a party machine, after the following exchange of remarks, the ward heeler being under oath: “You know this man?” “T do.” *‘ How long you known him?” “Two months.” ‘Make good citizen?” ‘Yes, Your Honor.” ‘Attached to the principles of this Government, is he? ‘He is, Your Honor.”’ ‘Raise your right hand, Mister Foreigner. You do solemnly swear that you will true allegiance bear to the Government of the United States, and that you do re- nounce and abjure all fealty and allegiance to every foreign prince, power and potentate whatsoever, and espe ially to the emperor of "and the rest of it. ‘* Next!’ Admission by Rule of Thumb ND thus were the seventeen-year people deposited in the soil of American life— millions and millions of them, to lie out of sight and forgotten, to develop into political locusts with marks on their wings, filling the air with noise, and bearing a ‘‘W’’—or an ‘‘M’”’—on each wing, to be taken as a warning of war or a prophecy of well-being, ac- cording to the taste and fancy of the prophet; and organized society, which is most concerned, not giving a tinker’s Now this thing must end! An immigrant may be a political, economic and socio- or he may be a deadly poison to the Our Congress has passed a bill dam which he becomes. logical blessing; nation which admits him. regulating immigration, which may do as a stop-gap while we study the question in a manner that is very uncongres- sional but that has become necessary. The thing must be gone into from top to bottom. Under the recently passed law we have a very elaborate scheme for stopping immi- grants at our ports, and of subjecting the transportation companies to severe penalties for attempting to bring some sorts of them in. We try to stop people with physical and mental diseases, which are rather easily detected, and also to turn back from our shores those who believe certain things. If a man believes that all governments should be destroyed, and it can be proved on him either by his past history or by his own declaration, we reject him; but this does not apply to what he is likely to believe if subjected to perverting conditions after he gets here. If he has come here with bitterness in his heart toward our institutions and is ready to subvert them, we turn him back—if we can prove this political perversion. But we can't turn him back because he is just naturally of the wrong kind of people for our uses. If he is insane or of a psychopathic temperament we can turn him back. The provisions for turning him back look very formidable and convincing, on paper; but no attempt is made in this law —which is well intended and the result of a great deal of exertion on the part of Congress, including the exertion of passing it over the President's veto—to shut out immi- grants on account of what they are sure to become. It strikes at contract labor, and the social evil, and diseased, insane, anarchistic, idiotic and criminal immigration; and these things it reaches through rather effective methods for the easy cases, and perfectly absurd ones for the difficult It would be impossible, I believe, for a good hump- backed man or an estimable clubfooted one, like Lord Byron, to get through; but this clumsy law would not ones. June 28,1919 operate against the man with a deformed purpose which he concealed; nor against a Bolshevist well schooled to deny his so-called principles. I imagine that if either Lenine or Trotzky should present himself at Ellis Island as a farmer named Smith, or any European synonym of Smith, with a fairly good set of papers, he would be admitted. The immigrant trained to evade the barriers has a much better chance of getting through than the simple soul who vaguely answers as to views which he would change with six months of prosperity. Theseventeen- year people keep coming through. No effort is made, save along very crude lines, to determine whether or not they will come forth after burial in the soil of America with their wings marked for weal or woe, manslaughter or merriment. This thing, too, must end. We must admit or exclude im- migrants from our shores—on account of what they are, to be sure, when they come tainted, but mainly for what they are likely to become. And first, the best thing we can do, for a time at least, is to shut all of them out and stop immigration entirely, until we can see what sort of mad impulses for flight from their own lands will develop as a result of the world war and the burdens laid by it on the peoples of theearth. If there are to be stampedes we should erect barb-wire fences to turn them away from the United States. The migrations of the Huns under Attila ruined Europe—and they were set in motion by hunger, which was caused by war. The peoples are unsettled and many of them are mad. Thank God for the oceans! Here are a number of families of immigrants coming on the same boat. They are, let us say, Scandinavian, Finnish, Russian, English, Turkish, Chinese and Japanese. How do we deal with them under our present laws? The Scandinavians are welcome, indeed, for they assimi- late freely with American society, forget their old language in a generation, work hard, intermarry with Americans, and become Ole Hansons and Knute Nelsons. They belong to the same racial type as the oldest strains in America. Nothing stands between them and complete Americaniza- tion. There are in the country millions of Americans of Scandinavian stock who will help make over the newcom- ers of the same origin. If they can pass the legal require- ments for admission they may come in freely. Then the Finns present themselves. They are not of Caucasian stock, but are Mongoloids. Racially they be- long rather with the Chinese and Japanese than with the blond Scandinavians, though there is mingled in their original Finno-Ugric blood a strong strain of the Scandi- navian, and their civilization has been largely derived from the Swedes, their neighbors. They are completely Euro- peanized. They are excellent farmers, the best of sailors, industrious; and there is no racial repulsion between them and us that will not disappear as soon as they have learned our language and our ways. If legally admis- sible the Finns comein, though they are not Caucasians. Similarly we let in Tartars and Hungarians, Turks and Syrians and Persians, Mexicans and South Americans, negroes from any tribe of Africans. We do not draw the lines on racial characteristics; but though the Finns make good citizens what should we say to the unrestricted immi- gration of Turks or Kaffirs, who are freely admissible under our immigration laws provided they can pass the examina- tion? Who knows when they may begin to flock to our shores? Immigration That is a Net Loss OW come the Russian families. The Mennonite of South Dakota, the Dukhobor of the Red River Valley, the rug dealer of Transcaucasia, and the sweat-shop worker of the East Side of New York—all come in as Russians if they can pass that examination. Yet as citizens they are as different as people can be. Some of them will mix with our people, and some of them will not. Some of them have strong racial repulsions, and some have not. I have seen settlements of Russians begin disappearing as separate racial groups in twenty-five years after they came among us; and there are groups which will be as distinct, so far as we can see, after a hundred years as they are now. The Turks among our typical families come in if they can pass the examination. Yet anyone must admit that any American neighborhood would be socially and politi- cally and in every way cursed by any great influx of Turkish immigrants. Though there are many personally agreeable gentlemen among them, their lower orders would be unendurable. Their immigration is a net loss in the direction of seventeen-year pests. They bear, each one under the place where the turban belongs, an unremitting and hereditary hate for everything our institutions, our beliefs and our history stand for. In an individual Turkina perfectly ideal environment sympathy and reconcilement might come—I suppose that the Saracen lady reputed to be the mother of Thomas a Becket became a very good citizen

Page 11

Zi neetie~ —_ *

f England. I regard it as probable that Turkish bo: removed from the influence of their parents and properly brought up in America would become excellent Americans, just as those Christian boys who a few hundred years ago were taken from their parents and brought up as Moham- medans became good Turks and as Janizaries upheld the Sultan’s throne. But I do not think it remotely possible that one Turk in a hundred thousand brought up by his parents under the conditions which in America surround the immigrant so set apart from the throng, could develop nto a good American. Yet Turks are admissible, and who knows when the mob may commence? Now as to the Chinese family, it is excluded, not because it is psychopathic, or harbors revolutionary doc- trines, or is diseased, or criminal, or without money, or coming in violation of the contract-labor laws cause it is Chinese. And yet in 1880 this nation agreed with China, the treaty being ratified by the Senate, as follows: but just be- The Government of the United States may regulate, limit or suspend the coming or residence of Chinese labor- ers, but may not absolutely prohibit it. Our Chinese family is excluded, however, under one of our hodge-podge laws, passed by the same Senate which ratified the treaty fourteen years before, which declares that “‘alllawsregulating, suspending or prohibiting the com- ing of Chinese persons are hereby reénacted, extended and continued without modification, limitation or condition.” The treaty says, too, that “‘ Chinese in the United States shall be accorded all the rights, privilege exemptions which are accorded to the citizens and subjects of the most favored nation.” , immunities and Inherent Rights and Powers WO years after this treaty was ratified Congress began passing laws denying to Chinese these privileges, im- munities and exemptions. The Supreme Court of the United States has so declared, but added that the laws were not, because of this conflict with a treaty, invalid. “This court,” it said, ‘‘is not a censor of the morals of the other de partments of the Government.” The Chinese family, however, is excluded as C} believe that the admission of Chinese to this country inese,. I freely would be a national danger. I am not complaining about the exclusion of the Chinese family which we have before us: but I cor wish for which is miscalled common on the part of State De part- more sense of the sort

ment and Senate when it comes to fooling away priceless concessions and incurring nameless and unforeseen danger under most-favored-nation clauses in treaties. I do not desire that if we admit Canadians THE SATURDAY EVENING POST undesirable, and nobedy can say how soon a Chinese Renaissance may make that people as proud and sensitive as Japan. The Japanese situation is one fraught with vexation and irritation. Japan keeps her agreement faithfully, but she is not satisfied. She strenuously pressed at the Paris Conference for a clause in the League of Nations covenant declaring in general terms for equality of nations without regard to color. She asserts solemnly that she does not ask for freedom of immigration to the United States. She a Makino at Paris, and } have impressively

erted this through Baron er representatives in this country Yet she is a practi- cal nation, and just what she hoped to accomplish by such aid the same thing. a declaration is not clear, unless it meant something with reference to racial intermixture. It certainly meant a dec- laration in the league covenant which might have been invoked in the future as a league matter, which the diplo- mats regarded as better out of the great constitution. Perhaps Japan took this opportunity to make herself the spokesman for the present and future of the races of Asia and Africa—a long look forward for benefits to be reaped when the Koreans have been Japanized in spite of their ‘revolution of passive resistance”; and when the Chinese have forgotten the taking of the German possessions in China; and when the government of British India has be- come as independent as the Union of South Africa—in short, when it will be possible to unite the dark races against the white ones. Perhaps her attitude is really one determined by that pride and sensitiveness which could not be satisfied by the place won by her as one of the Big Five. The point here is that she is pressing upon our attention the fact that the Japanese are indignant and exasperated, not because Japanese laborers are excluded he declares that she does not want them to come here but at the manner of exclusion or attempts at exclusion to naturalize Japanese. The thing is im- portant, very important. It demands attention. It is but a part of the chaos of our relations to the peoples of the world as to the admission of foreigners to the United States, We refuse naturalization to Japanese and Chinese. We exclude Hindu laborers from coming into the country; but we naturalize Hindus, Tartars, Turks, Mexicans, and South Americans of mixed or Indian or negro blood; Zulus, Hottentots, Kaffirs and Bushmen from Africa. Is it any wonder that the Japanese are able to make something of a tus? And the case of China would be quite as and our refusal

Case a good if Cl an aggressive national policy. The whole thing is a hodge-

na had the sensitiveness of the Japanese, and podge, and must be reéxamined from bottom The pride and ser should be saved from irritation to top. tivene of every nation in the world at all proper hazards, since

should be very precious to us all. Enemies never did any nation at good, especially powerful enemies; but the question in the mind of every American is, Whose country is this, Let us deal with every nation in a manner which ought not friendliness on the part of every nation toward anyhow? to offend when our purposes are understood, and let us lose rt 1 no opportunity to make ourselves understood; but let kindly, tactfully and firmly so order our affairs as to let the laim the right to exclude from world know that we shall « the privilege of coming among us anyone on earth wi we wish to exclude. This is our country. We owe foreigner any duty when it comes to admitting hin Whether or not this nation shall live as a democracy ce pends on the sort of immigrants admitted, and when it comes to the matter of deciding as to who shall be admitted If the United State makes up its mind that red-haired people shall be excluded it will exclude them. If it decides to admit red-haired, or blue-eyed, or cross-eyed, or bald-headed, or curly-pated people only, it has the right to make that decision and to And it has the power as well as the right or excluded we are the sole judges. enforce it. Our National Lack of Tact gd WE decide that we do not care for the people of any nation among us we have the right to exclude them wit} out giving the reason why. We cannot allow any most favored-nation clause in any treaty to stand if it require us to admit people among us who because of their faults or weaknesses or powers, or because of our own faults, weal nesses or powers, will not mix with us and become Amer icans in every sense of the word. We are quite satisfied

that no most-favored-nation clause got into the League of Nations covenant under a general declaration for equality of races, The Japanese situation as to immigration is one the discussion of which should not be avoided. It should be encouraged, There is nothing mysterious about our atti tude toward Japanese and Chinese and Hindu immigra tion, nothing discreditable to the Japanese, nothing discreditable to us, nothing which full and free discussion ought not to clear up, nothing which we shall recede from under any circumstances. We simply will not admit imm gration from those countries freely, no matter what the consequences. The only thing we ought to apologize for is our untactful and skill-less manner of han: situation. Some of our states have politicians who see}

popular acclaim by trying to do by state laws what already accomplished through agreement. Twisting the lion’s tail used to be a favorite amusement in those da when everything evil was in the minds of some attributed Britair but the lion did to Great

freely we thereby be required as freely to admit either Mongoli ins Bulga- rians, Jugoslavs or Tartars. Now step forth the representatives of that proud and ensitive nation, Japan. The Japa- nese family raps for admission, and if or Poles, they can pass the examinations they are admitted. Why ure they admitted and the Chinese ex- cluded? Merely be cause the Japanese Government insists upon this treat- ment; and be- cause Japanandthe United States are working under a gentlemen’s agree ment under which Japanese laborers do not come to the United States. It is a gentlemen’ agreement, which is kept in a gentle- manly manner. Therefore, as things now go, our Japa nese family must be one which, under that gentlemen’ agreement, is ad- missible.

z

iS a pre.

The situation as to the Chinese is

The End of the Honeymoon

not seem to mind Speech is rather unregulated in the \ j / United States, and ! f almost anyone an ntroduce or have introduced a biilin a state legi lature Offense have been commit ted, by reason of these libertic which should not have been perpe trated and the are likely to be re peated Our friend across both oce must take us as we are and make al lowance . Every mat mouth and pe in the United State helor y to him ex clu ively, and ire likely to be use sometimi yre to the revret of fellow citizer his own per and politica and hel { | nat up of me } ire i he Continued on Page 145

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Peggy rT YHENEVER I am confronted by the unexpected I calmly await the event, knowing that, as the eadi remarked, the game is never over until the play is made, Therefore when Bruce Metford asked me to be best man at his forthcoming marriage to Miss Marguerite Jumel, daughter of a Western family and related in no way to the Jumels of New York, whom they nevertheless referred to as kin, | was merely delighted, amused and curiou I had already met Marguerite Jumel, a modish, sprightly, domineering maid accustomed to command ervants and second-rate suitors; and I speculated with hilarity on what sort of common grounds they must have met to reach the betrayal of a mutual devotion. Physically the two were fair complements— this is com- plimentary to both--and they probably found in each other’s make-up a sufticient variation from the normal to intrigue one another's fanc y. Once, however, Metford had et forth for my benefit his conception of wifehood in such unvarying terms that the picture of Marguerite Jumel in that set me laughing Metford me over his shoulder with role for an instant and looked at an expression that implied, ‘Now, what the devil is he laughing at?" He explained gruffly “IT should probably have been married anyway two years ago if it hadn't been for the war.” Why ' I proteste Ss ‘That makes no difference. Fa strange or difficult. I else My *You blethering cynic! Metford finished hi stopped shaving you didn’t even know her then.”’ lling should probably have met someone n love isn’t sO are simple enough.” ideals having, bathed and dried his face slowly and comfortably There’s no cynicism in it at all. You know well enough that I’m not cynical in regard to women. When they’re nice | respect them too much; when they're not nice they have too much of a call on my sympathy. I like women, but I'm not a slave to my fancy and my fondness does not upset my ideals. It’s a small mind that thinks every man is made for a certain woman and unless the two meet there ean be no love, It's obviously a silly notion, Is it neces- sary to tell you I’m in love with Peggy? I am. She's wonderful! But if she had died before I met her you don't uppose I would have been destined to go tl rough life unloved and unloving, do you?”’ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST DISOBEDIE By William ay Anderson LY SZzeacvs FT @Beaets sD BY “Not you,” said I with con- viction. “I grasp that. But I can’t reconcile your in- consistencies. You've always in- sisted on a certain demureness an in your as essential wife. Now, mind you, I like Peggy Jumel; but I’ve known her long enough to know not exactly rather self- Was Photographed and Written Up by Society's Professional Gossips : she's docile. On the contrary I should say she’s willed and assertive.” Metford smiled. “All women are self-willed; and assertiveness is right enough until the woman learns to blend her will with that of another. That is love.” ‘It manifests itself strangely,” ‘‘However, I don’t say Peggy’s a shrew; but she’s cer- tainly a spoiled child. I'll wager you don’t settle into the quiet manorial style of existence you've always advocated. Peggy's too fresh from the West to be easily weaned from the frothy flavors of the city. Besides, she likes too much to boss men.”’ **She likes to boss the crowd that runs round after her,”’ said Metford with a touch of asperity. ‘‘But, hang it! Suitors and husbands are different creatures.” “Perhaps. And yet manners don’t change when once the rule of the roost is established. Peggy won’t alter. er mother, her father, her brothers and every sprightly lad who invites her attention. There’s nothing ugly init, ladmit. She does it nicely. But I couldn't stand being bossed the way she makes these larrikins retrieve her gloves and fans and dance obedience to every casually dropped request.” Metfor “ally dressed, sat down, lighted a cigarette and eyed me \ amused tolerance. “To thi.«,” he observed, ‘that I have asked you to be my best man! What a felicitous beggar you are! But beyond that, old boy, let me caution you that you’re becoming too utterly localized in your philosophy. You're addicted to words. You've drunk too many catch phrases. You talk like a swami soak. Good heavens! Can’t you any difference between a man who dances with a woman and one who marries her? Don’t forget that I’m going to be her husband.” “Bless you, Bruce,” I cried with benign smugness, “I forget nothing. I'm as keen as though the wedding were mine. I want to see you gain much by it, because I much. When it’s over and I push off for the long trails again and you're penned up within the narrow confines of matrimony, whom can I have for companion? What new pal will share my luck?” ‘My friend,” he said sternly, ‘‘you’re too frivolous. It’s And I expect great happiness out I observed dubiously. She bosses see lose a big thing for me. of it.” CHA RL june 28,1919 ID D. MITCHELL With this tender thought in mind we went out to dine that evening en famille at the home of the bride- elect. It was a smart residence. The servants had the hoity-toity air of well-paid assistants in a new and paying concern; and the dinner was a futuristic array of food materials with five wines opened according to schedule. The cocktail was good; so I enjoyed myself from the very beginning. Old Jumel was a lumberman, weather-beaten and mild, who looked to me as though he spent much time apologizing to the servants, explaining pri- vately to his wife and cursing himself quietly and 4 vehemently in strict personal confidence. He was lean and rather small, but there was a quizzical expression in his washed-out blue eyes and humor- ous possibilities in the cock of his shaggy brows that made your heart warm in sympathy and under- standing. At table he was silent, addressing him- self thoughtfully to the interesting dishes set before him, only occasionally cocking his eyes like a wise old bird investigating crumbs of conversation that came his way. Mrs. Jumel, his spouse, dominated the board—when Peggy’s sparkling observations were inter- rupted long enough by the demands of her appetite. She was a large efflorescent woman who beamed with radiant warmth on the socially fit; surveyed with aus- tere tact the hysterical scramblings of her sister climbers; and treated with impregnable and brutal calm the assaults of every pretender. She looked on me with nervous doubt, as one whose place in society was like a breeches buoy, secure but unstable, sometimes on the crest, sometimes in the trough, never long in the same place and known to have been the cause of many an unfortunate mishap. But Metford was becomingly a little god. He was Ulysses, he was the winged youth, he was the good god Brahm—all worked into the one perfect personality. This, I have rea- son to believe, was one of the few causes of Metford’s rare approaches to intoxication. The board was further graced by two sons, Arthur and Fitz Herbert, ordinary types of college-bred men, envel- oped in mild conceits and dropped into the puddles of finance and sport. They were good fellows, capable of signing noble checks, driving motor boats and cars and explaining in punctilious detail what is considered good and bad form according to the rulings of clubdom. Though they had not yet become openly involved in scandals they had assembled most of the materials. Their sister, Mar- guerite, had probably led them unconsciously into this by her blithe and flippant comments on what a man should be. Innocent girls sometimes exert this influence. Opposite her at the table was one who had long hoped to give point to her definition of a man, and who in fact had provided her with much inspiration. He was a gentle man, a personage, named Gilbert Maurice, not even dis tantly related to the general of that name, yet in his knowl- edge of the world and his wife—particularly the wife—of clothes and clubs and income tax, of dancing teas and things, perhaps better informed than any man she had yet met. Having no regard for the value of tires or cars he was considered a daring driver; having been born to several waiting lists he was looked upon as a clubman of distinc- tion; having inherited some bales of bonds under the un- assailable trust of shrewd and narrow-minded lawyers he was spoken of as a young man of financial acumen; and above all being possessed of some good gray matter in his neat little head he was on each correct occasion tame, talkative, tactful. Marguerite was his empress; he was her slave, glorying in the privilege of fetching and carrying, a privilege the unthinking girl never denied him until Metford came, asking, as she supposed, also to be chained to her chariot wheel. But old Metford had not asked to be chained to her chariot wheel apparently. According to his interpretation he had simply asked her to be his wife. And she, accept- ing, seemed to have misunderstood. On occasion she would say as she stepped into her car: “Oh, how stupid! My gloves! I’ve forgotten them.” But Metford would half turn his head toward Maurice and echo with amusement: ‘Her gloves! The little lady Marguerite has forgotten them.” “‘Gloves?”’ Maurice would echo with interest. ‘* Forgot your gloves, Peggy? Half asecond! Ra-ather!” And off he would trot after them. If Maurice were not on hand the chauffeur, muttering vile things to himself, would have to go—but never Metford! Not until the chateau stock had been sampled did the diners begin loosening up spiritually to the point where

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| | | they realized that after all dinner was a meal and not a function. Mrs. Jumel let the world know in her most superb man- ner that she was a woman of large hospitality and infinite jest, despite the quizzical gleam in her husband’s wrinkling eyes. Marguerite rose on fluttering wings, dazzling with her charm, her genuine idea of humor, her naive opinions and her daring assertions. She was woman beguiling, pas- sive, entrancing; woman ascendant, triumphant—all woman and all words! She amazed and delighted me. Metford, speaking seldom, looked at her often with an expression that was ve gling of cheerful pride and somber The words and opinions of the two women, though echoed prettily and frequently by the others, fully prevailed and dominated. amusement. Little dad said nothing, but he was beginning to feel the wine—the butler after all was a man at heart. And once only once—the old man snorted scornfully. This was at a remark from Maurice to the effect that in his opinion marriage was an institution not regarded with sufficient seriousness in America. Following this, little dad lost his sense of direction and raked his mustache with a piece of asparagus. His subsequent mental anguish was so pal- pable that he almost slipped under the table. Maurice, however, had distinctly scored because his well-considered remark led to a brilliant discussion in the course of which the young lady on my left, screwing up her courage, said simperingly that she thought women didn’t ufficiently devote themselves to their husbands. This led to a chorus of “Oh, oh, my dear!” from the ladies and cheerful smirks from the men, “Why, Frances!” positively a little tr protested Peggy brightly, ‘‘you are ! Women are altogether too devoted now. You would think we had no personality; y; no aspirations of our own! Man isn everything, my dear.”’ “Peggy exclaimed her mother with a proud smile, “What will Bruce think of that?” Metford had at that moment half closed his eyes the better to appreciate the last sip of his Chateau Beaurejane as it traversed its destined course; so he had heeded not. “Oh, Bruce understands, mother!” no individuality Arr) Metford’s appearance of understanding brought an out- burst of merriment from all save little dad, who was look- ing at him with a curiously “IT don’t care, Peggy,’ we still say ‘obey.’” “Not I!’ I exchanged a glance with my chum; but he merely winked solemnly, mentally smacking his lips, I have no doubt, but apparently unaware of Peggy’s declaration of Metford had ideas about wine which he intended to materialize in the wine cellar of the home he contemplated. Dad was still staring lugubriously at Met- ford so that when the latter caught his eye he felt it incum- bent to nod solemr ly: ‘‘Nice wine,”’ said Metford. ‘‘Good vintage.’ “I'd ruther have hootch,”’ said little dad morosely. Our activities during the following few weeks preceding mournful expression. ’ said the girl defiantly. “After all, ’ laughed Peggy. “Jamais! Jamais!”’ ir depende nce, ’ the wedding were sane and simple. Among other things we went over Metford’s old traveling kits, eliminating the torn and battered relics of free and happy days with much The smell of the stuffy kits, suggestive of hot sun, glittering dust, clinging mud, spicy burrs and stickers, stains of blood and hair that were illustrations of hard adventures, un- locked the spring of my fancy and made me im- patient for the wedding tocomeand goand leave reminiscence and expressions of regret. me free of the world again. Metford, I felt, doomed, Was } opele SLY but doomed happily, embracing the scaffold from which he would dangle all his days. And yet as he ap- proached it he was cheerfully confident and full of plans, large, gracious and grand. I envied him the life he anticipated, of a country estate, horses, hunt ng, th e fat of the land, friends from far places, glowing windows in winter and blossoming fields in spring and summer, with much laughter and good cheer and the calm devotion of a loving and beloved spouse married as much to her home as to him. I envied him the calm serenity of it all, the depths of the emotions he had plumbed. Yet whenever I heard little Peggy riding roughshod over a groveling and adoring mixed company I shivered with apprehension. About this time we began to lapse socially. Self- consciously we made our necessary appearance at stated functions, grinning at the elect, repeating with endless iteration our news to old friends and distant relatives who cropped up daily, and praying God to speed things to a conclusion so that we could get out in the open air or back to the safe and sane privacy of our digging But Marguerite and her mother made the dance of the season in becoming style, hopping from one function to another. Peggy was photographed and written up by society’s professional gossips and duly mauled about by shopkeepers and needle-women who draped her in expen- sive raiment and threw spasms of ecstasy to complete each sale. Mrs. Jumel’s grand air became positively grandilo- quent, and Peggy's vivacity andself-expression approached a point that humbled and frightened me. The brothers too were correctly in evidence on the proper occasions: “ Hello, old man. The club to-night? to-morrow at the Dennises? they keep things humming, what?”’ The only man who still seemed human to us was dad. They had crushed him utterly. tered him in hiding in the library and drew him; but his Or, “ Expect we'll see you Soring affairs, Stupid; but Once or twice we encoun- audacious soul had long since been rendered emasculate. Occasionally, however, as he talked to me I thought I caught flashes of steel in his eyes; and I received the subtle impression, perhaps conveyed consciously, that in another environment with sufficient provocation to incite him it would be well to consider oneself on guard and to reach quickly. He might once have been a dangerous antago nist; but his spouse had obviously caught him, bewildered him in a maze of culture and propriety, stunned him and humbled him. Less than the dust was he, less than the dust beneath her chariot wheels, though he uttered no com- plaint and resented nothing save the patronage of the butler, which mystified and perturbed him. Summed up, he paid and she piped the tunes; but she chose the tunes *t and played willy-nilly. Acting the part of spectator, with an experience and reputation that kept me temporarily out of the danger into which Metford had fallen, I had long observed little dad and his relations with the family and had been par- ticularly impressed by the significe as he watched Metford. It was one of admiration, amuse- ment, perplexity and dark and brooding disappointment. Metford, wholly indifferent to the opinions of others and ant expression in his eyes self-assured to an exasperating degree, took in everything with good-humored tolerance, tinting all with the warm glow of his happiness and hope. To him Peggy was the fairest of glorious period of a woman’s life when the mystery of life sprites, passing through that amazing and has ceased to awe and the joy of life still froths and bubbles. To him her pres ent nature seemed but a phase; but I, after regard- ing the mother and having in mind the expression on little dad’s face, had the disturbing impression that it was a habit. “*When man and maid I observed, ‘*what can the cadi do have agreed,’”’ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 11 So I mourned my chum and awaited the event, gloating, I have no doubt, over all the sickening detail But at these even Metford—exasperated and enraged at Mr Jumel's sweet slime of adulation and petulant worries last lost his self-« ontrol. “Damn these dances and dinners!” he shouted wit} such unexpected vehemence that I knocked the top off my egg at one stroke and was obliged later to change n waistcoat because of the coffee that had settled thereor “Lord, you'd think man was created to make an a himself! Ever since I confided in that Jumel womar we've done nothing but play monkey grimacing, chattering and picking food off fancy p Why the devil didn’t I take Peggy and marry her out of hand? Th to be making the marriage—my marriage into a kind of circus.” “Bruce!”’ I protested mildly. hopping about sort of thing is getting on my nerve Ihe seem You started it 1 tor suffer; and I’m blamele . **Let’s get out of it for a wee “Done!” I cried. So we went down the Chesapeake in a sharpie and had a wonderful time fishir y for red drum. We missed nothing Metford was a bit concerned over the ordeal through which he believed Peggy was passing. He had a spasm of remorse at the and the world wagged on without us. thought of us escaping to freedom while she was obliged to remain behind and suffer, “Suffer nothing!” I said. mother,” “No, you’re wrong, “She likes it as well as her Metford with the solemn idiocy of a man when he imagines he understands a particular woman. life than you or I. She's got social talent, that’s all.” I swallowed hard and said nothing; but at the end of Metford’s mind had gone bat k to it and as the day of the wedding was close at hand he thought it right and proper and blissful to rush t meet his fate. There were very few preparations for us to “She has no more illusions about city the week we hurried back to town. make, We let the brothers engineer the bachelor dinner, which came off at the t yp ol form. Jesides this there was really little to attend to. Since Metford and I were always ready for whatever wind or tide that turned there was hardly anything to change in his outfit. When the day arrived we got into my car a d bowled round to the church five minutes before the scheduled time and waited in the vestry. (Continued on Page 98 Whenever l Heard Little Peggy Riding Rough shod Over a Groveling and Adoring Mixed Company I Shivered With Apprehension

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next in order comes a France—that is, to the Riviera e main circle of the Mediterranean Sea; by elves in and about Pari proclamation Cannes, Nice and Mentone; by actual fact count, Monte Carlo—even the swells adopting a cer- iin hypocrisy as due to rtue Whilst Monte Carl chiefly, I might say exclusively, lentitied in the general mind with gambling, and was ndeed at the outset but a gambling resort, it long ago out yre the mits of the Ca ino, becoming a very Mecea of the world of fashion and sport. Half the ruling sovereigns of Kkurope and all the leaders of European swelldom, the ! re prosperou of the demimondaine, and no end of the merely rich of « very lar d congregate there and thereabout. At the top of the season the show of opulence and impu- dence bewildering. . Che little principality of Monaco is hardly bigger than Mrs. Wiggs. It is, Nestled under the heights of La Condamine and Téte de Chien and looking across a and blue Mediterranean, it the winds of the north than It i remaining to the once powerf il the Cabbage Patch of the renowned however, more happily situate heltered bay upon the wide has better protection against or Mentone. tale . Vice, or Canne an appanage In pon of fact, the only « Grimaldi family. In the early days of land piracy Old Man Grimaldi held Man Hohenzollern and Old Man Hap and the Bourbor his own with Old burg. The Savoys But in the keep up with the proce were kith and kin. long run of freebooti: yg the Grimaldis did not ion. How they retained even this remnant of inherited brigandage and self-appointed roy ilty | do not know leave of the Powers and the especial protection, of the French Republic. Something over fifty years ago, being hard up for cash, the Grimaldi of the period fell under the wiles of an in genious Alsatian gambler, Guerlac by name, who foresaw that Baden-Baden and Homburg were approaching their finish and that the sport living, the idle ri French German dukedom It was an They are here under strange to say, yy ii must look elsewhere for their port, TI tiny enclave in antage over the lent soy It wa territory pre many ady indeper ereignty, issuing it in proud possession of a half dozen policemen which it called its army. It was paradisai own coins and postage stamp in beauty and climate. Its ruler was as but by no means a Lucifer. poor as Job’s turkey, proud a I'he bargain wal truck The v imbler smote the roc k of Monte Carlo as with a wand of enchantment ind a stream of plenty burst forth The mour tain side responded to the touch, It chortled in it glee and blo rmed as the rose, um f pee region known a the Riviera comprise us L have aid, the whol land circle of the Mediter ranean Sea, But a erally written and under yen THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Men, Women and Events During Eight Decades of American istory=By Henry Watterson siya, ot weather north of Spain, as in the United States none north of Cuba. I have often thought that Havana might be made a dangerous rival of Monte Carlo under the one-man power exercising its despotism with benignant intelligence and spending its income honestly upon the development of both the city and the island. The motley populace would probably be none the worse for it. The government could upon a liberal tariff collect not less than thirty-five millions of annual revenue. Twenty-five of these millions would suffice for its Ten millions a year laid out upon harbors, roadways and internal improvements in general would within ten years make the Queen of the Antilles the garden spot and playground of Christendom. They would build a casino to outshine even the architec- tural miracles of Charles Garnier. Then would Havana put Cairo out of business and give the Prince of Monaco a run for his money. With the opening of every Monte Carlo season the news- papers used to tell of the colossal winnings of purely imag- inary players. Sometimes the favored child of chance was a Russian, sometimes an Englishman, sometimes an Amer- As Mrs. Drig own support. icar Ile was usually a myth, of course. observed to Mrs. Gamp, “ There never was nosich a person.’ mr HARLES GARNIER, the Parisian architect, came and built next to the Library of Congress at Washington and the Grand Opera House at Paris the most beautiful building in the world—with incomparable gar- dens and commanding esplanades to set it off and display it. Round it palatial hotels and private mansions and villas sprang into existence. Within it a gold-making wheel of fortune fabricated the wherewithal. Old Man Grimaldi the Casino in his wildest dreams of land piracy—even Old Man Hohenzollern or Old Man Hapsburg—never conceived the ] Ke There is no poverty, no want, no taxes—not any sign of dilapidation or squalor anywhere in the principality of Monaco. Yet the people, 90 called, have been known to lapse into a state of discontent. They sometimes yearned for freedom; too well fed and cared for, too rid of dirt and debt, too flourishing —they riz. Prosperity grew monoto- nous. They even had the nerve to demand a constitution. The reigning Prince was what Yellowplush would call ‘a scientific gent.’” His son and heir, however, had not his head in the clouds, being in point of fact of the earth tood it stands for the hort line between Mar eilles and Genoa. The two cities are connected by the Corniche Road built by the first Napo leon, who learned the need of it when he made } Italian campaign and the modern railway, the d 260 miles; two-thirds of the w 1) stance through France, the re due through Italy, and lof it surpa rhe climate i that of Southern Florida } Florida they ing fir very like But as in have the nor’ westers and the nor’e asters, on the Riviera they have the ral. In Europe there no perfect winter June 28,1919 sequence, more pop- ular than his father. He came down from the castle on the hill to the market place in the town, and says he: ‘“* What do you galoots want, anyhow?” First, their rights. Then a change in the commander in chief of the army, which had grown from six to sixteen. Finally, a board of aldermen and a common council. “Ts that all?” says His Royal Highness. They said it was. ‘‘ Then,’’sayshe, “‘takeit, mes enfants, and bless you!” So all went well again. The toy sovereignty began to rattle round in its own conceit, the people regarded them- selves and wished to be regarded as a chartered democracy. The little gimcrack economic system experienced the joys of reform. A new nationalism was established in the brewery down by the railway station and a reciprocity treaty was negotiated between the Casino and Vanity Fair, witnessing the introduction of two roulette tables and an extra brazier for cigar stumps. But the Prince of Monaco stood on one point. He would have no Committee on Credentials in his. He told me once that he had heard of Tom Reed and Champ Clark and Uncle Joe Cannon, but that he preferred Uncle Joe. He would and he did name his own committees, both in the board of aldermen and the common council. Thus, for the time being, insurgency was quelled. And more serenely sat the castle on the hill hard by the cathedral. More and more the autos honked outside the Casino. Within, ‘*the little ball ever goes merrily round,”’ and according to the croupiers and the society reporters ‘the gentleman | once Calmly again flowered the waters in the harbor. wins and the poor gambler los¢ Iv O ILLUSTRATE, I recall when on a certain season the lucky sport of print and fancy was an Englishman. In one of those farragos of stupidity and inaccuracy which are syndicated and sent from abroad to America I found the following, of a piece with the stuff and nonsense habitually worked off on the American press as foreign correspondence: “‘Now and then the newspapers report authentic in- stances of large sums having been won at the gaming tables at Monte Carlo. One of the most fortunate players at Monte Carlo for a long time past has been a Mr. Darn- brough, an Englishman, whose remarkable run of luck has furnished the morsels of gossip in the capitals of Conti- nental Europe rec ently ° “If reports are true he left the place with the snug sum of more than 1,000,000 frances to the good as the result of a month’s play. But this, I hear, did not represent all of Mr. Darnbrough’s winnings. The story goes that on the opening day of his play he staked 24,- 000 franes, winning all along the line. Embold- ened by his success he continued playing, win- ning again and again with marvelous luck. At one period, itissaid, his credit balance amounted to no lessthan 1,850,000franes; but from that moment Dame Fortune ceased to smile upon him. He lost steadily from 200,000 to 360,000 franes a day, un- til, recognizing that luck had turned against him, he had sufficient strength of will to turn his back on the tables and strike for home with the very sub- stantial winnings that still remained. “On another occasion a well-known London stock broker walked off with little short of £40,- 000. This remarkable performance occasioned no small amount of ex- citement in the gambling rooms, as such an unusual Colonel Watterson's Vilia at Monte Carlo incident does invariably. (Conctuded on Page 149)

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3 ’ i J TB F WE only knew what the tend to do!” This ] one hears at every turn. I began to he it first in Hungary, then in Bukharest. The people in this part of the world a living in a torment of uncertainty and fear, and all eye waves of red terror that have rolled is the exclamation, the plaint ire turned toward the across Russia and are breaking now on the borders of the middle countries. There is a Peace Conference sitting ir Paris, but nobody here seems to think or THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 lf URAGEDY OF ODESSA to care anything about it. It is as though Paris were a million miles away and as though all the solemn delibera- tions that are going forward there were mere vaporings about a world with which this world had nothing to do. The Bolshevik horror is the only interest. “If we only knew what the Allies in- tend to do!” But in connection with the situation in Russia have the Allies any intentions at all? Up to the time that this is written they have done nothing but fan the flames of anarchy by unwise interference. The French expedition into South Russia was under- taken in a spirit that has resulted in a calamity which de- feats the French intention for all time. This intention appears to have been not so much to com ‘sphere of influence.” We begin to hear I always thought it was ap- vat Bolshevism as to establish a‘ again that fragrant phrase. plicable only to the partitioning of China. The French were thinking in terms of future commercial advantage and insisted upon being permitted to assume undivided command in all the territories north of the Black Sea. The Importance of South Russia ASUALLY to indicate the spirit which animates the Allies in the east I may say that the French always refer to the other end of the Black Sea as the British sphere of influence, and talk quite as much about the interests they have traded off for other interests as about set- tling under just governments and in peaceful pursuits the peoples redeemed from social degradation by the valor of their arms. Meanwhile the British have kept their hands off in the north, but with the real condition of affairs in view have from the outset suggested the wisdom of sending a sufficient Allied force to that territory really to hold it against the inevitable Bolshevik onslaught. Throughout these regions there exists the most delightful atmosphere of brotherly love, mutual trust and nobility of purpose that I have ever encountered. It must fill our frankly predatory German enemies with unholy joy. South Russia is one of the richest countries on earth, and the great city of Odessa is the outlet to the world for the wealth of the boundless regions behind it. Its importance as a port and base of operations cannot be exaggerated, and save for the Crimea in this part of the once vast Empire it was the last ditch of Russian order and deceacy. We knew in Bukharest, without really knowing, that the situation was very grave. That is, we talked about Odessa asa city doomed, yet more or less accepted the French Field Headquarters on the Russian Front at Odessa. Military Attache —Cotonel Yates — Examining the Map While Listening Through Tele: phones to Reports From Front Line, 500 Yards Away Above — Algerian French Troops Near Odessa By Eleanor Kramlklim Egem is opinion that it could be held indefi: itely. lr any Cas€ I thought there would be time for me to go up and see for myself what was going on. A few persons advised me not to attempt this, saying it was far too dangerous, but many others assured me that I should be perfectly safe. Among these was General Berthelot, chief of the French Mission in Rumania, commended me to the distinguished consideration of all ite from Bukharest to Odessa and return. General Berthelot had predicted and advised the evacuation of Odessa, but he view of the who gave me a military pass and French officers on the ro tood alone in his situation and had been warned not to question the judg- ment of Clémenceau and his own superior officers. And even he did not believe that a débacle was imminent. General Franchet d’Esperey, with headquarters at Con- commander in chief of all French expedi- ! hesitating in Rumania stantinople, i tions in the east, and listening to rumors and denials of rumors he was telling Admiral Bristol, in command of the American naval de- tachment in the Bosporus, that the military situation at Odessa was most satisfactory. I did not learn this until afterward, but it is an important small part of the extraor- dinary story and I should like now to know who was ad- vising General Franchet d’Esperey the authorities in Paris were drawing their information. In view of what has so swiftly occurred the confidence of the authorities is inexplicable. Yet more inexplicable still nfidence up to the last moment of the vhile I was and from what sources was the apparent confi men in Odessa itself; though I think they fident, but were merely obeying orders and awaiting the fulfillment of promises of support. I went down to Constant were not con- za and was taken aboard a French troopship. She was carrying a cargo of munitions and a battalion of French colonials, corps of prisoners of war—the most ragged and bedraggled Turks | ever laid eyes on. The scene on the dock made me wonder if I had dreamed that the war was over and had waked up suddenly to find that it was not. There was all the familiar fascination of the confusion and rush and grinding labor of army transport; there were the usual pile and pyramids of war materials; obstinate mules and frightened horse together with a labor Nainous-Ic 7 lainous-looking, going aboard ship; Russian Officers and American the voy motor lorries and ambulance yuns and caissons; ammunition carts and field kitchens, and men in uniform coming and going in seemingly endless lines I thought to myself finding it difficult to settle down into “Those who are the humdr im of pea e would do well to pack up their old kit bags and come There is no peace in thi part of the world.” It was a filthy light expect to find plying between Black Sea ports, and I was thankful that It would along out here old tub such as one " " age was not a long one take twer ty-seven hours, however, to reach Odessa, and there was a night to be endured in a cabin that was entirely bare save for a cot bed and a very soiled mattre The ship had been capt ired Bolshevil and the y had stripped it of linen, curtains, carpets, nuirrors, woodwork and furniture. There spaces on the | were gaping and in | where mirror vere once set the dining saloon and smoking room there were empty of members of the It had been a Russian hip frames that had once held the portrait Russian imperial fam A Voyage Through the Mine Fields B' T never mind The hull wa ound and the engines ) were good. We should reach our destina were several French officers or d for my benefit the i the miles of mine fields that line the coasts of the B and the dread possibility that some of the death traps broken loose and floated across our eourse Then to add to my chart tion. There board and two or three Greeks, ar talked a good deal about lack Sea might have serenity the captain showed me the , on which the mined areas were indicated in diagonal shading } ] cnannel Little arrows pointed the way between them along 10 narrow and so devious that it seemed t impossible that any ship could find its way through them in safety At the base of the great field which lies acro the harbor of Odessa we passed an anchored lightship, and from that point we steamed very slowly until we came up into the clear waters al ome quite and cautiously | ng the coast written somewhere that the three n orld are Naples, ¢ tinople and Odessa. I cannot think of any finer sit to bracket Odessa with Constantinople and Naple Someone ha splendidly located cities in the w omewhat too enthusiastic about Odessa perhay sufficiently appreciative of the unique grandeur { other cities, Yet Odessa is magnificent. It lines a far-flur round a glorious bay and rises at its center many-domed architectural solidity to the cre cipitous cliff. It is golden ye A } yleams here and there of Persian blue tions of color in touches of Byzantine decoratior Phe} that slope down to the water’s edge are terra 1 and laid out in attractive gardens, and along the top of the clitf hesa broad tree-shaded esplanade where the population gather daily in great throngs to stroll up and d r to sit on the (Continued on Page 72

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14 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Tine Imvesto iglits WRITTEN ON THE CURT Hk teverend Amos Adams wa a man of fine presence, mu ! re pected—a good cit izen, concerned in all For eight vears he had beer good cause the pastor ¢ f the Presbyterian church. On Monday at about eleven o'clock in the morning he entered the First National Bank to make his periodical payment upon his Liberty Bonds—a duty which he performed with scrupulous punctuality, if for nothing else than the example naturally to be expected from a man in | position. He had com pleted his payments and was turning away from the Liberty Bond window when he was sur- prised to see be fore him on the floor what eemed to be a Bending picked it up and discovered it to be an engraved 4 urity a certificate of tock for a very considerable sum in a ™ tock company with whose name he w: 4 . ‘ pan . pia) infamiliar. Str imself up he ad looked about the corridor bre e ban! paper of value. down he aightening and iW that, curiously eno igh, he was the only person at that moment in it. He then recalled having noticed before an uncommonly wel! pro man, who was a just dressed and perous looki: stranger to hi but whom he had remarked standing ‘ evidently readju in | Recalling tl he turned quickly — just in shoulder of the stranger disappearing from in front of the plate glass window of the bank He then following the natural impulse hurried out t tain if the stock was thi beside him, documents and papers inner pocket time to see the »ascel man's property. The stranger walked briskly and the Reverend Mr Adams was no longer a light nor in the first of youth, he had finally and hailed him the man he was in front of the man, and before overtaken followed New Occidental Hote! and apparently about to turn intb it. **My dear sir-—-pardon me — but have you mis sed anything — 2 He Was Very Clearty in quired Mr, Adams in the scmewhat a Much Lese Friendty jolty utterance of a man well out and More Distant Mood of breath Good Lord,” replied the man accosted, in his coat, “I should say I had!” “Will you please describe it?”’ said Mr proper caution. ‘I will yes,” a definite and very busines voice. “It was a certificate for one thousand shares of the Sterling Agricultural and Chemical Com- valued at ten thousand dollars.” after fumbling with Adams replied the other in slike pany, “It is evidently yours,” said the Reverend Mr. Adams with a smile—presenting it. ‘‘Oh, no,”’ he said when the other started thanking him. “It is nothing. I am very glad that | was there, and not someone to whom your security might have been a tempta ion Oh, no,” he continued when the other pressed h thanks and even an offer of a considerable re ward upon him. “Nothing of tha “.. ' kind. Only in the future take a * stranger's advice and be more care ag : ful of your valuable paper But the other was not to be put off in this way ‘l cannot let you go like this,”” he said. “You have done me a great service, and | am certair ly going to re ciprocate in some And he then New ‘Tam here way told him who he York, in town for a Mr. Holeman, of a day or two on business al hotel,”’ he said, “from now on to-day alone, waiting on a business matter without one earthly thing to do. At least,” he said, “‘you might do this much for me--if you he leisure; you might let me make your acquaintance and entertain you at din- ner. We might have of common interest which we could exchange with one Who was in your lo have matters another to advantage. knows?” ILLUSTRATED H. This chanced, presentation of the case, as it appealed to Mr. Adams in a peculiar way. For it was a principle and even an axiom with him that one should take every possible opportunity to broaden one’s point of view. This Mr. Holeman was very clearly a man of substance—a typical New York man of business evidently, very carefully and modishly dressed, who would bring to him an outlook upon life entirely different from his own. And having on Mondgy morning nothing immediate to do he finally yielded to his impor- tunity and agreed to accompany Mr. Holeman to his room for a time though not for dinner. The talk in the room of Mr. Holeman led from this to that, and it appeared that though for many years a resident of New York Mr. Holeman had lived as a boy in a smaller town not far from there, where his father curiously enough a Methodist minister — had stationed for a short time in Mr. Holeman’s boyhood. been ‘You may have known of him,’ said Mr. Holeman, speaking his father’s name. ‘That was before my time,’’ Mr. Adams answered, “‘But I think I may have heard him mentioned,” ‘Even that,” said Mr. Holeman, “I could scarcely on second thought have expected. It was in fact a long time ago—though it but yesterday. But it left a lasting impression on me—in more ways seems to me than one. For it was not an easy life those days. I know,” he went on with a short reminiscent laugh, “‘what it means to be a minister—even more than you from the financial standpoint. For the town and church were both smaller than yours, I} ave the hard knowledge acquired by my poor old dad,” he said with feeling. ‘‘I know the salary he worked for. And I honor him and every other man who hears the call to put financial considerations behind him and enter the Christian ministry.” ‘Though you evidently did not hear the call yourself,” said Mr. Adams quizzically—for he now felt quite well acquainted—‘‘to enter on that straight and narrow financial way.’ ““No,” said Mr. Holeman frankly, it would have been better for me if I had. New York and into business; and finally after some years of hard work became “T did not. Perhaps Instead I went down By manne Kibbe Turner TAYLOR WESTON “Come On Now, None of That! Come Through Now! June 28,1919 a member of the firm of Holeman & Barker, bankers—whose name,” he said, ‘‘is perhaps familiartoyou through the press.” “Yes, I think that I have seen it,” replied Mr. Adams, who though not an investor fortunately remembered having seen that name in the advertising columns. So this, he thought, was the senior member of that widely known firm and he observed him with an increased interest. He was obviously a man of property —a typical success- ful New York businessman. He would have known this without special information. For his whole manner indi- cated it, and his dress. And Mr. Adams noted in partic- ular the care and sharpness with which his trousers were pressed—a characteristic which he had come to feel marked quite generally the New York man of business from those of other districts. Mr. Adams found Mr. Holeman in fact most interesting and well-informed—with many interests common to him- self. And finally at his continued solicitation he tele- phoned his wife and accepted Mr. Holeman’s invitation to share his hotel dinner. It was then that the subject of Liberty Bond flotations and their effect upon the national character and habit of thrift was introduced by a remark of Mr. Holeman’s. “T observed,” he said, “that you were doing your duty this morning.” “In what respect?’’ inquired Mr. Adams. “You were making, were you not, your partial payment for your subscription when I first saw you in the bank?” Mr. Adams of course remembered. And following that Mr. Holeman spoke at length and with much enthusiasm on the subject of our national loans—drawing on his own large fund of observation and experience in doing so. “In my opinion,” he said, “‘these loans and the methods adopted through the codéperation of our banking houses for their buyers’ partial payments on them constitute the greatest single financial advance of our time. We Amer- icans,” he said, ‘“‘are often called, as you are aware, the most extravagant nation in the world. But in this plan I refer now especially to these partial payments—we have in my opinion fallen upon a great invention—a genuine discovery, which in its place will have an influence not less widely felt than that of the telegraph and telephone. For we have in it at last the means of saving and gathering capital which, covering the whole country, will prove the salvation of both the individual and the nation.” I agree with you,”’ said Mr. Adams, “from cases I can see right here in this town.” “And it is not only a device for saving capital,’’ went on Mr. Holeman with continuing enthusiasm. ‘‘It is still more than that; it will tend to a large extent to eliminate the great and absolute destruction which now goes on of our capital when it is once saved. Iam, as I have informed you, in the banking business in New York, and have been for many years. And you would be surprised if I should “ tell you of the fraudulent schemes by which the people are relieved of their hard-earned savings by financial swindlers Mechanics, thousands working women and and tens of thousands in these great cities. young clerks by the You Will if You Know What's Good for You"’

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ooo —_—_—-— { } literally—lose their all in schemes of devilish ingenuity which these men put out.”” And he instanced several of them, pointing out the tricks that were played. ‘Oh, you cannot be too careful to-day,” he said, “about where you place your money.” “‘l imagine not,” said Mr. Adams. “And that is why I say,” said Mr. Holeman, “‘that this education which our public is now receiving in investment is the grandest single movement of its kind in our 1,” he said; “‘an innovation second to none of its kind, and its effect on this nation may be said to go far toward justifying the huge financial cost of this war. For it has at once taught us a lesson of thrift in the nation and given day. It is a godsen us a new method for gathering together the capi- tal of this co intry to the safety and satisfaction of both the saver and the banker.” ‘I think I see your point exactly,” said Mr. Adams. “Yes, sir,” continued Mr. Holeman with in- creased conviction; ‘“‘I think so much of it per- sonally that I don’t mind telling vou that I have introduced it as a permanent feature—and a very important one, | may add—in my banking in- stitution.” “Introduced it?’ queried Mr. Adams. “The plan of partial payments,” Mr. Holeman explained, “at stated intervals—fashioned on the general plan of your payments on your Liberty fonds, which has now become so universally familiar.” And at Mr. Adams’ solicitation he then elab- orated his description of his new financial depart- ment in detail. “and indeed has been in operation by highly respectable houses * The idea is very simple,” he said, some years even before the war—but on a much less widely extended scale than now. It should be used, I need not tell you, only for the purchase of high-grade seasoned stocks and bor ds, which the buyers know to be sound and strong.” “Such as I, for example,” said Mr. Ad play fully , ‘could be trusted to pic k out unerri: through my thorough knowledge of finance “Or in case,’’ continued Mr. Holeman with an appreciative smile, “of lack of knowledge of the ams market by the investor—as, of course, is usually the fact—he acts naturally under the advice of some strong and reputable firm, such as that which I am fortunate eno igh to be connected with. The parti il- payment plan,” he went on explaining, ‘‘i really simplicity itself. A stock—or, better, a series of stocks—is agreed upon whent hey are believed to be low in price—for stock of « ourse, run up and down in price the same as groceries only much more so! This being done the buyer then pays down twenty per cent to his financial institution, ind following this a certain percentage, { juite generally five per cent of the remain- der each month. In this way in less than becomes his with small effort on his part; he has an interest return much above that paid by savings banks; and often, if well advised, with a substantial profit in addition. And all in absolute safety! In fact, for the first time perhaps in history this plan allows the smaller investor to make his investments in thestocks and bonds of this country withthe same safety and certainty of profit which, as everybody knows, the very rich of the United States now alone enjoy.” ‘Is that really so?’’ asked Mr. Adams, now watch- ing him closely. “But this is shop talk,’’ said Mr. Holeman, stop- ping abruptly. ‘It may not interest you. It is merely one of my personal enthusiasms.” “On the contrary,” answered Mr. Adams, “‘it in- terests me very greatly.” And he proceeded to ask many questions about the safeguarding of this form of investing. “There is where you touch me,” said Mr. Holeman. ‘Safety is my middle name, as the saying goes. Il am a shark when it comes to safety in investment.” And he laughed with evident relish—apparently reminiscently. ‘“*Safe?”’ he said. “The very safety of the thing has made us endless trouble. For it is so safe that we have had great difficulty in keeping away the undesirable ac- counts—the accounts of pure stock gamblers, for which our house has never catered. You are familiar, of course, with that great source of national loss—the buying of stocks upon margin with the hope of making great and sudden gains; and how quickly and almost certainly in the long run the gamblers’ equity will be wiped out by changes in the stock market. But this new plan of partial payment as the gambler, always on the alert, has been quick to two years’ time the stocl He Felt Trusted to View the Situation Without Jeopardizing Either His Own Chances or Those of the Government THE SATURDAY EVENING POST see —offers precisely the same possibilities for great gains as margin buying, with absolutely no possibility of the loss of your stock; and this for the simple reason that under agreement the banker himself must finance and hold the stock for the buyer, so long as the buyer keeps his agree- ment and pays up his small monthly installments. “Oh, some of these men, these gamblers, have made tremendous gains in this way—for their investment. Tremendous!” ex¢ laimed Mr. Holeman. “And especially lately.” And he instanced several by name, with profits which seemed to Mr. Adams—as much as he read the newspapers most extraor- dinary. “The savings of the average man'slifetime,”’ said Mr. Hole- man. “Much much more!”’ : . re ponded : Mr.Adams, now grown V e I y thoughtfi l. ht That He Could Certainty be ' “And as safe for the banker as the customer,” continued Mr. Holeman. “Is that so?”’ replied his hearer, a little absent-mindedly. “Yes. For the banker gets good interest on his money, and buying for all types and opinions of men, all kinds of stocks—one stock he holds will go up while another falls as during the recent war. And then one man will buy while another sells. And so for the banker the losses and gains ure equalized, and nothing short of universal catastrophe would affect him—in which case he would probably go anyway. Oh, it is a good thing for the banker -he sees to that!"’ said Mr. Holeman jocularly. His hearer made no answer, but still sat thinking “By Jove!” said Mr. Holeman then by a sudden impulse. “What?” asked Mr. Adams after some waiting “IT tell you what I am going to do,”’ the banker answered him. ‘Here's where I get back at you, in spite of yourself,” truck evident); and he laughed. “How?” “And better still at no cost to my elf,’ said Mr. Hole man, and laughed again. “What is this?” asked Mr. Adam “Te, a,” replied his acquaintance with decisior “That's what I'll do. The market in my opinion is pat , } ' absolutely no risk of ticularly favorable now. There loss in entering it—and a chance of gain, war, such as we may never see again. So I shall do th I am going to give you a practical demonstration of the workings of this new plan; and at the same time get bac! at you in a small way for what you have just done for me I told you I should do this, and I shall And a small recognition, too, considering what you have done for me, And at the same time at no cost, absolutely, to me. For stocks certainly cannot fall now, and in my opinion must certainly soon rise--in which case you would certain] enjoy their rising.” ‘*What is this,’ asked Mr. Adams, interested naturally for a further explanation, “that you propose to dofor me ‘IT shall carry you for a small sum-—on our partial payment plan, with a few sound stocks, upon our credit,” “Oh, no!” said Mr, Adams quickly. “I could not think of that.” “It will involve nothing on your part,” Holeman. “No risk ‘I appreciate that,"” Mr. Adams answered And I appreciate, too, your generosity. But that is not it. I could not consent to such an arrangement much a | insisted Mr not even the use of your name thank you for offering it “It is a thing often done, I assure you,” argued Mr Holem in, espe ially for politic al friends.”’ ‘All the more reason,”’ said Mr. Adams firml vhy I should not do it.”’ ‘But it would be merely,” pers man still, “for a nominal sum.’ ‘That is not hg aid Mr. Adam till more ted Mr. Hol definitely. ‘It is the principle of the thing And yet as he said it he eemed thoughtful The two argued then back and forth, wit! perfect good hum wr, but equal firmne m both “It would be entirely different,”’ insisted Mr He leman, “a any con iderable im were At this a thought suddenly occurred to Mr Adams “T tell you what I will do,” he ud iddenly, ‘‘a a compromise 3 *What?” inqu ‘You said, did you not, that the first cost of \ ired | companion this transaction would be purely nominal? well,”’ he continued at the conclusion of Mr Holeman’s nod In that case 1 will do thi if you are agreeable. I will go into this arrange . £Z k r v Or ment you describe if I can myself put up the necessary money, insist.”” “Well,” said Mr. Holeman finally with evident reluctance. “If you prefer! It is, as you sa a merely nominal sum.” We will call that settled then,’ said Mr Adams with atone of deci f ion and a feeling of enthusiasm. There was something in fact about this man from America’s greatest metropol ] appearance, his voice, his method, which insensil ly communicated itself to one, and most stimulating to decision and the businesslike trar action of affairs. ‘‘ Very well,”” said Mr. Adan ‘And now how much would be the amount — the le amount, let us say, for argument’ a partial-payment accourit of this kind sl started?”’ * “It may be anything, of course,” man guardedly. “No. Really, how much would you manded Adams. “Well, to do it right,” replied his adviser his words, ‘‘you should perhaps have t I or five hundred dollars.” This statement placed Mr. Adams in a posit embarrassment. At the utmost he v I not two hundred dollars available for su moment, and he was compelled after Say so. “You have forgotten your ear mer he said to the banker, with a mie “and the finances of a pro Continued on Page 81

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N THE early days of betore director A re in old chara body ran who wished advice Phrough perfectly natura had become the tather cor f cinner ever Dad bu ( qualification i n ord o h of romantica j | f some fifty years of se } prightly battle o rested po! the i portant the movie game on our lot to w on love or « riding puttie there wa } nom every- iInemasipela ection Robertson Rand to the strange it retner I one piace ritual shepherd to that heep lay in his own re¢ ational triumphs In the ind! temporal hunches act that he had been in irt, and knew it from every angle both rignt and obtuse And so one day when Laura Lorraine went into the old boy's con fe onal, while he was mah rFupasa Morm«e n elde f- and laid her trouble at ! feet he gave her some nique advice that was de ned to make a great difference in the lives of several people. Daddy aid thie wistful penitent, “why is it I don't get on faster in the picture ’ I’ve been three ears fooling round in bit with an occasional part, but so far I've never been n the creen for over thirty feet at a time.” And while the dear old bu interfeit of a Latter Da {Allow ‘Laura, I've watched the Climax, and thoug! proved immensel our lot First you vamped the « th your director; and fora the bo witl mur t le vas buried.’ But you have neglected Andy Ba a Do you mean that litt importal destiny the continuity et casting director put usin, but, its us out. Be kind to him, And so it came about tl cutter, and sure enough she u ever since manner are amera kid; Well le attention to him will get you member ip may began to 1 preened | foliage in aint he unwound as you came to creen technic has im- atrocious next you flirted ou threatened body and willfully vhere the n over in the and He is trio of us in, the take my advice of an actor's write ila " Andy will hely t Laura Le thelad who a lot.”’ Traine vamped a appear for so much A Girl Who Took Advice 1 Climax had done it tures inwhich Fifi Sn ties Company,of New York, hould be accepted by the fans as a star, but the last tory, under the table name of Dauntless Dor wi »very very punk that ts failure was a foregone conclusion ‘If any this bunch of junk, it 1 Andy,” said the Big Chief witnessed the last of body can save a we the rushes il And ind feet of turned over Barsoff a story the projection ofiftteen thou doubtful film to Andrei from which to cut that we room were at least yuld be good enough for a pro gram release When the titled The angle, was and shot ection room, every body on picture, re Isoscel ri embled cut, as in our little pro the lot who could crowd into the stuffy place was present to see what Andy had accomplished. From the very first iris-in the tory began togo withsnap, and all were delighted, though there were some cu rious explosions of surprise whenit wasseenthat Edgar had passed up Doris D'Arcy, played by Fifi Snookems, and had rmokem ip to wonder if a new queen Andy scored another of his powers, and ruined a beauti darnedest to shoot everal pic- late of the Bacchic Beau- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WHO KIL Chartie Chaplin, Besides Writing His Own Stories, Acts, Directs and Cuts the Action returned to the little mining town and married Susie Metcalf —played by Laura Lorraine Everybody admitted that the change saved the picture from utter that 1s, but Fifi Snookems, like a beautiful Roman candle were all blue, and iw the bunch quietly congratulating Laura for having been given the picture she left the room registering “revenge-ah!"’ on her dolly face better than she ever did on the screen. Instantly the demoted movie queen began to burn up the wires to New York, and the result was that banality everybody one, late of whose bursting shells Broadway, blew up when she si 28,1919 when the film reached that dreaded editorial finality the boss sent a ten-dollar telegram to the Big Chief ordering the working title restored, Fifi cut in again as the lead and Laura canned. You see the belle of the Bacchic Beauties actually did know “where the body was buried.”’ It is deplorable, but true, that even in an art whose intent is so universally moral we occasionally have a boss who finds it necessary to put over an incompetent baby doll, if the lady possesses certain beans the spilling of which might cause him chagrin. What Became of Laura ND what became of Laura? Did she take her canning happily? True to Daddy Rand’s predic- tion you have seen that the little lady won her point, even to the achievement of stardom, and though her effulgence never penetrated beyond the projec- tion room the methods she used to achieve this near- sublimity had other very unlooked-for consequences. Andrei Barsoff was physically stingy, and Russian, yet he was a perfectly normal human being, suscep- tible to the blandishments of a pretty, intelligent woman. In fact he rather liked being vamped, it being a new experience for him. But alas, our hero- ine overplayed her hand, and taking her attentions seriously, the little cutter dug up a lot of charms he had never used before and—whaddya think? Let this be a warning to all vampires—he cut loose on some new Slavic technic of countervamping, and be- fore the poor girl woke up she had been bolsheviked into becoming Mrs. Barsoff! And that is how the name Laura Lorraine disappeared from the pay roll of the Climax Company; but that didn’t mean that Mrs. Barsoff wasn’t still on the lot. In telling a story one must not hold suspense too long lest it become tiresome, and so I am going to cut in here with the information—no doubt already guessed —that the writer is none other than Andrei Barsoff, the little Russian. Most movie souls are born in department stores and girls’ schools, and one would not expect to find such a phenomenon occurring within the cloistral walls of a great university. But you never can tell where cinemasip elas will strike next, and during all those years I was slosh ing round among the hypo tanks Laura was up at Berkeley grabbing off adegreeinlettersthat wouldenable hertoteach Then zut! All her cultural appetites went bla! Of a sud den she realized within her throbbing chest that a soul was aborning. It happened one night after a very notable performance of hers in a Greek drama given in the stadium. Some kind but thoughtless friend told her she would be perfectly wonderful on the screen! Alas, that innocent little compliment has been the undoing of thousands of erstwhile happy maid- kidded into the belief that they have movie faces. Westbound trains have been cluttered with them for years, only to carry the poor girls wearily back after the bubble is burst. But unlike the great army of extras that never get beyond mob stuff Laura had actually achieved the heights, so her fall was greater. Think of a beauti- ful movie soul, born in the environment of a Greek play, reaching the artistic altitude of a five- reel Climax program pic- ture, and then being sud- denly and roughly snuffed out by a horrid absentee boss who preferred taleum to talent. We do not film our greatest tragedies. But don’t think Laura was utterly crushed. She had seen enough of movie life to have learned her place, and that place was where brains were at least not an encumbrance, which they were to most actresses ens, classic Ne Actor Can Compete in Interest With a Pot in those days—and often even yet. So, though Laura Lorraine went into

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 17 Charlie Rossel, the camera man: ‘No won der it failed. Nolan made me shoot in the damned the cfficial can, Laura Weston—which was her real name— came to work for me in the cutting room. Incidentally, I might add, it was here . that some of my niftiest countervamping was done, and it resulted in again changing the poor girl’s name. Of course Laura had no intention of y remaining a cutter; she was after the job of title editor, which she hoped to raise, and finally did, to a position of tremen- est light you ever saw Joe Allekoff, the lab chief: ‘What could we do with such rotten pho tography?” Ben Thurman, tech nical department: Did you notice how my gor yeous sets were bum lighting?” Buck Benton, the light hound: *‘ What does Viv ian Vane care about good atmospheric effects so long as she can have all the squirt lights on her’ The Cutter’s Job MHERE are other buck passers the prop- erty man, the casting or and what not who would have napp) reasons for failure, had I got round tothem. Some, dire dous importance, and for which « utting is a neces- if sary basis of equipment. The reason for telling thisepisode of how Imade an obscure artist a queen for a day is to demon- strate the enormous 4 power the cutter holds over the actor. Daddy Rand was right: we are mighty good fellows to sit up to, if the silly ac- tors only knew it, for try no doubt, would have as we may to cut a pic- blamed the cutting and ? titling departments, but | this, of course, is absurd, for we are never to blame ture impersonally the hu- man factor is bound to persist and our prejudice will more or less edit our for failure, though many times are olely respon judgments. There are many instances where sible for successes! Other ‘ cutters have ruthlessly departments will quarrel chopped an actor’s work ' — ws I with this statement, but to pleces because of some Collateral Action is Sometimes Shown on the Same Fiim this i my story, and the grind, real or fanciful. I only chance I've ever had know one chap who completely cut a character actor out Whenever we shoot a big success at the Filmart those to put over the truth! Nevertheless, I read a criticism of of a picture because the poor fish was a little forgetful responsible for it do not modestly hide their lights under one of our pictures last week which said: ‘It was good about forty dollars he owed him. Only last week one of bushels, nor yet under the shell of peanuts, and accept material slaughtered by bad cutting.” Of course the critic our best directors, who edits his own pictures, cut out all the triumph asasocial one. Onthe contrary every last one was a friend of the director—or perhaps just a bonehead. the close-ups of a certain actress because she persisted in who had anything to do with the picture, from the star to fut what is a cutter and how it he can function so coming late to work every morning. the location hunter, claims personal credit for the glad importantly? In the first instance, the word ‘‘cutter”’ is } } some result. But when the stupid public gives us thumbs absolutely a misnomer, except for the boys and girls who The Testimony in the Cock Robin Case down on our flickering efforts, then all and sundry col- simply do mechanical cutting according to their chief’ laborators in the dramatic débacle engage in the me rry Instructior We are in reality film editors, and many of N UCH has been written about the social collaborationof game of passing the buck, until there is really no one to my craft have taken this lofty title; yet it inadequately 4 our many departments in producing a well-rounded — blame but the office boy, and his indifference is invariable designates the job, as may be seen by comparing our work work of art, but nothing has been said of the rivalries and and often profane. with that of a maga editor jealousies that exist, and that would result in no such We once attempted a superproduction of the classic When an author writes a story he polishes and revises it yur syndicated efforts proved a to | heart's content and then submits it to an editor, happy consummation if the director general did not smooth drama Cock Robin, but « things over But there are two departments between _ flivver, and in setting out to place the responsibility forthe who accepts or rejects the literary fragment just as it which the slightest friction is fatal to good pictures. So inglorious death of a $35,000-feature film I gathered the tands, or if changes are desirable the manuscript is re inexorably entangled are the functions of the cutter and following testimony: turned and the author performs the gentle surgery himself the title editor that itisa pretty good scheme to have the Spencer Grandon, the star: “ It was the rottenest story Soa magazine editor doesn’t need to be a writer; all in the functionaries entangled too. That’s what we have done, I ever had.” world he hastodoistorecognizeastory when hesees one, and and that is why our work is so harmonious. For though T. Sully Gardena, the author: “It just shows how bad _ then exercise this literary judgment for better or for worse husbands and wives may sometimes differ—as they are directing can kill a good story.” On the other hand the film editor must first of all be a said to—yet their final interests are identical. We may Mickey Nolan, the director: ‘‘The continuity was punk good story-teller, for it is he who must take the raw ma blame every other department for a film failure, but Laura enough, but think of trying to put over a prune like terial—perhaps twenty thousand feet of film—and cut, and I at least do not blame each other Grandon.” Continued on Page 134 Nazimova Objects to Long Close-Ups studio Heads are the Cruelest Critica We Have

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18 oJ. Jl 0 Il Z R ANNETTE HASKINS l WITHERSPOON stood in a cr iracteri tic attitude i ‘ er hip, policing the mair f the Fifth Street entrance wuz Among gaze this one ive had at first sight the look i il ‘ It wa not the graze the gaze gilant, the gaze f ize fatigued, It is in fact pare large-eyed, innocent, I | ‘ sual Yet no entering I re ¢ iped 1 Doomed from the ent of p r through the Fifth eet d th hopper drew on, never ne forward step eluding the gaze Ky the time ne is near enough for pet | ming i el The ‘ ‘ " tiled he lel ne her yet na t e nor escape pb j © © itor could not ilfect terest sther a AcT +} ihe gaze ( ‘ mpid, roving isu 1 he through and held ne nile tne t f M Annette liasku W itherspoo ud Can Lin Va m (leanne It mo} everything J. A., 1760, acro the iisle in the ither good had tched her through i long ne without ki ng how he hidl it he did not throw herself awa he was not ter Hier voice was cor ersationa But the shoppers genera opped Mr nnette Haskins Wither pra flowed o1 | ‘There are three kinds of dirt, madam Phere irface dirt l illustration he ¢ ted ta m » ler ily ima ca t her nght hand, « he bit of red carpet on her ble Victim meanwhile hung hypno ed. Mr An e Haskins Witl i left hand snapped an elect napper, the Yanko-Fra Vacuum Cleaner set up asound of rushing nd nd the ta m | ik is gone Phere ‘ edded dirt ind me vell rubbed in on bot irpet nap] y of upper, sound of wir embedded dirt Tableau on the part of the i Crathering ubsicdiatr group ol open-mouthe i stra glet ‘“*And there is dirt that adhere She had her cotton batting all ready and, with three deft dabs backward and forward acro the red velvet carpet, caused it to adhere Confirmatory igh went about the group. Cotton certainly did adhere Bastings adhered, Butter, dropped from the table and stepped on, had a tendency to adhere There was an adhering quality about chewing gum, oil from street-car tracks and honey Cotton, they sighed together, cotton certainly did adhere. The deft hand of Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon again set up rushings in the Yanko-Frank Vacuum Cleaner and the cotton, ceas- ing to adhere, was gone It would be found, Mrs. Wither- poon explained, inside the cleaner, ready to be dumped into the furnace and oblivion. Visions of rest and refresh- ment were upon every face From then on the group was her Mr Annette Haskir Wither poon broke to them that the Yanko-Frank Cleaner, in this new Bringing-Down- the-Cost-of-Living Sale, cost only sixty-five dollars. She made them see how, by taking a membership in the Thrift at five dollars down and five dollars a month, it was n these reconstruction times not to buy a cheaper fifty. She made them get the idea a patriotic duty to have it and have it at once America had won her great fight for American womanhood ought not to be She showed them how an inv how but would notice the the house and the indescribable youth and charm of the And while looks of tremulous understanding passed from face to face she had her book out, was taking addresses and explaining that our Mr. Jolly would be happy to call at their homes to-morrow them “a Saving for that it Wa now that one twenty-seven because, freedom in Europe to the dustpan at home would consider it never hear of it at all, restfulness of a slave their husbands estment ofr the y need increase d housewife them a private demonstration, placing and give under no obligation whatever! THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By GRACE TORREY 6 O ILLUSTRATED ‘How Much is it?’’ Broke in the Girl's Voice. Green Will Do. Charge it, Please" = ™ eeing the groups prospects in the little notebook lengthe n, lve, hesitation take the plunge, w that she was 1760, seeing this repeated twenty times a day, dissolve and re-form, seeing the list of seeing irresolu- tion transformed into reso membership in the Thrift Club swell, kne looking upon an uncommon something. The hypnotist at rest, ventured research, remarking across the aisle: ‘‘ Many sales to-day?” Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon shook her head. ‘“*Wednesday’s a bad day. You just notice. Mondays everybody's glad to get out after Sunday. And Fridays they want to get in their week-end buying before the Saturday rush. Wednesdays, I don’t know. Anyway, it’s the twenty-eighth. Those that pay cash have spent their money. Those that run bills want to wait till the first.” She ran over the leaves of her little book. “Well, I got lots of prospects, I sold six hundred dol- lars’ worth already this week. That’s pretty good, too, these times, with all the industrial unrest and all.” “lL don’t see how you do it,” said J. A., 1760, a iittle wistfully. She leaned forward as she said it. For a moment she had a wild hope that she might get a clew. Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon, her hands on her hips, gave the aisle a comprehensive policing. “Well, personality helps some.” Her eyes swept the young face before her. ‘But with your complexion and all, you shouldn’t have to worry.”’ In the network of weaving figures her gaze gained a focus. “Why, Miss Britton! How are you? I’ve not seen you for ages Red Cross? Every day? You'd think, now we had peace, you could let up a little. Ah, hah! You don’t say! Well, I suppose that’s so too. Well, you are one busy woman. You're tired, though, I'll wager. Don’t you overdo, now! Just the one to be interested in our Yanko-Frank Vacuum Cleaner. You've no idea how It’s like you say. We got to salvage she on it col erves energy. Br ““I Suppose the June 28,1919 CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD what there is left of us women and children, these days. And I think a woman’s good looks is her principal Of course while the war was on good looks But now we've all got to You see, Miss Britton, asset. wasn’t of so much account. conserve ourselves for peace. there are three kinds of dirt.” J. A., 1760, across the aisle, the familiar drama, down to the last flutter of a leaf, thelast good-bys, Miss Britton, hurrying away flattered, smiling, convinced that by joining the Thrift Club she had permitted her old friend to do her a great favor. Mrs. An- nette Haskins Witherspoon meanwhile made entry in the little book with head-shakings. “1 certainly thought I’d sell her for cash. Why, she’s well fixed. Got an apartment house, all filled. Nothing to worry about. No husband, nor any- thing. Well, I’m grateful for a sale of any kind, just so it’s good.” Hands on her hips, her eyes on their wanderings, she went on: personality And you gotta believe in what you’re doing I can’t demonstrate a thing I don’t be- lieve in. “That’s right. You can’t get it over without you can put yourself into it Can I interest She grimaced slightly after the hurry ing figure. “Oh, well! You gotta fail once ina while. She needn't of bit my head off though. Yes, I like my work. I like public life. Can't stay the whole time in vacuum The re's other things. I want something’ll take all that’s in me. Something with in- tellectual interest. This is just the same thin You gotta have something that’s big— way beyond you. You get stale if you don’t. Every once in a while I go into lecturing or some- thing. I guess I Yes, every once in a while I gotta get into saw customary ‘Yes! You have And you gotta believe in yourself gotta you?” though. cleaners g over and over. get restless something big. The war made all sorts You sorta had to get into You remember I of ( hange s. it or you got re stless had three ne phe ws at the Front. Awful kids, all of them. Made me kind of restless selling vac cleaners. I nda wanted to get behind somehow and kinda push. Well, it ain't the same, now. There’s just one of my kids comir Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon’s gaze, directed down the aisle toward the Fifth Street entrance, lost, for the instant, its dancing brilliance. J. A., 1760, could see the rapid flash of her eyelashes, once, then once again. And when she turned back Mrs. Annette Haskins Wither- spoon’s eyes were rather red. But she was smiling. “‘He’s an awful kid though. Awful He writes awful cute letters. He’s been having the time of his life. He’s got to be a first sergeant. That’s pretty good for just twenty, don’t youthink? And he’s simply crazy about his lieutenant. Just the finest fellow ever lived. There’s nothing he didn’t do for his men before he was hurt, nor nothing they wouldn’t do for him. He's out of the hospital now and coming home with the boys. When my nephew gets back he says I’ve got to meet the loot. Says he’s going to college and learn to be just like him, when he gets home. Well, I’m certainly glad he’s coming. I can't hardly wait. Most any day now, from what he wrote, he might turn up. I keep watching the papers. I expect you do the same thing.” ‘‘Me?” said J. A., 1760, dully, then corrected herself, flushing. ‘‘I—I mean.” Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon’s smile was some- what astonished. ‘‘Wasn’t you wearing a service star for some fella? | remember it was right on your tie when I pinned on your Liberty Bond button. Remember? You was my first sale. Don’t you remember?” J. A., 1760, across the aisle, leaned against the shelves behind her and shook her head, every hint of color slowly draining from her face until her lips were white. “‘T remember,” she said at last. Then, dully: there’s no one. Not anybody.” Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon’s heart smote her. How could she have been so stupid? She had watched, all winter, the paling of J. A., 1760, across the aisle; had cute l uum quite g back.” cute cute, “But

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and very high ,heel were giving Wiggins & Wiggins a rapidly changing aspect. There were three flag hanging from the mez more going on een the faint shadows grow under her eye and the all wearing stars on their bosom whitening slimness of her throat. “IT might have known,” she reproached herself. Or sick ‘*Poor hundred stars on the service somewhere. kid! They’ve quarreled. Or he’s dead. e railing and Or maybe she just doesn’t hear. And of them all, that’s it every day. And for every star on the flag there seemed , worst. to be a new shirt waist on the floor with a star on its _ *‘Don’t you give up too soon,” she said encouragingly. bosom. “You can’t never tell. You want to keep on hoping till J. A., 1760, rearranging the leather goods so that the reflected that it was a funny thing to be so unchanged in of all this tir. Her room rent had gone up and twenty- you're sure new comfort kits would show more, 7 = been a moment before. have been whiter than she had the midst Fora met gravely 1760, could not Sut her eyes were steadier. change and moment they had looked startled Now they five-cent meals were no longer to be had. Stor Kings cost her neighbor’s encouraging smile. “I’m sure,” she “Quite sure. She caught her breath as she said it. “I’m awful ’ Mrs. Annette Haskins Wither- spoon’s brisk voice was kind. ‘‘It don’t seem like there was more. She } and decided to get a good thick pair of shoes, Shoes could still be had for used to cost. But it you had never lifted a finger. had looked at suits yesterday said There's no one,” Toa certain extent she felt suddenly No war- about what suits sorry that these were changes, was not like going to work when ) time drama had volcanically thrown her caldron anything much worth while, does it?’’ Then, her eyes \ into the catching the hint from her wrist watch, she was brisk of labor. She had merely been graduated from the Boys again and Girls’ Aid Society to Wiggins & Wiggins at fourteen, ' “Just about due for a little nourishment,” she said. There never had been any heart throb over it, so far as : She used the same phrase every day promptly at twelve she could remember. o'clock. To-day she threw a heartening smile across at A vague aunt somewhere had died and she had gone to J. A., 1760, and added: ‘“ Don’t you let up on that nourish- work. Since she was sixteen she had foraged for her own ment every day. Regular and lots of it. There’s f nothing like it for heartache.” As she hurried away she was addressing herself earnestly. “Old idiot!’ she was saying: ‘The poor kid’s heen tryin’ to brace herself up all winter. And you have to go and remind her. She'll spend her whole noon hour just remembering. I remember myself how she looked the first time I asked her. They got ' engaged right after, I expect J. A., 1760, looking after her remorseful form was remembering vividly. It had been another wet day, a year ago. The store was half empty, busi- ness dull. n unguarded man, drawn by the mag- , net of Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon’s gaze, had come within hearing of her question. j ‘Can I interest you?” she had said, and made short work of him. “There’s something I like about a man. He don’t haggle and he spends freer. Probably he don’t have so much n the bank. But he’s kinda open- handed.” She had put her book away and tapped back a slight yawn. “This war looks like a big thing to me,”’ she had said. ‘* Making big changes. We all gotta back up our boys. Got \ anybody over there?”’ J. A., 1760, had rearranged caref the very special values in hand bags dis- played on Wednesdays and her color deepened. “Not exactly,” she hesitated. Ther seeing Mrs. Annette Haskins Wither- spoon stare she changed it hastily. “That i Is, not yet ” ' ‘Well, this war comes close to us all ' It’s certainly making changes.’ Mrs Witherspoon had time to tap back an- other slight yawn before the drift of float- ing womankind brought further fry to her catch. J. A., 1760, eased herself against the shelves at her back and looked up and 1 TI e war did down the leather goods. Six-one, who seem to be making cl married leathe r goods anges a year ago and left the pleasing flutter of husband it was na romance, was back now, her France. “They'd have exe mpted him all right All I’d a had to do was go in clinging to his arm and swear I enjoyed poor hea I went in all right, but it was to say I'd took care of myself up till April last and I could do it now. You ought to seen them look. But they’ll get no de- pendency claim from me. Not while I got my health and facul- ties.”’ a ‘e starons flected that, that was the way she would put it if he had reason. She could have had Six - one’s ind = herself Now that she thought of him way off in France he didn’t seem so bad And she could worn a service The store was full of them. Women floor- walkers; elevator girls, calling millinery and underwear on the fifth floor and annoy- cash girls, importantly janitresses in feminalls 1760. looking at the se x-one’s bosom, had re- barring the grammar, once have star. The Two Figures Were Rather Close Together, the One in Khaki Bent Over as He Limped Along ing all the shopper starred; new clerks; THE SATURDAY EVENING POST food and roof expense, kept herself clean and covered, pretty She had gonetor ight s« hool, too, at her own and self respecting, without causing any excitement in the world heart. All this going to and fro about her were suddenly enl defenses, ¢ ] brother who had hitherto paid your board bills from Somewhere in France 76 lin iriously 1760, feeling curio now, giris who of our home hy isted in the noble army ill this wearing of stars for isband or some but now wrote you wonderful letter all this left J. A., not omitted. She was working to save her country or release a fig! ting man worl ing Hesitat ng between the yreen and he decided for the green and said She was just the browr to herself it wa That told them they ought to wear their last year’s dresses and comfort kit a funny who talked to the h v thing lady Girls’ Club last night had buy bonds had told them **And my last year’s hat with a feather at the front instead f And, oh, girls! When I think of my boy , risking his life, going to his , &Xposed do you think I mind a little J.A., 1760, furtively how the lady felt. ' those Pellique models from the eighth floor. It had and it hadn't a vhere J. A., 1760, darning, ‘I’m wearing mine this minute,” she of at the bach over there cold, standing in water up } Knee to disease and suffering and death, thing like last year’s dress knew just yne of winking back the tears rfectly It was a pe beautiful dress, hand embroidery and real filet on it pot or a worn e an expert regarded ponging and the lady’s last year’s dress and felt that as a sacrifice for the sake of a boy in the trenches the lady could hardly be said to have done much, That wasn’t the thing that made her wink back the tears. E sing her elf against the shelve and looking up and down he leather goods, she furtively winked them ba gall If she bought a bond it wouldn't be a ques- en of last year’s are It would be one of every day’s luncheon and this winter’ hoe ‘But I'd do it! I'd do it and never know | was nungry or cold If there was or ly somebody but it all so darned impersonal!” **[mpersona he had got at night school when he took psychology of salesmanship It was quite a good word. She felt a little blush of pleasure ul having had so good a word come to her so natur- Over the word “darned” she felt a corre- ponding prick of shame I She had meant to drop ‘‘darned"’ perma- who's to care if I do or if I don’t?” ie said, looking down the main aisle to the eet entrance, It was a very dull day. The main aisle i ally empty. That was why J. A., 1760 and Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon both 1 soon as he came through the turn- e door With a great throb of her rather ung heart, J. A., 1760, saw him and Knew him, He wa the Some ! Somebody here in France, for whom she co ild yo with- ou incheor and shoe and not know she Wa n't just that he a s uniform fitted ( & Wiggins since ( without knowing tal nor It w or | lo ‘ yfine, I'd die hear me 4 dart p ‘Some couple!” came the voice of Mrs Annette Haskins Witherspoon But nothing j g in my ine It , then that J A 1760, saw he r nh hu A ther f those Pel , mode he had seen this very one last wee ( ame out of the tissue paper. Wher 1 are ung and have a complexion that 1 se iu Kind Of skin lood ! re tthe enghth tloor wher hen lel me it | one had been a hundred and twent eu] | Lt Was ge ine mil ! he And thet awl + thet g [he e fur t ie. too. and ‘ i oes ! teen d i f eit ‘ right , ' ‘ A new 1 ‘ Perfect he ¢ der 1¢ Phe 5 nad ‘ ‘ t | the t ‘ 4 ‘ had ‘ I ‘ he itched the , , Annette Ha W ithe watched t he e] “There wouldr ‘ ‘ It i cleaner [rom a soda the Va re fTore tated in front of leather g Continued on Page 120

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20 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Aldventures in Imterviewiu June 28,1919 the Russian Revolution Malkers { it all my adventures in interviewing he hazards and handicaps of the long journey there, the nforgetable events that marked its progress, the extraor- dinary group of men I found in contre ment all mbined to produce a icce ot the new govern ion of experiences eem like a chapter out of Though a few Americar who } iy pened to be in Scean- dinavia entered Ru i ahead of me, if not the fir I believe I was one of yutside world to arrive = the firet Petrograd after the re on which overthrew the Czar. Che spring of 1917 was in many respects the most fate ful of the war It marked our entry into the struggle, and t also witnessed the break-up of the autocracy that had oppressed Russia for four hundred year During the ear part of that histor March I had been in France r Douglas Haig arm I returned to London to renew my acquaintance wit! ome of the comforts of life. One morning | read in the London Times that the Czar had abdicated and that Ru a was free Even a feeble-minded individual would have realized that Petrograd had suddenly become the most interesting pot it the universe Ho to get there was the great probiet The Nort} ea had become one of the grave irds of the world. All passenger traffic between Scotland and Norway had cea ! But | was determined to get to Pet " id ind the Brit Navy, which doe ] thing yell, got me under wa I remember that when | secured a bert! mn the little gray gun-mounted Admiralt essel that had begun to make the trip to Bergen, Norway, at revular intervals, a certain high naval officer said to me We car tart you wross the North Sea, but after that vuur fate will depend on God, the Kaiser and the submarine [ The North Sea ituation Via more danyverous than at any time during the war Germany had it sugurated a wholesale and reler le laughter of ships. All negot itions were by word of moutl Throughout the United Kingdor it wa fo bidden to name of a ship over the telephone mention the Vessels were indicate iby number Getting Into Russia | URING the war | made mar trips through danger zone from the Engli h Channel down to the Adriatic, but | never embarked on one with the that | felt same apprehension about this expedition to Russia. One contributing factor to my tate of mind was a remar made by a Scotch sea captain as | went aboard the ship le aid amiably al iIppose ou know that Kitchener atled not many miles from this plac The place was a pou ’ land. Kitchener was at the bottom of the sea two hours after his ship set out You may well imagine that the beginning of the adven ture was not particularly cheerful We ran into trouble at once, Be fore we were out five hours we had i wirel message from Admiral Sir David Beatty saying that a whole flock of in the vicinity, and order ubmarines lurked ing us to put in for safety at Kirkwall. Here we found the harbor full of ship flying the flags of many nation all awaiting inquiry and search It was a sort of police station on the high seas, where many a su picious cargo consigned to German use came under the strong arm of ‘ rure After a twenty-four hours’ wait h aere the North terrihe that it put ve made a da anf enin a gale a certain British sea lord out of commission. Then came a great moment. Amid a lull, and with the background of a glorious sunset that flooded those angry waters with a marvelous radiance, I saw the British Grand Fleet in battle order—a memorable picture of imperial power. Imposing as it was, it was not quite so welcome as the friendly Norwegian fiord where we found haven and sanctuary the next day. In those days you had to cross Norway, Sweden and Finland to get to Petrograd. Any land traveling, however uncomfortable, was a springtime frolic after the hideous sea ordeal I had just undergone. Life became one passport visé after another and a continuous change of trains. At Tornea, the border town in Finland where you enter from Sweden, I got my first glimpse of the effects of the Russian tevolution. A red flag floated over the customs shed, the grinning soldiers in dirty gray uniforms wore crimson , the air was hideous with the notes of the Marseil- laise sung by raucous voices, During my brief stay at Tornea occurred an amusing incident, not without certain value in explaining Russia’s present ordeal. On the ship with me was a high French army officer bound for Petrograd on a diplomatic mission. In our little hand-picked party were also two British aviators. The moment they got into Finland they put on their uniforms, because they were then in Allied country. 1 had made the entire journey from Scotland in the uni form of a British officer, which I always wore at the Front, rosette without of course insignia of rank. In London no knew exactly what was going on in Petrograd and I fe that I would be safer in khaki, and I was. one wonivininiees By ISAAC F. MARCOSSON Just as we were about to board the train for Petrograd a Russian officer, his breast ablaze with medals and with much silver on his shoulder straps, came out and informed us through an interpreter that since we—he mistook me for a British soldier —were the first Allied officers to come through since the revolution he wanted to pay us what he called a high honor. Little did we know what was in store for us. He had gathered together several hundred Russian soldiers and a makeshift band, which began to play the Marseil- laise. I doubt if the band had ever heard of this tune until the revolution broke a few weeks before. The rendition therefore was a melancholy affair. All this meant that we had to stand at salute in the freezing weather for what seemed an interminable time. Finally one phase of the agony ended, but another began immediately. We had to submit to a kiss on both cheeks from the Russian, who: smelled like a vodka distillery, despite the fact that Russia was on the water wagon. The Rainbow Painted in Blood ATURALLY we supposed that this man, who seemed to be running the whole community, was a prominent personage. After we got on the train, where he insisted upon following us for a part of the trip, we found that he was a veterinary surgeon, and a hoof specialist at that! He was a sublieutenant, yet apparently was boss of the most important gateway into Russia. Already the revo- lution had commenced to work. For thirty hours we traveled through Finland, reaching the real Russian frontier late the next night. It was a small town with a name about a yard long. Here the weary traveler got his clearance into Russia. I entered the reeking customs house through a lane of unsterilized Russian sol diers. My name was called out; | advanced to a desk where a Cos- sack officer sat ready to give me my final visé. When he saw the American eagle on my passport he rose, stood at salute and said in flawless English: *“Welcome to our new Ally.” I had been cut off from the swift march of war events for days, so I asked: ‘*‘What do you mean?” **Your country went to war yes- terday,”’ was hisreply. In that iso- lated frontier post, hemmed in by aliens, in the dawn of a new day, 1 heard the news that gave me the deepest thrill of the war. There is no need of rehearsing here the story of those seven days in Petrograd when a hunger-prodded revolt, staged by the autocracy to crush the populace into absolute submission, became a Frankenstein monster that literally destroyed its instigators. It had come so swiftly that when I reached the one-time capital of the czars the people were still trying to get accustomed to the strange sensation of free- dom. Petrograd was like New York City on the night of a presidential election, but with this difference: The returns were piling in all the time and the whole world seemed to be elected. It was a continuous joy-ride. Everybody was delirious with delight. In the mind of the people the revolution meant a free and continuous meal ticket and a four-hour working day. Knowing this delusion, you can readily un- derstand how swiftly these simple and childlike people became the vic- tims of Bolshevism, which merely painted another rainbow. Had they looked ahead they would have seen that the pigment was blood. Far more fascinating than the Kerensky, With the Single Exception of Lioyd George, Was the Most Compelling Per:onality That I Met maelstrom of equality that seethed about me were the men who made

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST it possible. With that fir sian Revolution, as with every other outstanding event in } tory, thehuman side was notable. atmo phere It was a new stru No epic event ever produced ture, and had been oc: upied aitel See iaemal { such a group of lea lers as that the outbreak of the war Pele \ r week of weeks. phones were scarce before hi ; i I met them all, and in varying tilities; they were at a premiur circumstances, I saw som now. There were exactly three : } the full spotlight of t t in the hole x-story } ling } time full upon them, others in Four or five times a day | j f an aloofness that was in strange quired about the telephone call contrast with the history they for which | was so eagerly wait { were hel r It was ing I'he porter, who poke onl f heir } The vi- German and Russian, alwa i had not hook his head. One afterno however, | came ! wout five pa or . ‘ . - f Every one of those first revo- telephone message lution makers is either dead, im- He fished into 1} pocket and yrisoned or in exile, their work dug out a crumpled ece of | | a prey to the fury of a misguided | n wrapping paper, on whicl and destructive force. is written in Eng I ‘Mu Dominating the provisional ter Kerensky will see Mr. Mar ' government wa Alexander Ker- ( t iturday morning at ter ensky. With the single excep- ‘ «k at the Ministry of Ju t Here is the ng-expecte me ‘ { » day old ind ‘ ilready Frida l tore t the telephone eeded in get ting Nabol fT hohad arranged { , { { { tion of Lloyd George he was the : most compelling personality that ‘ I met during the war. Fighter ; and drea *, demagogue and : beneficent despot, d great orator } and actor who dramatized him- } in everything he iid and the appointment, and confirmed ' did he presented a picture of if I relate tl little It { dynamic leadership that I shall neve show the «¢ I had in the preliminary to one of { elusive thing called idden fame found Kindling 1 the most interesting experiences of n le, tion. Four weeks before the revolution he was merely a Though Kerensky lived in a vortex of talk I did not leader in the Labor Group with an oration cor tantly on know what language he spoke As a precaution | the tip of | tongue. When I reached Petrograd he was a ranged to take a Russian interpreter along. Thi itua world figure. tion will serve to emphasize a real handicap in interviewing Of course Kerensky was the great interviewing prize. foreigners on their native heath. It is easy to make a ma | I p tothatt meld bt if he had talked toa sing] alien talk who peal your own tongue, but when you are in ar The few Ru in journalists who had had access to alien land and must depend upor ur own ki ledge I either allied to his political party or had worked an alien speech or use an interpreter the ta 1 during the earlier period of the revolt against dou difficult The New Magna Charta 1D RING the past four year p nave hae t interview meé representing at iea t eight different mMitionalitie Witl “4 4 to an audience with this able man you must know that Kerensky was carrying the chief burden of the new government. As Minister of Justice he was a member of the cabinet, and it was a full-sized job. But this was a a knowledge of English, French and German you can ge | mere incident in his work. He was conciliator, orator, along anywhere, more especially with English and Frenc!} ambassador—the inspiration and bulwark of a shifting I include German to impress two important facts: One era. Whenever anything went wrong it was put up to that practically every world statesman speaks Germar rensky to straighte In Russia the chief oil for second, the average man in public or busine life in most troubled waters usual impassioned speech. He met | European countries also spe il the former Kaiser's lingo this requirement admirably. It meant that he spent most for the reason that German merchants have been every of his time talking. He was in action day and night where. Though the German in trade himself is a versatile linguist the world learned his tongue The Missing Papers In Russia, for example, whenever I found that a states- man could not speak English or French I could alv | i WAS therefore well-nigh impossible for him to keep | converse with him in Germar It not irprising anv semblance of office hours. This, however, was o1 i\ : ‘ wasn .€ Mapas ; _ because before the war Russia wa i busine inne ol one of many difficulties that had to be surmout ted. It i inna Germany, and unle ome drast teps are! taken she had been a comparatively easy matter for me to meet will continue to be that. Nearly ten n n people i ‘ most of his collearuc n the gove rnment. To see men like Above —M. Rodzanko, President cf the Russian Duma Russia spe ak German at home or in busin It . Miliukoff, Minister of Foreign Affairs, and Rodzanko, the be seized He advised me therefore to send my letters by barrier to Allied econom penetrat president of the Duma, for example, I simply got a line the King’s messenger in the British embassy bag, which Behind this matter of language is a vital selling point irom Ambassador Franc a. and the door flew open. I di 1. The e bags are inviolate, intervie wing A f reigner 1 ilwa piease 1 and flattere With Kerensky there was no such sesame. Everybody The royal courier arrived in Petrograd a week after 1 when he is interviewed in his own tongue. He talks n wanted to see him and few succeeded. Atthat time Hugh did. When I inquired for my papers at the British Em- more readily and he is also more at ease. When men ars j Walpole, the novelist, was in charge of British propaganda _bassy they were not there. After diligent inquiry I dis- interviewed in a language not their ! ind ‘ in Petrograd. I told} m of my desire tointervie W Kerensky. covered that a brilliant young attaché had sent them back cially true of the French vhet t me { I remember he said: ‘‘ For once you will fail. He isthe to London by the same messenger who had brought them! money they uncor 1 p back to their native tong ] most inaccessible manin Russia ce rtainly tointe rviewers.”’ I had to find some ibstitute for the m, certainly in the I recall that on one ision I had a tall th Ribot I told him that it would make success all the more worth matter of the approach to Kerensky. was then French Minister of Finance. He spoke Eng while Just before I left London Nabokoff gave me a letter to well, and our conversation began in English. The In interviewing, as in regular commercial salesmanship, his brother in Petrograd. It was too late ‘or the embassy he got down to finance, however, he re there is usually a way. Sack in my) newspape r reportorial bag, » I had secreted it i me of my leather legy nys. The War, and more especia it days I learned that everything was worth trying. It isa Something told me that t brother might be the good the world use of English. The Ang ix g vod rule to follow Even if you did not succeed in reach- angel, I learned ton delight that he wa ecretary tothe coming more and more the inguape ! / ing your man there was a story in the attempt. Some- new provi il government lranslating his job into used to be French. The proceedings of the times the tale of the vas more picturesque than the American terms it was as if he were secretary of our whole the League of Nations, to be he t Gene f : person sought. cabinet. I found him a charming and delightful person be in English, and only En, \ Another reason made the conquest of Kerensky difficult. who spoke English fluently. attend 3efore I left London I had accumulated a number of valu- I said to him: ‘‘I cannot leave Petrograd without seeing The Peace Treat the ne rid M | able letters of introduction from British officials. Chief Keren ky Can you fix it ne handed to the Germa delegate Ve I among them was a ‘‘To Whom It May Concern” letter He smiled and replied l int to help you, but Ker- seventh last was printed in | ! from Lloyd George, which contained this sentence: ‘‘Mr. ensky is the busiest man in Russia. So many demands’ which, to quote the off ! Marcosson goes to Russia on a mission that can only result are made upon him day and night that he can scarcely find ceeding, ‘‘are recognized having ¢ in great good and I bespeak for him every consideration.” time to attend the cabinet meeting I will do my best.” All this is by way of pre let I With this letter I could have seen anybody anywhere. It was agreed between us that any news of a possible sky. His office n the M Unfortunately I did not have it at hand. In Londonthe audience would be telephoned to me at my hotel, the yellow building, misnamed acting Russian Ambassador, Nabokoff, who had given me Medvied, which is the Russian name for bear. Like most intersected the Ne ii Pr a safe conduct, told me that he believed the pre-revolution Petrograd hotels during that hectic period it was asort of of Petrograd. I climbe embargo on letters and books still existed at the frontier. madhouse sheltering a strange jumble of nationalitie who found myself in an imme He warned me that any papers I had on my person might went elevatorless, sugarless, bathless and almost breadless, Continued on Page 129

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iv N SATURDAY morning Mr ant was to arrive. Austin wa ~ when Miss ¢ brought h iw that they ad disorder Johns’ account- no expert, but m the books he Perhaps the irtis were il tragedy of Miss Curtis’ life was mit gated by the ease with which one sorrow drove it another he had now ceased entirely to mourn over the perfidy of the seniors, n order to give herself up more complete! to remorse at the condition to which, in a few weeks he had reduced the bo« “Only, of course, I’m not a bookkeeper,’ he said, as if this were in some way im mensely to her credit Austin, who didn't consider any disa bility a matter of pride, had to confe that he wasn’t either I'll look at them,” he said, ‘‘and send that bookkeeper down to the cottage the very instant he arrives, and see that we're not interrupted % No indeed,” aid Mi Curti who vould have promised anything, possible or impossible. But Miss Hayes was made f sterner stuff But I'm afraid you'll have to be inter rupted, Mr. Bevans,” she put in atur day is a favorite day with parent and everal of them are coming this morning.” “Oh, parents,’ said Austin lightly. “I can't allow them to waste my time. Miss Curtis will interview them as usual.” Miss Curtis wrung her hands. “I can't, | really ean't, Mr fevan she cried hey make me feel so guilty —especially that horrid Mrs. McLane whoscolds about everything. Not parents—anything but parents,” Why it’s quite simple, Miss Curt iid Austin soothingly All you have to ‘Your daughter is an unusual gir! but then we did not expect your child to ‘ LT tn commonplace.’ lhat’s all.” Miss Hayes laughed. “It’s a good phrase, Mr. Bevans,”’ she said, “but I’m afraid you'll have to speak it yourself Parents regard it as their inalienable right to talk over their problems with the head of the school. You will lose valuable pu pils if you refuse.” Austin, knowing that she was right, yielded, only demanding the letter files containing the correspondence of any par ent known to be due But almost at once he regretted his decision, It would have been wiser, he thought, to have remained remote, inac cessible even to parents; to have consti tuted himself that mysterious entity which no busines should be without, whi h Is Vag 1ely re ferred subordinates as ‘“‘he.”” Austin suddenly that he leaped to his feet, meaning to school and notify Mi ion, but as he opened his own front door he was confronted by a parent She was to by powerless iw this so clearly run over to the s Curtis of his deci- a minute, pretty person, with pearl earrings, a dotted veil, and neat, fashionable clothes. She said firmly: l want to see Mr. Bevan ‘Lam he,” said Austin. He owed it to Mrs. Rolles that he did not say “him.” The little lady looked at him and began to laugh. he said, ‘I'm awfully sorry, but I did That’s a compliment, you now that people go in for these wonderful footmen. Don’t you think perhaps you missed your vocation?’ Austin saw immediately that he could not let any parent “Good prac ious,” take you for the footmar! know, take this tone with him “T cannot flatter myself, madam,” he said, “‘ that you did me the honor to visit me in order to discuss my vocation.” Bless me!" said she. *‘ You talk to me as if I were a pu- I don't wonder the girls are afraid of you.” this school?”’ asked Austin. In one of the younger classes, I'm pil, nota parent “You have a daughter at He thought of adding ‘ sure,”’ but decided that she did not deserve it. “Yes, | am Mrs. Boyd, the mother of that dear fat Sally--1, who have never had even to exercise in order to keep thin,” Finding her becoming more respectful he opened the study door and ushered her in. She turned on the thresh- old and asked impulsively “But how did you happen to become a schoolmaster?” “It was Sally we were to discuss,” he said ILLUSTRATED THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AE Cl By Alice Duer Miller Br MAY WILSON “Te Isn't,"’ She Said Gently, Change Anything, You Know. ‘Ah, yes,”’ said his visitor, as if she had not been now twice reproved. ‘So we were.”’ She sank into a chair and loosened her furs. She was thinking that he really was like the picture of Tristram in the back hall, only that to her, as to the Queen of Sheba on a not too dissimilar occasion, the half had not been told. ‘My poor child,” she went on, “‘in spite of her stolid exterior, is of a very sensitive nature. She is unusually i Austin thought the moment had come for the formula. “We should not expect your child te be commonplace, Mrs. Boyd " It was just what she needed. She brightened visibly. “Oh, how nice of you to say that,” she said. “‘ And you’ve put your finger on the difficulty. Poor Sally has all my temperament, but unfortunately she hasn’t my—she hasn't my rn She looked at him wistfully, obviously expecting him to say something equivalent to “your beauty,” but the hard- hearted creature remained patiently silent. Her annoy- ance was natural. “After all,”’ she said, “I believe that you're nothing but a schoolmaster.” “That's all,” he answered, “tas far as my pupils and their parents are concerned.” She stood up, visibly sulking. The interview which had promised so much entertainment had really turned out not much more interesting than her interviews with old Mrs. Bevans used to be. She thought she would try him on the side of his professional pride. PRESTON A ita te @, -~ Aaa Li... “as if You and Grandfather Could Really You Just Make it Harder for Me" June 28,1919 ““My son my son George—thinks I ought to take Sally away.” “IT do not think I have the pleasure of your son George’s acquaintance.’ “Oh, it’s not personal, only you know it is rather unusual for a man of your age—and, may I say, appearance ——” “Since you ask me,”’ said Austin, “‘I should think it better taste not to.” “Well, we'll put it all on the score of age then,”’ she replied dryly. “‘But you know you are rather young to run a girls’ school.” “It’s a question of character, not age,” an- swered Austin. “I’ve known some old men I should not care to intrust my school to.” “Oh, old men!”’ exclaimed his visitor, as if she could have written a volume on the sub- ject. There was a pause after this which at first seemed to have come of itself, but was really occasioned by the fact that Austin’s eyes had suddenly fallen upon a most unex- pected object upon his desk, and he was engaged in wondering how long it had been there. It was a crisp white gardenia in a slender vase. His con- centrated gaze directed hers to the same spot. “What,” she cried, “ have you green- houses? Or no—an admiring pupil a flower on teacher’s desk —an offering at the shrine! Oh, no, I don’t think I can take Sally away after all, it’s too amusing!’’ She went out laughing, almost before Austin had roused him- self enough to open the door for her. He drew a long breath. “I hope there won’t be any more like that so early in the morning,” he thought, and as if in answer to this wish, a stout, comfortable old lady was ush- ered in, an old lady with a tendency to chuckle, particularly at her own jokes, “I’ve just come to wish you good luck,” she said. “I knew your aunt well, dear Sophy. I’m glad she left the school to you, and not to Miss Hayes ia ‘*Miss Hayes?”’ cried Austin, to whom this was a new idea. “Yes, that was her plan. She thought you were too young, Mr. Bevans, and, if you won't mind my saying it, too hand- I couldn’t see that youth and beauty ever were a disadvantage to any- one, but Sophy thought the girls would be sentimental about you. Well, they’re bound to be sentimental about someone, for it’s their nature. Better their school- master than a second-rate actor. My Mabel remembers every word you say. She never remembered anything Suphy said. Oh, you'll lose some pupils. That Mrs. McLane is on her way over now to remove her girl. She says it’s improper, but she always was abusing the school, and you'll do just as well without her.” But Austin did not want to lose any of his pupils. “If there’s any weeding out to be done,” he thought, when he was left alone, “I'll do it myself.”” Besides, he knew how easily at this moment of the school’s life a general stam- pede could be started. No, he didn’t want to lose the McLane child, however troublesome the old lady was. A few minutes later Mrs. McLane swept in, a tall woman, befeathered, bejeweled and rustling. Can this be Mr. Bevans?” she asked, in the same tone, but not at all with the same flattering intention, with which Faust inquired about the face that launched a thou- sand ships. ““Ah, Mrs. McLane, isn’t it?” said Austin almost chat- tily. “‘I was hoping you might drop in to say good-by. We shall miss you and—and’’—he just glanced at a letter “and Muriel very much.” “Miss us? I don’t understand. Is my daughter no longer an acceptable pupil at the Bevans School?” “Very acceptable, except for your dissatisfaction with the school.” “T never felt any dissatisfaction,” she said. Austin was good-humoredly airy. ‘‘My dear lady,” he said, “‘you forget. On the second and seventh of last Jan- uary you wrote my aunt that you intended to remove your daughter. On the eighteenth of this month, you said that you had never known an institution so deficient ——” , some, “

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— ed ene

Mrs. McLane waved a large gloved hand. ‘‘I am open, candid, Mr. Bevans, perhaps overcritical, but I have the best interests of this school at heart. I should never dream of removing my daughter.” Austin shook his head. “Isn’t it too bad I should have

misunderstood you,” he said. “I’m afraid that my tele- a has gone to Mr. McFadden—Mr. Lemuel V. McFadden, you know, the cattle king.”’ He thought the name did credit to his imagination. ‘Such an interesting Id not expect a we shou gir ye laughter; but tl McLane to be commonplace. ““Ah, you have always understood her here,” said Mrs. McLane; “I can never find another school that will.” “Too bad she has to go,”” murmured Austin. He let her vainly until a new visitor was announced, and then yur ¢

al ( pita very graciously yielded. The newcomer was Mr. Browning, the writing master, a pale, bearded man, who came to complain that the young ladies did not take his course seriously. “T wish you'd speak to them, Mr. Bevans, especially to that little Italian girl. She is a very lawless element

**Lawless?” cried Austin. “Yes, sir, lawl Don’t be deceived by that gentle manner. She has great influence with her companions, and she twists Miss Hayes round her finger. And she writes a very bad hand for a parent, male, this idle-aged.

an who Mr. Doughty bowed with the manner of a n THE SATURDAY EVENING POST T wish Helen to go to college. ust send her elsewhe

pause 1 to be pleaded

“The school will mi

“T consider her intellectual equipme nt far a average, though, of course,” he added, such a thing had never so far happene: t is for that reason I do not want to see her

Doughty owned he had never con of view; he had simply assumed that « gave the best education at present available ly and shook his head at such colossal ignor: s life would be easier if he cou t all parents to an eleme ntary course in the p

ing to indicate that |} sWwWa

fa complete convert As the door shut behind him Austin snapped his fins ‘Bring on more parents,” he said boastfully. d quite col ih

has seen many strange things in his time. “I suppose I may smoke,” he said, biting off t e er i ol i ( gar. No,” said Austin, “I’m sorry, r put you may not 1 never allow smoking in my office in the morn- ing.”’ It was a rule he had made upon the spur of the minute, but t had just the right effect upon Doughty vho replaced his cigar istily in his pocket with a docil- ‘I came to speak to you about Helen,” he began. ‘Ah, Helen iid Austin, as if Helen’s problems had oddly enough the last thought in his mind. M daughte r,”’ observed Mr. Doughty, “is in many ways a re-

TY i ut t yy i “Wel Mr. Doughty,” said Austin genially, ‘‘ we hould not expect your cl it be common- place Mr. Doughty raised a deprecat- ] rly the re-

ma ‘ not dista il to him. No.” he ald, ““you are wrong. What little iccess I have had in | fe has been due to luck not to | t Take ior

‘How interesting,”” murmured Austin, at a time wl h his sound commercial training told him was the right moment. But he was thinking: A gardenia is not a com- mon, accidental flower which might have beer picked by the cook’s child out on a ramble. A gardenia is a deliberate, artificial,

expensive, troublesome He raised it and smelt the delicious perfume. Why, he wondered, did } it make him think of the little princess? Did she wear them? Or was it that the smooth whiteness of her skin na a i | He broke off, for the time had

ome to murmur again: ‘‘ How in- seventing't™ “Yes, it was as simple as that,” iid Mr. Doughty. In the excite- | ment of his narrative he had taken | out his cigar again, but on receiv- ily placed it. “I beg your pardon,” he said, and Austin for- gave him with a kindly glance. ™ to speak about Helen. came She tells me the s« hool no longe r ing a severe look from Austin he hastil re prepares lor < eye That is a great disappointment, Mr. Bevans.

They Were Engaged in a Conversation Which Came to an Abrupt Halt —on the Entrance of Austin

o kind to him, An instant la er ne id nat the door t i r, would ec a WOT was against the rul iles than Mr. Dought ul he did not intend the g g tol tud And yet about this que m of he was debating the matter wit! t, and without any cor vu it took the photograp! of ] id it face downward in a drawer the servant:

was star n the t pale } and or gardenia { he just breathed i ne but parent e no parent I le ined fhe hand ! } lt fa il vith the garder nakit Ip qu trem! tot

g in her doing a deed that vanted to ask her to sit dow lagogic tone could be give tood and he remained seated, he lly: ‘What was it you wish spe ik to me about?” ‘l want to change one courses I have elected, plea Bevans.” He looked up at her agair he to hear a fifteenth incr plausible story about Sacred erature, and from her whom thought superior! Her hand trembled more more, but she said firm! hool. air “Ther hy did 1 el

{ to vive it he ar The truth being migt vailed. The moment was d I ‘ There Via i t everal s¢ nds before he t of the right thing to sa ‘Wi did la ( vould make t more nt than M Simmons doe She smiled. sl ne a { ver I i ! ‘ teet? ild, sir e retur made a x4 it | manner a t } hat in a} | ee 16 ten bho Continued en Page 8&9

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 “Yeu Kaow What This is, of Course? Action for Breach of Promise of Marriage. Our Client is Suing for Ten Thousand Pounds"’ XXIV | 7 on the terrace the night was very still. From asteel blue sky the stars looked down as calmly as they had looke on the night of the ball, when George had waited by the and think down by the softened listening to the wailing of the ing long thoughts From the dark the ery of hrubbery, music meadows harsh note brook came a cornerake, its by distance ‘What shall we do?” said Maud. She was sitting on the stone seat where Reggie Byng had sat and meditated on his love for Alice Faraday and his unfortunate habit of licing his approach shot l'o George, as he stood beside her, she was a white blur in the darkness, He could not ee her face ‘I don’t know!" he said frankly Nor did he. Like Lady Caroline and Lord Belpher and Kegygs the butler, he had been completely overwhelmed by The situa- and Lord Mars ‘ thor hmoreton’s dramatic announcement had come upon him unheralded by any warning, had found him unequal to it A choking sound suddenly proceeded from the whiteness Maud In the noise, It jarred on Ge ** Please ! or, ‘There’ that was stiliness it sounded like some loud orge’s disturbed nerves. can't help it! really! If we think long all right. Please don't nothing to ery about, enough we shall find some way out pon “I'm not crying! The choking sound became an un- mistakable ripple of mirth. “It’s so absurd! Poor father getting up like that in front of everyone! Did you see Aunt Caroline ‘It haunts me still,’ it. Your brother didn't Maud stopped laug! ing “It’s an awful position,” she soberly. “‘The an- will be in the Morning Post the day after And then the letters of congratulation will begin to pour in, and after that the presents. And I simply can convince them all that there has been ‘It's "s face “IT shall never forget seem any too pleased either.” aid George. said nouncement to-morrow how we a mistake.” Another aspect of the matter struck her so hard on you, can't see too - Zus TRA TE O By Pelham Grenville Wodehouse Se a 62 2 = Br MH EN RY ‘Don’t think about me,” urged George. ‘‘ Heaven knows I'd give the whole world if we could just let the thing go on, but there’s no use in discussing impossibilities.”” He lowered his voice. ‘“‘There’s no use either in my pretending that I’m not going to have a pretty bad time. But we won't discuss that. It was my own fault. I came butting in on your life of my own free will, and, whatever happens, it’s been worth it to have known you and tried to be of e to you.” ‘You're the best friend I've ever had.’ ‘I'm glad you think that.” “The and kindest wish She broke off. There was a silence. In the castle somebody had begun to play the The na man’s voice began to sing. *That’s Edwin Plummer,” said Maud. sings.” George laughed. Somehow the intrusion of Plummer had removed the tension. Plummer, whether designedly and as a somber commentary on the situation or because he was the sort of man who does sing that particular song, was chanting Tosti’s Good-by. He was giving to its never very cheery notes a wailing melancholy all his own. A dog in the stables began to howl in sympathy, and with the sound came a curious soothing of George’s nerves. He might feel broken-hearted later, but for the moment, with this double accompaniment, it was impossible for a man with humor in his soul to dwell on the deeper emotions. Plummer and his canine duettist had brought him to earth. He felt calm and practical. “We'd better talk the whole thing over quietly,” he said. “There’s certain to be some solution. At the worst you can always go to Lord Marshmoreton and tell him that he spoke without a sufficient grasp of his subject.” ‘I could,” said Maud, “but, just at present, I feel as if I'd rather do anything else in the world. You don’t realize what it must have cost father to defy Aunt Caroline openly like that. Ever since | was old enough to notice anything servic any girl ever had. I well!”’ friend Oh, best piano. “How badly he I’ve seen how she dominated him. It was Aunt Caroline who really caused all this trouble. If it had only been father I could have coaxed him to let me marry anyone I pleased. I wish, if you possibly can, you would think of some other solution.” “T haven’t had an opportunity of telling you,” said George, ‘that I called at Belgrave Square, as you asked me todo. I went there directly | had seen Reggie Byng safely married.” “Did you see him married?” “T was best man.” “Dear old Reggie! I hope he will be happy.” “He will; don’t worry about that. Well, as | was saying, I called at Belgrave Square and found the house shut up. I couldn’t get any answer to the bell, though I kept my thumb on it for minutes at atime. I think they must have gone abroad again.” “No, it wasn’t that. I had a letter from Geoffrey this morning. His uncle died suddenly of apoplexy, while they were in Manchester on a business trip.”” She paused. “‘ He left Geoffrey all his money,” she went on; “‘every penny.” The silence seemed to stretch out interminably. The music from the castle had ceased. The quiet of the sum- mer night was unbroken. To George the stillness had a touch of the sinister. It was the ghastly silence of the end of the world. With a shock he realized that even now he had been permitting himself to hope, futile as he recognized hope to be. Maud had told him she loved another man. That should have been final. And yet somehow his in- domitable subconscious self had refused to accept it as final. But this news ended everything. The only obstacle that had held Maud and this man apart was removed. There was nothing to prevent their marrying. George was conscious of a vast depression. The last strand of the rope of hope had parted, and he was drifting alone out into the ocean of desolation. “Oh!” he said, and was surprised that his voice sounded very much the same as usual. Speech was so difficult that it seemed strange that it should show no signs of effort. “That alters everything, doesn’t it.” “He said in his letter that he wanted me to meet him in London, and talk things over, | suppose.”

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“There’s nothing now to prevent your going—I me are free to go where you please.” “Yes, I suppose I am.” There was another silence } ; “‘Everything’s so difficult,” said Maud. “In what way?” somehow I seem to know everything you're thinking i ‘V4 “Oa. I don’t know never felt like that before with \ “If you are thinking of me,” said George, “please don’t. He always puzzled me I know exactly what you mean. You are hating the thought She broke off. The corncrake beg of hurting my feelings. I wish you would look on me an, “It’s easy to talk like that now that your father has made this announcement you hard. | know exactly how ditiicul No, it n’t: it’s he THE SATURDAY EVENING POST rribly t it Is for you to talk as you have been doing, to try to make me feel better by pre- trifle. It’s strange. We have only really met for a few minutes at atime, and three tending the whole trouble is just a weeks ago! didn’t Know there Was su ha pe rson as vi any man, even Ge ran to call agair 1, but I've fTre mut i , having no feelings. All I want is to see you happy. As I h I knew what to do,” she said with a catch in her r , said just now, it’s enough for me to know that I’ve helped : | you. Do be reasonable about it. The fact that our engage- “T’ll tell you in two words what todo. The whole thing ment has been officially announced makes no difference in is absurdly simple. You love this man and he loves you, our relations to each other. As far as we two are concerned, and all that kept you apart before was the fact that he we are exactly where we were the last time we met. It’s could not afford to mar ou. Now that he is rich there no worse for me now than it was then to know that I’m not _ is no obstacle at all. I simply won’t let you look on me and the man you love, and that there’s somebody else you my feelings as an obstacle. Rule me out altogether. Your loved befo you ever knew of my existence. For goodness’ father’s mistake has made the situation a little more com { sake, a girl like you must be used to having men tell her plicated than it need have been, but that can easily be ) that they love her and having to tell them that she can't remedied. Imitate the excellent example of Reggie Byng. ’ love them in return.” He was in a position where it would have been embarrass “But you’re so different.” ing to announce what he intended to do, so he very sensibly “Not a bit of it; I’m just one of the crowd.” went quietly off and did it and left everybody to find out ‘ “T’ve never known anybody quite like you.” about it after it was done. I’m bound to say I never “Well, you’ve never known anybody quite like Plam- looked on Reggie as a ster mind, but, when it came to mer, I should imagine. But the thought of his sufi a way out of embarrassing situations, one to didn’t break your heart.” hat he had the right idea. Do what he did.”’ “I’ve known a million men exactly like Edwin Plum started. She half rose from the stone seat. George mer,” said Maud emphatically. ‘‘All the men I ever have co wear the quick intake of her breath. known have been like him, quite nice and pleasant and ou mean—run away?” negative. It never seemed to matter refusing them. One actly; run away! knew that they would just be a little bit piqued for a weel automobile swung round the corner of the cast] or two and then wander amiably off and fall in love with from the direction of the garage, and drew up, purring, at somebody else But you're different. You matter.” the steps. There was a flood of light and the sound of ‘That is where we disagree My argument is that, her voices as the great door ope ned. Maud rose, your happiness is concerned, I don’t matter.” “People are leaving,” she said. “‘I didn’t know it wa Maud rested her chin on her hand and stared out into — so late.’’ She stood irresolutely. ‘I suppose I ought to the velvet darkne go in and say good-by, but I don’t think I ean.” ‘You ought to have been my brother instead of Percy,” ‘Stay where you are. Nobody will see you.” he said at last. *‘ What chums we should have been! And More automobiles arrived. The quiet of the night was how simple that would have made everything!” shattered by the noise of their engines. Maud sat down The best thing for you to do is to regard me : again. “I suppose they will think it very odd of me not hor iry brother Tha ke everything simple being there.” “Neve nd what people think: Re grie Byng d in't Maud’s foot traced circles on the dry turf “What a lovely night,” she said. ‘There's no dew + oe at all The automobiles snorted, tooted, backfired and passed ance leaving the night away. Their clamor died in the dist i thing of peace and magic once more The door of the ea e closed with a bang ‘I Ippose | ought to be going in now,’ iid Maud 7 Suppose so And | ought to be thers too, px ] tely making my farewells. But something seems to tell me that Lady Caroline ar { your brother will be quite ready to d pense with the formalities. I shall go home They faced each other in the darkne ‘Would you really do that?"” asked Maud “Run away, | mean, and get married in London? “It's the only thing to do.” is quickly as that? ng simpler. You should have ‘But can one “At a registrar’ een Reggie Byn It was over before one real ized it had started. iuffy little man in a black coat with a cold in hi a few questions, wrote a few words, and the thing was done “That sounds rather — dreadful “Reggie didn’t seem to think so.” ‘Unromantic, | mean—prosai “You would supply the romance “Of course one ought to be sensible. It is just the same as a reguiar wedding “In its effects, absolute They moved up the terrace together On the gravel drive by the leps they pa ed “ lo it! uid Maud George } id tol Ke al ell belore he co ld rep] ror all his sane and convincing arguments, he could not check a pang at this definite acceptance ol then He had begun to appreciate now the strain under which he had been speaking “You must,”’ he said. ‘‘ Well, good-by.” There wa ght on the drive; he could see her face Her eyt vere troubled “What will ye a isked “Do? ] meat ire ng to stay nin your cottage Continued on Page 113 oer a Se f “Don't Think About Me,"’ Urged George. “Heaven Knows, Whatever Happens it s Been Worth it to Have Known You and Tried to be of Service to You"

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOUNDED A°D' 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR Hy Subscription $2.66 the Year Five Cents the Copy of All Newsdealers lo Canada By Sut iption $2.50 the Year Singte Copies, Ten Cents Kequests for changes of address must reach us at least two weeks before become effective. Be sure to give your old address as well as toreign Subscriptions: For Countries inthe Postal Union. Single Subscrip tions, $450 Remittances be Made by International Postal Money Order PHILADELPHIA, JUNE 28, 1919 Pioneering JIONEERING don't pay,” said Mr. Carnegie on one oceasion. As regards the fortunes of individual pio neers, very often it “don’t.” Often the first settlers merely ow and others reap By this time — loosely speaking— we know all about air planes and aé@rial navigation. Preparations more careful and elaborate than those made by the Navy Department for a transatlantic flight would be fairly impossible. But only one of its three planes got acro That the crews of the two others were not lost was partly good luck. Hawker and Grieve were saved by one chance out of a dozen. You may know all about anything on paper, but two times out of three it will not come out that way in prac- tice until experience and actual practice have corrected the theory About two times out of three the perfect shop model develops unsuspected weaknesses on the road. Certainly pioneering does pay socially in every phase of life and every branch of human activity, including polities ind economics; but only the pioneering that keeps one foot on experience and makes its plans with the mental reservation that after the best forethought has been taken the first attempt will probably go wrong and have to be tried over, The first men to fly—Wilbur and Orville Wright beat rivals who planned more ambitiously, because they proceeded by slow, patient, actual experi ment Launching on a transatlantic flight before the machine ha been thoroughly tried out over a pond l not real pioneering but only suicidal irresponsibility. That is about what a lot of alleged pioneers in politics and economics want to do Go Ahead | I WAS in the Philippines, as we recall the story, that a party of soldiers found themselves in a strange region where they had reason tosuspect that bolo knives abounded It seemed prudent t reconnoiter and then hold a council to decide which direction would be safest. So the soldiers went out scouting in pan The first pair climbed a hill and saw another hill, and having climbed that they saw another After some weaty hours they returned and reported that they had not seen anything but just one hill after another. The other scouts made like reports “Well,” said the lieutenant, “it seems that nobody really knows anything, so we best just go ahead.” And they duly reached their destination. If you are looking for hills there is nothing else within the whole circle of the horizon; you can see uncertainties in any given direction. It would be foolish, in this dis- turbed world, to assert that anybody absolutely knows anything about the future. So the only sensible plan is just to go ahead, for there is one certainty—namely, that if we don’t go ahead we shall never get anywhere There is the matter of prices, for example. Do not sit round waiting for any supposititious readjustment of THE SATURDAY EVENING POST prices. If there is anything you can make good use of, from a pair of shoes to a farm, go ahead and buy it right now and get the use of it. If you have immediate need of a building, go ahead and build it. Mr. Micawber, you remember, was always waiting for something to turn up. Nothing ever does turn up for the man who sits round waiting for it. Things turn up for people who go ahead. Go ahead now; buy and build whatever you have use for. Do not be extravagant of money or credit; but do not be extravagant of time, either; and waiting is spending time. Thrift means going ahead with production and useful expenditure as well as avoiding waste. The Alternative 4X TREMER radicals are intensely dissatisfied with the 4 peace terms. Naturally. Being intensely dissatisfied is their occupation. If they were satisfied they would cease to be radicals and become conservatives. Some Republican senators are intensely dissatisfied. Among them are a few who would probably have been equally dis- satisfied with any peace terms that were negotiated by Wilson. These particular kinds of dissatisfaction were all but certain before pen was ever put to paper at Versailles. In other words, some of the criticism is subject to a heavy discount. Yet no American is satisfied with the peace terms. They are not what the United States wanted or expected. The United States approached the peace settlement in the spirit expressed by President Wilson’s celebrated fourteen points and subsequent utterances—on which the armistice was nominally based. That was a spirit of concession, good will, good conscience, so that among all the peoples of Europe there should be the fewest possible just causes of resentment and ill will. Sacrificing points of invidious national advantage for the sake of creating good will was implicit in it. The proceedings at Versailles and at many other points on the European map have not shown a mind bent upon conciliation, good will and careful respect for every other people’s fair claims and aspirations such as would give the surest foundations for lasting peace. They have shown a mind full of jealousies and suspicions, bent upon immediate advantages irrespective of probable future effects. The United States and Europe agreed upon a written formula—a set of words comprising the fourteen points, and so on; yet what the United States intended and what Europe intended were evidently two quite different things. The essential difference is seen not so much in comparing texts as in the underlying spirit. The United States was prepared to make some sacrifice of its inde- pendent position and to assume various obligations, not for the sake of any immediate national advantage what- ever, but for the sake of assuring a lasting peace. In the mind of Europe that object, which was our whole object, was apparently secondary to immediate national advan- tages The proceedings at Versailles and at other points on the European map reflect the mind of Europe—a mind which, in spite of fifty-two months of the most destructive war- fare ever known, is still not whole-heartedly willing to sacrifice points of immediate national advantage for the sake of getting the best possible assurance of lasting peace; a jealous, suspicious, rather truculent mind which still pretty helplessly runs along the lines of the old imperialis- tic, invidious nationalism. A hundred instances show it. ‘‘On earth peace, good will toward men,” says the motto on the wall, but before the head of the table can say grace about half the guests are grabbing for the food nearest them and are ready to punch one another’s heads. At many points we see exhibited a spirit that makes war, not peace. But the United States cannot simply take it or leave it. It has got to take it in one way or another. The world of two hemispheres, as your school geography used to show it, no longer exists. We have moved next door. We must have relations with our neighbors—relations that intimately affect our own security and peace. The prac- tical question is: What shall the relations be? The United States is the leaven that makes any sort of League of Nations possible. We do not know of a respecta- ble opiniom that disagiees with that statement. It is fairly impossible that jealous, suspicious Europe and Asia should get up an effectual covenant to maintain peace by themselves. Suppose we stay out of it and there is no international organization for peace. What is the alterna- tive—sooner or later, and sooner rather than later—but a return to rival alliances and competitive armaments? In proportion as the burden of competitive armaments be- came intolerable to impoverished Europe there would be the near prospect of another war in a blind effort to get out of the blind alley; and it has become a commonplace that we cannot keep out of any big future European war, which would immediately unleash submarines, foreclose the seas, and so on. The alternative for us, too, would surely be competitive armaments. After our late experience we could never again feel any sort of security in the face of a jealous, June 28,1919 suspicious Europe that had nothing better to depend on for the maintenance of peace than the old balance of power and big armies and navies. If Europe returns to that state any American party or statesman that proposed a return on our part to the military conditions of 1914 would deserve instant repudiation, and doubtless would get it. We should have to arm increasingly. A billion a year for navy and about that for army would become permanent features. Some kind of universal military service would be a matter of course. And finally competitive armaments ‘do not insure peace, they insure war. We might form our own entangling alliance—more particularly with England, since naval power would be our chief object in an alliance—but we should have to pay the full price for it. England, especially after the experiences of this war, is not going to lend us the shield of her navy just out of good nature. In spite of our disappointments and disillusionments a League of Nations is the only thing in the world that looks toward peace. Not to look toward peace is to look toward despair. Editors and politicians make a living by words. Nat- urally they place supreme importance upon words. The text —the expressed terms— is habitually taken by them as definitely and forever fixing the status of the matter with which the words deal. You know how ready they are to fight and die, rhetorically, over the precise wording of a bill or platform or treaty. But words are only the clothes rubber clothes too. There were furious battles, for example, over the text of the Constitution of the United States, as though the politieal condition and relationships of the inhabitants of the country were to be forever fixed by the phrases printed in that document. It is well known that hardly anybody who took a hand in framing the Constitution was satisfied with the result; many were profoundly dissatisfied. Hamilton, who afterward did so much to shape the new government, was so disgusted that he quitted the convention. But with huge labor and con- troversy a text was finally agreed upon and adopted. And as soon as the document became a living compact of living men it began developing in its own way—in some very important respects quite at variance with the views of all its frimers. Editors and politicians habitually take the words as the end, and as forever fixing the conditions; in fact, they are the beginning, a scaffolding on which conditions shape themselves. So the huge controversy over the words of the peace terms and league covenant must be taken with allowances. When senators talk of their destroying the sovereignty of the United States and enslaving the nation they are of course only making some wild and foolish gestures. We face a condition: namely, a choice between the best peace terms and compact we can get—which in view of Europe’s state of mind will certainly not be what we wanted—or a return to rival alliances and competitive armaments. Neither road is what we should have picked out if we had had complete freedom of choice. We should have picked out a boulevard. But there is no boulevard. Both actual roads are bumpy; neither is free from hazards; but we must travel one or the other. We cannot make a peace settlement and compact alone. We must make it with Europe, in such way and form as Europe will consent to. Just in proportion as Europe ex- hibits a warring mind it is important that we, for our own security, should give every possible encouragement to peace. Within rational limits we can afford to take the chances on that side better than we can afford to take those on the other side. This is written before the publi- cation of the text of the treaty. When it is published every citizen should study it with an open mind and de- cide, unswayed by partisan prejudice and with a clear realization of where each of the roads open before us may lead in the end. Either road is beset with certain dangers, but can we go it alone? Without Politics HE biggest question in the world to-day is the labor question—how to give’a fair deal to and get a fair deal from labor; how to satisfy the reasonable demands of the men and women who do the world’s manual work and get them in such a state of mind that they will not make unreasonable demands; how to keep labor power con- tinually applied to production at maximum efficiency. That, take it all round sis the biggest question in the world. It is not a political question at all—or need not be. Comparatively little political action of any sort is neces- sary to solve it. We can go right ahead and solve it our- selves if we want to. Every employer and every workman can do his own solving—far easier, surer and better than congresses, legislatures or soviets can solve for him. If the men who do the employing and working will just study, open-mindedly, how to give a fair deal in their own imme- diate relationships the labor question will solve itself. Political intervention is simply calling in lawyers and courts to settle a questionable boundary case that the parties could settle themselves if they would be fair, reasonable, conciliatory. Don’t wait for politics. Start solving on your own hook.

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er ne ee A SR a TT LT re Sg RE a a - a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST EVERYBODY'S BUSINESS Household Economies N THESE days of high rents and record wages for domestic help the problem of house- hold expenses takes on added importance. We hear much ta of the necessity for greater sys- tem in the home, but let us substitute the word see what can be done matters of everyday life, need for the disseminat cation of what we already know. The result of experience and research are of real value on! in case they are utilized. Hardly one home in ten is equipped with the proper apparatus to insure economical manage- tance, the various ine xpensive types of thermometer How few people real the worth of these mple but useful articles! The metallurgical engineer would not think of guessing in the matter of the proper temperature at which to quench his steel. There is no good reason le prec ion in the operation of a home Several roon temperature thermometers carerully pla ed in a house w 1] save ickne and reduce the coal bills. Oven thermometers are useful in baking foods. Bread will bake best at a definite temperature some where betweer 350 and 400 degrees Fahrenheit; custards and meringue need only 250 to 350 degrees: roll require 400 to 450; while biscuits turn out best in a temperature of 45 gree If such information is handy for do we not more often avail ourselve itter of household retrigerators there ortunity to effect a material saving well for the housewife to know whether ri « get her full measure of f 1 sim priv lance ile is not at | the best way to cne up Is to remember that there ire thirt il nches of ice in a pound, and | dividing the total cubic inches in the whole piece of ice by irt ea possible to cal ite the number of pounds. In actual service ice is more ex- per ve than gas, for the cost of absorbing heat is five to ten times the of producing heat. Furthermore, the cooling effect of ice cannot be turned off as can the gas flame In general the common ice box is a notorious waster When the room temperature is ninety degrees, the air it the ordinary retrigerator averages about ixty degree Just how important this ice-box matter really is may be better understood when it is known that in milk kept at ixty degree there are fifteen times as bacteria developed in twenty-four hours as there are in milk kept at \ apping it up is a good w: to ruin food. Unless the ice melts it oO heat and ar swers no good purpose. Not only t nece i to use care in selecting a refrigerator but it i advisable to do a little experimenting with the box after it installed A thermometer will be found useful in dis- Zz e « lest places in a refrigerator, so that foods ich aS MIUK and meats, hich need to be Kept cool, can be Protection for Railway Investors | IS certain that 1 immediate problem of national ype | f ler interest or greater Importance than that relating to the present complex situation of the nation’s railroad rhe capital invested in the country’ railroad line ipproximately $17,000,000,000. Fifty million pe ‘ r near one-half of our population, are y the owners of these securities. Three- fifths of the capitalization of all the United States rail- road cor t Oo pond and other holdings that are it voting power The people who hold this sixty per cent interest in our trar sportation lines have no voice in ement of the prope rties. The developments resulting from government control have forced these bondholders to associate themselves with other railroad- ecurity holders and effect an organization for the purpose of mutual protection The outcome of all this is a corporation known as the National Association of Owners of Railroad Securities. With S. Davies Warfield, of Baltimore, as president, this association is making a vigorous fight to protect railroad investments. Through its membeyship the organization now represents nearly $8,000,000,000 worth of railroad securities. It speaks for thirty millions of the people who are interested in such investments. JS. Davies Warfield, of Battimore, President of the National Association of Owners of Railroad Securities portatior ne are questior that iliect not or the owners of railroad securities but the whole public as well,” i Mr. Wartield Few people understand the real seriousness of the con- equence of an tep in dea “ tl nation pr em Eve od hould kné that e ¢ not i verse] e i total railroad investment of 317,000 000,000 without a consequent mpathe effect on the ilues of all other classes of securitte In order to show the wide range of the prot lem it is only nece ir to state that $1,500,000,000, or t ntv-five per cent of the total investments of the life-insurance companies, consist of the securities of our national carriers. One-fourth of the mone our 33,000,000 policyholders have provided by life insur ance for the protection of those who are to come after them is, therefore, invested in railroad holdings. Conse . ; on who Carrie i! irance 1s actua a tockholder in one or more of our he people of the United States do not wwhership, but unle we are careful y : forced into it from lack of congres- sional action. If we long continue present policies of Federal control and operation one result will be to he ap up great charges against the railroads, and as a consequence it will become impossible to prevent their ultimate absorp- tion by the Government “There are three w Ly under which the railroad may be returned and regulated by the Government. One is to turn them back and permit conditions to continue that obtained prior to the war. ‘11 n is unthinkable, for it would soon land the carriers i iptes Of the other two methods the first is to form new large regional railroad companies, assembling the various lines according to their regional location. itates exchanging the existing railroad securities for reduced amounts of the securities of the new regik ipanies. Such a procedure would require a valuation of the different transportation lines, which work would require from five to six years. What would happen to business and shipping interests, as well as to the railroads, in the meantime is not pleasant to surmise. Even if this scheme were adopted it is inter- esting to know how bondholders could be forced to enter into such an unprofitable exchange. Furthermore, a long delayed settlement of present difficulties would de stroy the operating structures of our railroads, while combining them into fewer systems would curtail competitive service. By lf loyal . Pereone oe Se of Owners of Railroad Securitie TI latter plan has four specific fundamental First, Congre is requested to provide a definite rule rate making; second, a corporation will be to codrdinate in the public nterest the ns of the individual systems to continue t use of railr ad facilities and to utilize he public interest a fund created from exece arnings; third, there will be regional commis- to supplement the work of the Inter Commerce Commission and to act as board con ation in the settlement of wage di putes; lourt m 3 proj sed that there be Federal t ision of railroad-securit issue Under the plan Congre will be ed to instruct the Interstate Commerce Comm n ) rates high enough to produce a return of t le X per ct on the combined 1 pert estment accounts of the railroads, grouped in he three classification territorie to which the commission has subdivided the countr Some lines of course would earn two, three or four per cent While other roads would earn in exces ol e or six per cent Ar company earning over six per cent on its individual property estment account, after retaining one-third of the amount earned in excess of the six per in incentive, would be obliged to pay other two-thirds into the fund created in t} publ terest. The security own e Ooppe to the Government issuming to larantes ritue Their association voice e behel hat a guaranty le el incentive and dwarf itive and must lead to ¢ ernment owner- forthe Government would never star pit t on securities unl it manages the | perth it puaranté which mea evi ial ert ent ownership It required a jolt such as the war has pro- duced to make people realize how imp ib ‘ I l have been the methods under which the railroad have been reg ilated. The plan here propose j ean be enacted into law without dl turbing the govern- ] : mental agencies for regulating the carrier ind with- out destroying the railroad operating structure under which this country has prospered and enjoyed a service which has been unequaled in any other countr Each individual railroad would have the advantage of operating it has always operated, with proper encouragement for incentive and initiative In addition, the nation would ecure the benefits resulting from each road being man- ed t part of e great nationa tel t it the me time preserving competitive ervice oO ¢ ential to the tv re Our Banks and Savings THE creat ir was the supreme effort of mankind, and t incial lega re to be a heavy burden for the pe f ithet re However, there pone i ho ha t heer y ed } the ease t} ich ther ‘ ‘ pay for the t was! i. The total wealth of all the nat ! enyayed in the war wa even hundred and fift billion dollars in 1914. The bitter struggle of fifty million men for four year l aid to have cor imed more than 1 quarter of this accumulated wealth. Such a | f ar actual fact—+would have landed the world in bankrupt but we have no sign of such an unhappy result. Intelligent observers now voice the opinion that our productive ( t was not wiped out to the extent at first believed ihe chiet lo ‘ were in the ve acrificed and in the arrested devel opment of the world along peaceful line In othe the material loss« were in no W equal to the expended by the nations in prosecuting the Foll wing aiong thi ne of thought t ‘ Lo note that to-day there are more national i tion, with larger Cal tal and irpl ind greate making bigye r dividends and than ‘ nity from failure, than ever in our } or I he power of the United State to-d rm a half times as great as t world as late as 1890 In view of the immense } f ties during the past two years it has bee ny! that individual savings accounts 1 t } | ] the fact is that the per-capita saving 4 es j as against $89.11 in 1914. In add nt war savings up to 191% ere $8.95 per W t war started we had in tl int ! a”) ”) in bonds; now we have 30,000,000 i Inve

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 SOUVENIRS =—By Maude Radiord Warrem N THE place of honor, on the top of the piano, rest a (jerr helmet. a net and tre nh knile Dad t { ( her i fa ff mile on } Outside I ng the cultivator, his mind on h ised to be when that job was killing Ger led that he t i:.souvenir that he took from (re i lad that heimet 1 ertil ite ol nonor,. lim rm be driving the cultivator the back lot, but when dad see hat tropl on the piano he gets a thrill of r lim wasthere! Andr he’s home, safe! To jim's little brother and to Jim's best girl a souvenir means he glor f successful competitior The youngster has a | i to the othe ol that! brother was a braver er and got a better souvenir than any other brother that we oversea Jim's best girl has a concrete symbol sunt in the faces of other girls who do not own a hero, But f dad and mother the helmet the certificate that | us ther Like the college diploma that hangs on the ill, it’s a testim f family prowe Ju before the arn tice Wa gr d our boys al ng the Meuse ed to say yuuvenirs! [haven't a The only iver l int to take home to n family I elf, standing on m vn two feet tut up to that time they'd even risk their lives to get them. When one of our best divisions was having active warfare in Alsace in the spring and early summe rof 1918, t ‘ asalb pri te ! r them that won the nick- name of Billy the Dared There was never a patrol or raid planned for ir platoon or company that he did not volunteer to join. They said he always tried to induce th licer in charge to go closer to the German lines than ‘ ime Why don’t you plan for a rest, Billy?”’ I asked him. lake a leaf from the book of prima donna they don’t ing ever night You don’t want to accomplish all the wartare 1 are intended for in just one month, do you?” The German Prisoner's Story “ware ARK! Gee. there's no chance of that,” re- ponded Billy, “with those Heinies melting into the dark ahead of us. That's what I object to. They won't come out and be killed! What I'm doing is chasing a hel ] | met here hasn't been one taken yet in the whole batta ion; the Heinies we've captured wore cap I promised to send one to somebody back home, and I’ve got to make good tou! suite, for ’'m running neck and neck with a lacker that's holding a good job, and that on the spot From the day of the quiet ectors clear up to the la t American drive there were men who risked their lives for souvenirs, to say nothing of risking punishment for going A.W.0O.L,. on collecting expedition A good many home staying civiliar had this vision of the soldiers: Noble young heros idvancing, panting in the summer heat, acrTo wheat fields or dragging, mud caked through the iutumn mud, she bur ting round them, their com rades falling; they thirsting for victor for revenge. And ulter the ulva , ; ly (ting down droop giy, thinking over the experience, wait ing for food, too fthem, but wher job was overatr who had energy to put one foot be fore another or who could get a chan to do it went hunt ing for seuver The might have been soldiers a few minutes before, but now they were Just kids hunting for exploring instinct most especially was there a glad rush, in the advances, toward any dugout that looked as if it had been abandoned. What gave it an abandoned look was generally the German blankets or overcoats cast down in front of it or near it—similar to the sort of “‘To Let” announcement in civilian life, when a family has moved out of a house and left its waste papers and old rags and shoes behind. But it was never safe to assume that a dugout was abandoned just because it looked as if it was. The soldiers who thought they would like to explore it appointed one of their number who could sp ak German to make sure that the coast was clear. “‘Listen, you German in there,’”’ he would call, ‘come out with your hands up if you don’t want a grenade to blow you to kingdom come.” If there were Germans within, their whispering or move- ments would betray them, but there was rarely any hesi- tation on their part; they came out, and came, so to speak, running. Extremely cautious souvenir hunters, if there was no reply, would advance into the dugout, either shoot- ing or rushing with bayonets fixed. On the whole they preferred to find prisoners in a dugout, for that meant that no American had been before them collecting souvenirs. Sometimes these dugouts furnished very good hauls. There was one particularly in the St.-Mihiel drive which was pointed out byaGerman. He was a tall, good-looking man with a raw wale across his face. He was slightly wounded, but not enough to incapacitate him from walk- ing back with the other prisoners. While he was waiting under the curious eyes of a company which had been halted temporarily in its advance he heard some of the infantrymen talking about souvenirs. “I won't be satisfied,” said one, ‘till I have an iron cross, a pair of field glasses, a pipe, a watch, a compass, a belt and an officer’s helmet.” This prisoner leaned out of the crowd of prisoners and said in very good English: ‘I can tell you of a dugout where you will find all of that. You will also find many maps and many other prisoners, nearly all officers. But if you do not discover that dugout you will leave behind you a rear guard of determined German fighters. If you will allow me to see your major I can give you valuable information.” He kept putting up his hand to his face as he spoke, as if the unhealed wale pained him. “Take him to the major,” said the officer in charge. “It will be a couple of hours anyhow before I can march the prisoners back.” The German was taken to the major, who looked up at him wearily from the dugout where he was comparing French and German maps of the same territory. The German saluted stiffly and, breathing quickly, said: “Sir, | have a favor to ask of you.” t “You are in no position,” returned the major stonily, ‘to ask a favor.” “Sir, I wish to tell you that not a quarter of a mile from here is an abri. There is a German colonel there and sev eral other officers. They have important papers, but they will never surrender. Sir, I ask you to let me go and blow up that dugout with hand grenades.” “You can show us the dugout and we’ll send a party of our own men,” the major said. “Sir, I mean no treachery. That colonel is my colonel. He gvave mea be iting. I swore he should die for it. I told you he would not surrender. If you send a party those officers will fire with a machine gun they have planted there. But if they see me coming they will trust me and I can then kill them with grenades.”’ “T’ll send a party,”’ decided the major; ‘‘you can show me at long range where the dugout is.”’ The prisoner indicated it—a hump in a meadow with no cover in front of it and only a light fringe of trees behind and at one side. Anyone approaching it head-on, so to speak, would be plain machine-gun targets. The reason why the Germans there did not sweep the swarming road or else surrender was evidently because they wanted, when the y thought it safe, to do some rear firing. Mopping Up the Dugout HE major appointed a party to take the dugout. The prisoner said there was a little ditch in which they could take cover, advance diagonally, and then approach the dugout from the rear. The corporal in charge, who was a judge of men, took the German’s directions and reached the rear of the dugout successfully. Then the men of the party threw themselves flat on the ground while the corporal called for surrender. A wave of machine-gun bullets answered him, spraying this way and that, but going over the heads of the men. It was enough. The party crawled back in a roundabout way, and the German informer once more begged to be allowed to go. ‘Sir,” he argued, ‘“‘you can keep me covered, so that if I make a false move you can kill me. Even if I wanted to deceive you I have no information that could help these officers. If you doubt me, if I fail to throw the hand gre- nades, you will have time to kill me before I could rush into the dugout. Your snipers will be scarcely a hundred yards away from me.” He was allowed to go forward, and he marched slowly across the bare yellow-brown meadow, goose-stepping as he went. He advanced without interference from either side. But the closer he came to his objective the more ready were the trigger fingers of the American snipers. When he was within a few feet of his colonel’s dugout he raised his right arm with a fierce gesture and threw a gre- nade. Then he followed it with two others. “Tf he’d thrown another,” said the private who told me the story, “‘we’d have shot him sure, for we wanted something to be left of that dugout when he had done with it There wasn’t much left of the officers. I think there were a couple still alive, but I can’t tell you if one was the colonel. Of course, to make this a story-book tale, the colonel ought to have been alive and conscious, with his head moving slowly from side to side. The German private should have gone in and said to him: ‘Listen, Schwein- hund! It was me done (iis to you. I guess we're even, now, old socks, what?’ “That guy, how- ever, didn’t stop to gloat. He beat it back in a hurry to the other bunch of prisoners. I suppose he thought maybe he’d be recognized and hanged, drawn and quartered if he ever got back to (Continued on Page 30) se ee a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ~ MADE BY THE MAKERS OF CAMPBELLS SOUPS . - — ee we ee L le at We ole abe ale ale ofa ale ale ale ee" 9 ~~ ET 2 a eS. EE EN ES re rR AT I PORK | ANY By) BEANS ITH TomATO SAUCE \ JOSEPH CAMPBELL COMPANY fp) “ee, CAMDEN,.N.J,,USA : a 7 — ¥ - oe © -t nee : a lv “S.TRADE mane - 6 . Easy to digest— made so by Campbell’s cooking ~ ee _ By slow thorough cooking—Campbell’s way—we KB | preserve all the nutritious substance in which our beans | are so rich. This produces beans firm to the eye, | yet so tender they melt on the tongue, palatable and splendidly nourishing. As delicious as they are | wholesome. The appetizing tomato sauce and the | rich pork flavor give a taste that is not soon forgotten. Hy | Try Campbell’s Pork and Beans for dinner today. | } Convenient. Economical. | One size | 15c a Can a One kind bombtelé., BEANS PEDEAN DSA EAC E WITH TOMATO SAUCE - ee nn AM Ss ee bet ae tite Cuenca. TD cetentiie. .Ribedime -- a es

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(Continued from Page 28 Germal Or be ‘ id a hunch that Wilhelm’s Ger- man Gott ht tl he’d been a bit too radical, and would strike him ¥ htning or something for reacting wainst | t “But that du t! OF t ! It wa ome place, barring t lutter bits of German I wa f tl | that K It al ! ay it was well padded. A ( eanda er frame with a picture of t Dutch lad n it, a row of dre helmets on a hell, five i ol held giasse one iron ¢To of the first lass and two of the second; three other gold medal those re ! t e been big bo There was a Luger for ever ome’ 4 la couple of vord There were solid ilve poor and } th the vellest bone handles, There was even a chest of drawer vell mahogany, pinched from some French chateau, “Man alive! Whe e begin to sort them out we thought we were jake And ther at happens? Along comes an officer and pulls us out of that. Our outfit was moving up! Gee, that was the bitter fortune of war! There stood that officer and a detail behind him, grinning like mad. They were to take over the place, and they had great expectatior \ I had time for wa to salvage one of the crosse that | wa palming at the time the officer came in, and a Luger I had taken the precaution to slip in my armhol I thought they were coming to me because it was me that took that prisoner that tipped us off to the dugout.” An Admitted American Weakness JHERE is a kinship between adolescence and the collee- tor’s instinet, and primitive races and looting. Every child at some age or other begins collecting something. We all know the craze that college boys have at some period in their career for looting. I have dined in frater nity houses where every bit of the silver had been salvaged from hotels and rail d restaurant Indeed, I doubt if the tendency to illicit souvenirs is co fined to college boys in their callow state I know of a middle-aged man who takes from every hotel where he stops a towel or a table As he travels a good deal his wife inen except tablecloths and doilic napkin a t souveni never has to buy an It was one of our allie I believe, who remarked that England and Frances went into this war for defense, but the American soldiers undertook it for souvenirs. But after all, to wish to carry off souvenirs is a recognition of the fact that we have the feeling of locality, the pirit of place, The real valve to us of a souvenir is its power of evocation, of calling up the spirit of the place whence it was taken. It is an aid to our imagination and our memory. But, indeec t nir With the exception of those of us who can afford to be globe-trotters we are genuinely rooted in our soil here, We have either tayed put or else we have traveled in as a nation we have always liked souve- restricted home area A lot of us of course have seen America first because we ive had to! When we did go by) traveling we ught back souvenirs. Many a foreign hopkeeper di Americal begun to x in for foreign travel. The home ites his prosperity from the time when the travelers, too, cashed for souvent I have known people traveling only from Milton Junction, Wisconsin, to Janesville, Wiscor , and coming home with souvenirs, Lax ul pr je and the pi or for pieture postal have assisted the fad for souvent Local jewelers have engraved “ Bird Center” on broken sets of poor and sold them eparately as mement The Womar Exchange has exhibited china hand painted plate with the motto “A pre ent from Clin ton When rnt-wood and burnt-leather work was in, how ma a local maid sent her best young ma i ‘* Token from Decatur.’ Every phase of Ameri or craze or real development has been related in some way 1 experience, cult to the ) enu The war-souvenir tract was well estab- lished in the consciousne f our soldiers long before they went overs« brom eat n 1915 souvenirs of sorts began to arrive in the United ites, with wounded Canadians or with wounded Americans who had temporarily shifted their birthplace a few hundred miles north and west. These were mostly 77 she a French soldier's helmet, a brown leather Germat irtridge case, a Goll f uns buckle or a ring made of alum im set with a bit of church- window gla 1 dor know where the German helmets went in those day rhese trophies were put in the win- dow of the newspaper office or the hardware store, and won the same clustering attention that is given a long- haired damsel in a kimono demonstrating the efficacy of the Swear-to-Heaven hair tor So when the soldiers set sail for France they knew that Dad and mother did not mention the subject; nor did the best sort of best girls. souvenirs were expected of them But second-best girls did, and mere friends and little brothers and sister True to form, the soldiers started souvenir hunting. Long before they ever saw the front line, while they were still in training in some back area, they began to buy things to send home. And such things! Awful plush bags; green or brown handkerchiefs with ‘A uuvenir from Frances | written diagonally across the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST corner; bits of bric-a-brac that could have been bought Whenever they asked the advice women we were able to guide them toa more cheaply at hom« of the Y. M.C.A discreeter choice; it wasn’t hard to prevent a boy from buying his sixty-year-old mother a yard of expensive tinsel lace because it looked pretty. Some of the soldiers had well-trained taste and bought lace for their womenkind, particularly Lorraine lace— before the prices jumped. But when they got into the so-called quiet sectors they began to cofhfine themselves to war souvenirs. At first these were shells and shrapnel, for even in a quiet sector enough shells came over to supply every man with one toa dozen cases, and with all the shrapnel he wanted. At first, whenever a shell burst the boys in its vicinity would run to it, scramble for it and pick up the shrapnel, piping hot. That night dozens of letters would be written to this effect: Dear Kid: To-day a shell pretty near bounded off the bean of yourstruly. It burst so near me that I was almost thrown down and the shrapnel flew all round me, For- tunately, I wasn’t wounded. I’ve saved some of the shrapnel for you. The time came soon enough when the soldiers would have as soon picked up pebbles as shrapnel. The shells they used at first to save ‘as is.”” But presently some Frenchmen brigaded with them set up a new trade. They used to polish the shells and make them into shining vases, on which was engraved Lorraine, or Luneville, or Toul, or Alsace. After that inkstands and match safes and powder boxes were made displaying fleurs-de-lis and American flags. But the souvenirs de luxe appeared when the first American drive started. The harvest began at Belleau Wood and did not cease until the last American had forded the Meuse on the morning of November the eleventh. Anyone who followed a drive, particularly the drive from the Marne to the Vesle, could have helped himself. Every few kilometers there would be a German ammunition dump full of unexploded shells, and every shell was in a strong green wicker basket with two handles—an admir- able object to secure for a wastebasket or an umbrella stand. Every few kilometers there was a general-supply dump—a grayish heap of German helmets, bayonets, rifles, machine-gun belts, cartridge cases and canteens. Above all there were prisoners, Bashful Prisoners | THE beginning these prisoner did not quite under- tand what was expected of them in the souvenir line, but they did by the time of the Argonne drive. My first experience with German prisoners and souvenirs occurred one morning in a wheat field. I was in a Y car chasing the Front. We weren't allowed to drive any farther, so we cut across a fringe of woods, whence the drive had started the day before, to take some chocolate to a detail of boys that we saw working ina field. It was a burying detail. As we reached them they had just pulled three hiding Germans out of the wheat. Pallid and trembling, weary wretches the y were, “Say, lady,” said the corporal in charge of the burying detail, ‘‘ will you tell ’em we are not going to kill em, but they've got to dig graves for us?” While 1 was saying this in my halting German one of the detail was fingering the shoulder straps and buttons of one of the Germans. The prisoner drew back a little. “Say, is this guy stand-offish or is he scared?"’ inquired the American. ‘I ain’t never took a prisoner before and I figure he is mine, lock, stock and barrel, blouse and pants and cap and boots.” The German was a little stand-offish. He had not yet fitted himself into the psychology of a prisoner, for he asked us where the German Army had now established itself. “Say, can you beat it?” asked one of the detail, who understood a little German. “Here's the bird, a prisoner, and yet he can’t realize it. He knew the Germans had the ground a little while ago and he sees us standing all round, but he'can’t believe it.’ He feels as if the Germans must be down in Le Forte or Meaux, and he'd like to figure out some German explanation. of why we're here. Say, lady, would you mind telling him that we’ve pushed the Kaiser clean to hell?” “I don't know the German word for hell, but I'll tell him we've driven the Germans way back.” * Zuriick ?” said the German dolefully. “Yes, back; it’s the beginning of the end for you.” He gave a long sigh of weariness, of acceptance. Then he said: “If it is the beginning of the end, then I am glad I am a prisoner.” He heaved another sigh and, getting out his pocket- knife he cut off his shoulder straps and two or three of his buttons and passed them over to us. His companions imitated him precisely. They did it all as if they had re- hearsed it. Late that afternoon I saw these three pris- oners again. We overtook them in our car somewhere between Chateau-Thierry and Montreuil. They were part of a long, long line of prisoners going south, guarded at intervals by soldiers on horseback, the sun gleaming on their bayonets held high in the air, their young faces June 28,1919 a bit haughty and masterful. I fear that a long procession of soldiers, driving north in big trucks in pursuit of the fleeing Germans, made the occasion a jocund one by lean- ing forward and shouting: “ Fritzie, listen: To hell with the Kaiser!” And I fancy that the prisoners, who had been so unwill- ing to believe that the Germans were pushed zuriick, had set an example on this fair day, because I noticed a good many German shoulders that lacked the gray stripes with the red letters, a good many buttonholes that hung slack. I witnessed a good many rich hauls of souvenirs, par- ticularly in the St.-Mihiel drive. There was a certain town not far from Thiaucourt which evidently contained a Ger- man paymaster’s office, for some of the soldiers came on a chest containing thousands and thousands of marks. A good many of us who shared in that drive have a mark or two as souvenirs. Later I met American soldiers in Germany who mourned exceedingly that they had not taken whole packets of the money to spend in the land of the enemy. In the same town was a great deal of German stationery on which the soldiers took joy in writing home; and hundreds of postcards. These postcards were nearly all high-colored scenes, depicting men and maidens dan- cing or drinking together. Ugly cynical pictures, we thought them. Evidently it was intended that the soldiers should convey a sense of gayety in writing to their people at home. The only other postcards I saw were not to be written upon. They were object lessons. They purported to be taken from life and were reproductions of the executions of German soldiers who had tried to desert or had been con- victed of other treachery to the Fatherland. Old China and Gold Plate N ANOTHER town a German sign over a jewelry store invited those who got there early enough to help them- selves. And they did. That jeweler was especially well supplied with samples of a clumsy wide gold bar from which was suspended a tiny iron cross. I think there must have been about fifteen dollars’ worth of gold in it, and I have never seen gold in a more unesthetic form. I saw dozens of boys later on who had these brooches for sale at from five to ten dollars. Besides the brooches were stickpins of several kinds, watches and rings and napkin rings. Though why they should be for sale in a front-line town I do not know. Evidently not many of them sold, judging from the number our boys were able to sequester. There were pipes too—long ones and short ones, meerschaum and brierwood. Many a souvenir hunter at home is treasuring this moment a German pipe which he thought came out of a general’s dugout but which really never got out of its case till it took its first journey to the A. P. O. The boys who secured these trophies did a pretty good business in selling them to their less fortunate friends. It wasn’t so quick a way to make money as crap shooting but it was rather more certain. I never knew one of our soldiers to take anything that he thought belonged to a French civilian. In Ch&teau- Thierry, in the first day or two after the Germans had been driven out, and before there was time to set guards over any of the houses, and, above all, before the French had come back to keep an eye on things, there were all sorts of rich property lying about. In one house I saw the most beautiful old china, in another solid silver and gold plate. I can’t think why the Germans had happened to leave it. In another I saw some very valuable bric-a-brac. Yet our soldiers left it untouched. In Thiaucourt a soldier who was a good judge of lace came across a box of it—a German box with a German letter inside of it. When I talked to him he was trying to figure out whether he could consider that German lace or whether he would have to consider that it was French lace stolen by the Germans; in the latter case, whence had the Germans stolen it, and if he himself passed it by, wouldn’t some other American soldier get it, or, still worse, might it not fall into the hands of some French civilian who ‘had no right to it? “A nice flow of language you have,” said a corporal. “Tf you have a conscience like that, why don’t you toss up for it? You ought to know you couldn’t argue fairly on a thing like that.” One boy brought me two rolls of black cloth and asked me to decide which was the better quality. ‘“*Found ’em in a chest in the house we cook in,” he explained. ‘“‘There’s a lot of German truck and French truck, both in the chest— French letter, German letters, a French rosary, a litthke German carved box with Auf Wiedersehen on it. Downstairs on the walls are big photographs of German soldiers and French civilians taken together. What I think it means is that the folks who lived in that house must have got on mighty well with the Germans, so since it seems to be a half-and-half affair I’m just going to call one of those rolls of cloth French and the other German. That one you've said is the best I’ll call German, and send home to my mother.” Souvenirs were easy enough to get. I never expressed to a soldier a wish that I had so-and-so but he was able to (Concluded on Page 32) 1 ———

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SS eee ee a ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Quoth Robust Texas to Old Penn State “ ELLO, Pennsylvania, tucked ’way up there northeast. You sure are a busy fellow, though I s’pose you’d often like some room to breathe in. Why, I’m bigger than you and some of your neighbors put to- gether. And look at my cattle and rice,my cotton! Have an owt Cigar?” Pennsylvania grinned indulgently as he lit his owL. ‘*Texas, you big boy, you’re cer- tainly large and husky. But where would all your cotton be without the help of my knitting mills? Why, child, look at my coal, my steel, and my to- bacco! And where would you be but for the Declaration of Independence —written in my Philadelphia! ”’ é é é Dependable states, like dependable men, want dependable merchandise. They demand dependable cigars. That’s why ow. and wuire owl sell big in Texas and Pennsylvania and every state between! Try each. Try both! DEALERS: If your distributor does not GENERAL CiGar Co., INnc., 119 We TWO DEPENDABLE CIGARS depend lable cig ,w ‘ t 40th Street, New York ¢ WHITE Owl v Invincible Shape Ne OW! A Londres Shape ec sanded Branded for your protection

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32 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Concluded from Page 30 reluctance I id others just like it he was sending produce it, with the remark, to silence any might show, that he } home Indeed, the soldier seemed to consider it one of their points of honor to supply the civilian women working overseas with any trifle they might happen to mention. I know of a nurse who admired an aviator’s beautiful leather coat. That night it arrived at her address by pecial messenger me of the women overseas confined their collecting to officers’ insignia. I know of an actress who started with a second lieutenant’s bar, and in the course of three months progressed steadily through all the grades until, when I la aw her, she was wearing the stars of a major genera tut for all that souvenirs were easy to get they were not easy to carry; nor was a post office always at hand. The average large-sized souvenir, posted after mid-July a good deal of phy sical A girl who had been of parting did not alway look good enough at long range to take so muc h Once in early November on my way to the working I passed by a field in which lay From it emerged two soldiers I knew, Charley and Barney, Charley howed me two German helmets with holes in them. ‘They'll make dand windows,” he said “The of last year, usually represents exertion on the part of the sender promised souvenirs during the day trouble for aid station where I wa many G:ermar both well laden flowerpots to hang in the front water can run out of the hr ipnel hole = Barney being Irish, and therefore sensitive, said to me: *Mavbe being a lady you'd be thinking this was like , but it isn’t. You've got to figure that the Germans Their folks would never get them, nor the German Government; and we better to get them off a robbing grave are done with these thing might as well have them It’ dead German than a living one. This is my only chance of getting souvenirs too.” If I can carry a pack that weighs from sixty remarked Charley to ninety younds to please the Government,” “| guess I can tote a few pounds extra for my I ain't going to give any away to any girls yot to consider the Government for a year or so, but I smoothed down for the rest of my one good bunch of souvenirs means | I placidly, folks at home I got to keep my folks life Why suy, could smoke all over the house, track in mud, sleep late, and invite fellows up to dinner without giving the family notice beforehand il hands of the soldiers as they the hands of civilians.” ‘But some civilians at home are going to get left,”’ said ve me, souvenirs grease the tell me Liberty Bonds grease Barney with a wide grin. ‘Girls that never spoke to me before went out of their way to be polite, if not affec tionate, as soon as I enlisted. ‘Il always knew I could count on you,’ says one of them, as if it was her own private war and me a retainer of her own. ‘I always knew I could count on you,’ she says, and she never troubled her head to count on me, except as one of those she needn't trouble ‘And if you uuvenir over there,’ she says, ‘will you just send it to me? And Vil have it raffled at the next church fair, and then ou'll be knowing what a lot of good you're doing.’ Be to save a dance for hould come across a lieve you me, the girl that gets a souvenir off me is the one that comes in at night to read the papers to my old man whose eye ire bad, and helps my mother with the wash on Monda I’m no souvenir hunter for one of these proud snip that wouldn't kn morning ~ l wa on earth if 1 wasn’t oldier, and won't know [I’m on earth three months after I'm out of uniform.” The Views of the Hard-Boiled Orderly "a easiest way to get souvenirs was off the prisoners As I mentioned, by the time of the Argonne drive they knew our interest in them Some of them used to come forward holding out their watches and buttons and shoulder straps-——and trying to hide their iron crosses, Once in the last stretch of the drive a German offered me ice | had done him. to part with their possessior On that day of blinding glory, the first of November, scores of wounded German prisoners passed From one Two or three his wound medal in return for some serv Occ asionally they were not. too re uly through the aid station where I was working of these an orderly was taking an iron cro others had attempted to take it, but when the German wept they had desisted. This orderly, being what is com- monly called hard-boiled, did not desist “Oh, please,” I said, “don’t take it away from him. id it four day “Lady, he got that for killing some good American oldier, if not several. The way He says he has only | I look at it he ought to If I don’t take it some the hospital will. The wonder is that this Fritz here got this far with it. It's the infantry boys that skim the cream with these crosses.” firure that he’s lucky to be alive of the fellows down a The problem There were two methods of losing Yes, souvenirs were easy enough to get was to keep them then One was to throw them away and the other was to have them taken away In the be ginning the yidiers were tremendously eager for souvenirs. They salvaged all sorts of things. They thought that they could carry them ‘This is the way it would work out,” explained my friend Bink “I'd see a dandy German helmet with a neat little hole in it, and all painted with lovely camou- flage. Also I'd see one of these saw-tooth bayonets that you've read of, and a dandy trench knife.” “Where would you see them, Binks?” “Well, these I’m speaking of I got up near Fére-en- Tardenois when we were in rest. There was a field not half a mile away from us and sixty dead Germans all in a bunch. A fellow told me, a runner that came down past it. So one morning before dawn I went A. W. O. L. to see what I could police. And, believe me, it was a good thing I was out there with an object or I never could have stood it. I ain’t got much imagination and I’m used to dead men, but there is something just plain awful in standing on a battlefield in gray dawn with the mists rising, and all those still men, and you think you see them moving, some of them, and y ‘re trying tos tand to. Gee, it’s fierce the things I thought of as I stood there ou wonder if they among tne m! “But I got half a dozen helmets and a couple of bayo- nets and this saw-tooth bayonet I told you of, and a couple of trench knives. I knew I could sell what I didn’t need to some of the fellows. Then I added mine to my pack. What I thought was that we'd be stuck in the woods where we were billeted for a week or two, and by that time a post office would have moved up near us and I could send my stuff home. ‘Well, when I get back, before I’ve a chance to do more than dispose of half my stuff, we’ve got orders to march back twenty kilometers. Oh, boy! That long hike taught me a lesson, when I had to throw away one thing after another that I'd sworn not to part with. I was plain grease when I got to the billet, and I had nothing left but the saw-tooth bayonet The Incredible Adventures of Two Collectors A L the same I meant to have a good collection of ouvenirs, sO as to prove to my grandchildren that I was a real fighter. So after that when there were good pick- ings I neve r picke ad the m, unl 3 they were small things like field glasse But I assisted a fellow in our platoon that was crazy over souvenirs—a fellow that was bone from the ears up. ones for him, and then I'd follow in his track like a vulture. He'd carry them and groan and carry them, and then after about fifteen miles he’d begin to throw them away. for we were never far from our ; and crosses and compasses. I'd select ge 0d That was my moment, camping spot when he gave out, and I didn’t have far to carry them. Then there was always some Y. M. C. A. man who'd take them to the nearest post office for me and send them home. ‘And in the meantime I hung on to them, you bet! I always sleep in my blouse and overcoat in all weathers, so as to be sure to have them. For, believe me, there are some guys in this man’s army that don’t wait till you die before they begin to salvage off you! The place where I pack my souvenirs is right under my head. There isn’t a guy in the world that can touch what’s under my head without waking me, and setting me fighting like a bear- cat.” For those souvenirs that they had decided to kee p, the When they g them soldiers de veloped a fierce sense of property. were wounded they ran a strong chance of losi when the bullet or shrapnel struck them and the moment when they somewhere between the momen were put in a real bed in the evacuation hospital. I know two infantrymen who had each sworn to take care of the other’s souvenirs in case of wounding. Each of them was wounded in the drive to the Vesle, one of them with a bu'let in his shoulder, and the other with shrapnel in his arm. They were tagged as hospital cases, but th*y tore off their tags and begged the battalion surgeon to fix them up and let them stay in the kitchen, helping as best they could until they were well enough to move up front with the company. In the kitchen they slept on their possessions in safety for one night. The next day a shell hit the kitchen and wounded them with shrapnel so badly that they were both stretcher cases. “You can cut out the aid station for us,”’ they told the stretcher bearers. ‘‘ Have a heart, and slip us in the row that goes straight to the ambulances. If we can just get as far as the field hospital there’s a guy we know there that will take care of our things.” Whatever plans the litter bearers may have had were halted by the appearance of a German aviator. The litter bearers made for a ditch with their burdens, and lay low. But the aviator was flying low and he began to rowel them with machine-gun fire. Most of the bullets went wild, but two of them found their mark in the two wounded just as they were being shoved into the ditch. When the aviator had gone the litter bearers took the They put them outside to wounded up to the aid station June 28,1919 wait their turn. Then—I know you won’t believe this, but I have to tell it as it occurred —a mule ambulance ran away, and the rear wheels passed over these two men. “T give up,” said one of them hoarsely; “I guess it ain’t intended for us to keep them and our lives too. Here, son,” he added to a wagoner, “keep our stuff, and if you’, got the heart of a man leave us have them when the doctors are done with us.”’ I was working in an evacuation hospital once when an officer was brought into the receiving room half uncon- scious, but tightly clutching his pocketbook. The orderly who was undressing him tried to unclasp it from his hand. “Nothing doing,” said the officer feebly. “I’ve kept myself conscious for thirty kilometers of devilish driving just to hold on to this. Nothing doing.”’ And he did hold on to it till he entered the operating room, where he sur- rendered it to a surgeon whose looks he liked. When the Army of Occupation was marching through Germany it had a good many chances to buy iron crosses from the German soldiers, who apparently either lacked sentiment or needed money. Several times, I ought to say, these purchases were made from German children who had probably taken the crosses without parental consent. Along about February the Germans began to manufacture iron crosses to sell as souvenirs. This dis- gusted a good many of our boys. “You ean call the French thrifty,”” Binks said to me, “but you wouldn’t catch them selling their Croix de Guerre for souvenirs. I bet no manufacturer in America would start making D.S. C.’s and D. S. M.’s. When you consider what those iron crosses have stood for in Ger- many it looks like there was something wrong with a race that would sell them for souvenirs. They couldn’t do it if they had any real pride or real sentiment.” The last souvenirs I saw in Germany were a whole car- load of German officers’ helmets to be used by our Govern- ment as one of the accessories of the Fifth Liberty Loan drive. Beautiful dress helmets they were, that the officers meant to wear when they were parading as conquerors through Paris and Calais and such places. I know there was a whole carload because I stood beside it in a German ipply dump a couple of miles outside Coblenz and saw a detail of our soldiers loading the car. Magnificent helmets, shining black with gold or nickel emblazoning the front and a sharp point on top; or else of gleaming gray steel with the point on top and a long neck piece behind. The marvel was that any full-sized man’s head could get into them. They looked like fourteen-year-old headgear. “I do hope,” I said to one of the soldiers who were carry- ing them, “‘that you men will be given a helmet or two.” Keeping the Girls Guessing = IVE us each a helmet or two!” said the soldiers. ‘“‘ The lieutenant in charge guards them the way the diamond-mine folks guard their diamonds. They pretty darn near search us like they do the diamqnd miners. Not literally, you know, but I notice the M. P.’s running their eyes over our uniforms to see that we don’t bulge anywhere. The lieutenant says what with the way staff officers and souvenir hunters come here asking for them that soon there won’t be a bit of German equipment left in the whole place. “So for us buck privates there’ll be nothing doing in the giving line. But, lady, seeing that you’re reasonably well heeled in the helmet line yourself, I don’t mind telling you that I’ve managed to hide three, and I'll take them home in my raincoat to-night, and to-morrow | can stick them under my armpits and get away with it all right. I am sending them to my sister, and she’s to tell the world that one’s for her and two's for my best girl. That'll keep my best girl guessing. Lately she’s been writing me these Il-wonder-if-we-haven’t-made-a-mistake letters; so I’m not going to waste any helmets on her till I see how we really stand A little while tater I stood in the post office and saw an enormous pile of souvenirs of all shapes and sizes, posted by our soldiers, just ready to be shipped overseas. I fol- lowed those souvenirs in my mind’s eye; I visioned their far-flung career all over our country, from the glades of Florida to the edges of the western deserts. I saw a motor van distributing them in the heart of a big city. I saw a rural carrier with a horse and buggy stopping at the crossroads and setting helmets wrapped in towels or sack- ing on the top of zine post boxes. And the people at home look at them and finger them and dimly see what they mean. Little boys put on the helmets and have mock battles. Here and there a souvenir is wet with a mother’s tears, because her boy didn’t come back. By and by they won’t be shown to visitors any more. Everybody will have seen them. The family won’t take them down and dust them quite so often; and Jim, with the bullet scar on his cheek, will rarely be asked to fight his battles o’er. But, nevertheless, those souvenirs will never lose their significance. They have a life of their own, because they are a symbol of the fact that our boys fought the good fight. —— tant em

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CTION, quick and di rect, was the char acteristic busines trait of the male member the firm of Ben B. Downey & Co. It was in witness of the efficacy of this trait that Mr Downey now held in hi hand and fir gered lovingly three one hundred - dollar bills. These bills were the fruits of that : single operation whichin the first three hours of its ex istence the new firm had successfully concluded But the firm possessed othe 1umble qualities, Under the addendum of “Co.” breviation which often covers a larger multitude of sins than charity— there were masked the name and character of Miss Maisie Wells, whose prettiness came near to beauty One of Mi a wretched ab Maisie’s assets was woman’s natural con- servatism and this manifested itself now in a brow clouded with apprehensions tut how are we going to keep the money till morning, Ben?” she asked anxiously. Though there was a steel vault in the offices which the firm members had so abruptly inherited from their late employer, James Leroy Wyman, James Leroy was in jail for the kiting of faked securities and neither partner could be so indelicate as to break in upon his present rueful reflec- tions with anything as jarring as an inquiry for the com- bination of his late safe. “You keep two of them, Maisie,”” suggested her partner nobly, and passed the bills over with an almost reverent air. “They'll be safer with you than with me and to- morrow we'll open an account at one of the banks.” Need it be remarked that these two young people were both serious-minded? Life to them was still a great adventure omething big, wonderful and inconceivably thrilling—and one of its finest thrill possessed the two of them just now, coming as a sort of happy reassurance in the moment when they had taken one of Fortune's biggest dares by briefly considered entry into business partnership after having known each other only since somewhere about the stroke of eight upon that same blessed morning. Maisie acce pted the bills conte mp! itively, You take the other hundred,” she directed in practical tones, “‘and go right down to Sam Berger's and get you a new set of scenery. I don’t blame you for being proud of them second lieutenant’s bars, but I’ve got a conscience about anybody splurging round in a uniform on their own private business, Seems to me the uniform’s kind of acred to something else Primarily this speech revealed several things about Miss Maisie’s heart and disposition; but it also gave a hint of certain defects in the girl's early education which time and study had not yet entirely overcome As to these latter, however, Ben was nothi g da ted, for he had perceived in his young partner qualities that far more than counter- balanced any mere grammatical imperfections, Already in his brief acquaintance she had displayed loyalties that were admirable, ambitions that commanded respect, and a genius for discerning sympathy that—if its story could only be told— had put him that day in the business direc- tory of the city of San Francisco. Ben looked into the earnest gray eyes as if startled at this sentiment about the uniform bre: of her who, at her typewriter desk, was intended to re the outward world as his secretary, though in reality she was his partner. “ Right-o, girl,"” he v and turning, swung open the door that for the first time he might give King serious consideration to the sign which had been placed upon it so recently that he had not yet had time to observe > all it critically. BEN B. Downey & Co TRADERS “Fine!” he declared, turning back from the spectacle just in time to observe Maisie concluding a mysterious movement of some kind and to note that the bills were no lor ger in her hands THE SATURDAY ILLUSTRATED Br “Yeu Sold Me Out? What Have I Got Coming Then?" RALPH PALLEWN Sure you've put the money in a safe place?” he remarked with a kind of involuntary solicitude. “The old First National’s never been robbed yet,” declared the girl, and bent upon young Mr. Downey a glance that was significant yet calm and steady. The very circumstances of their so recent association—which already began to seem some years in length—made it necessary that Mr. Downey should be allowed to perceive that at all times and under all circumstances his partner was a lady and a very particular lady at that. Partner- ship—mere business partnership—was a thing that could not be presumed upon. “Oh, I beg pardon!”’ said Ben, and blushed slightly. “Better get somethin’ neat but distinguished-looking. Nature hasn't been the kindest to you, Ben, in the way of a figure, you know. Get something with lines in it that'll make you look taller’n what you are and not so chesty where the last button in your waistcoat will be when you get on civies.” Maisie possessed a shrewdness that, despite sophistica- tion, was vastly attractive and the charm of her ever ready and ever practical sympathy was unmistakable. Ben flushed again, but smiled understandingly, apprecia- tively. “‘ All right, partner,”’ he declared and stood playfully at attention as if before his captain. Maisie contemplated him criticaily—and approvingly. He was wholesome-looking if not handsome; he was strong if he did not have the figure of Apollo; he was energetic if he did make foolish blunders; he had large self-confidence and he was learning rapidly. To-day he had encountered one ignominious defeat and scored one glorious success. By this last the firm was in funds for the opening of to-morrow’s business. Yet now at the hint of a mere angle in the lift of her brows he had placed the larger portion of that fund in her keeping and she had accepted it. A pang of conscience pricked her. “You're the senior partner, Ben,” she began, “and —— *‘Senior?”’ resented Ben. ‘‘ We're equals.” “You're older, I mean.” “By a guess, five years,” admitted Ben, ‘I’m twenty- six. “‘Let the guess stand,” said Maisie, shrewdly non- committal, though suspecting that it was gallantry that had led Ben to err by some three years in computing the cycle of her life—that is if he was anything like an accurate guesser. ‘‘ You’re senior, we'll concede that; and I'm not going to let you dodge responsibility. Take a glance at that sign again.” “What's the idea?’’ demanded Ben, baffled by his part- ner’s sudden changes, yet humanly he went back for a ” EVENING POST COLEMAN June 28,1919 LOS moment to the contem- plation of the sign. Still finding no reason for dis- approving it, he closed the door and turned to find Maisie com- pleting an- other of those mysterious movements and advancing upon him with—once more in her hand—thetwo one-hundred-dollar bills, now some- what rumpled. Her purpose was obvi- ous. Ben backed away, protesting, but Maisie insisted, “T admit I was wrong,” she argued; “‘but I get thrown so hard and so far every little while—like to-day with Wyman, for instance—that I get a kind of distrustful note in my dis position. That’s why I was willing to take the money off you.” The feel of the two additional notes in his hand was good, Ben had to admit to / himself; but he would not yield. “You know you can trust me, don’t you, little partner?’’ he smiled. “Yes, I know it,’’ smiled Maisie in re- By Peter Clark Macfarlame *%,;;%o.«tisw i “Well, I know I can trust you,” he said with a sudden turn, and thrust the bills back upon her in a way that she could not refuse. It seemed almost as if, notwith- standing what he had just said, Downey was afraid to trust himself with the money. Maisie recalled for a moment a question that had been in her mind once before. She recalled that when she had met this young man, who had been demobilized only yesterday and should therefore have had a month or two of pay besides travel money in his pocket, she had found him moneyless and even breakfastless so recently as that very morning. “‘Say, Ben,” she inquired soberly, “you don’t play poker, do you?” “Who? Me?” The keen blue eyes opened wide in as- sumption of innocent surprise. “‘Gamble nor nothing?” went on Maisie in a tone whose friendly intimacy made even mild dissimulation base. “‘T have played poker, partner,’ he admitted, reddening. **T’ll confess that’s why you found me broke this morning. I played poker last night—but I won't play to-night. | won't even play a slot machine on a music box till we get this money in the bank to-morrow.” “Then don’t you!" warned Maisie, and had just womanly tact enough to know that, having won this much of confidence and assurance, it would destroy all the effect thus gained to press him to further protestations. “What time shall we open the office to-morrow morn- ing?” she inquired. “Ten o’clock’s not too late for me,’’ assured Ben. “I feel as if I'd lived about a hundred years to-day, and when I hit the feathers I’m going to hit ’em hard.” “You come in at ten,” proposed Maisie, all sympathy as usual. “I'll open the doors at nine and take care of anything that comes up. Mr. Winkle might be round wanting to buy another property, or sell what we pinned on him.” And the smiling red lips and fine white teeth of the girl did themselves into a comradely grin. ** All right—so long, little partner,”’ and Ben B. Downey extended his strong enthusiastic palm. Maisie placed her own warm small hand in it for a moment and the two parted as partners should—with a mutual exchange of level glances from honest and admiring eyes. But after the door had closed the young woman’s eyes continued in imagination wistfully to follow the figure of Downey in its progress down the hall toward the ele- vator. She liked Ben—after this one long day’s acquaint- ance—liked him better than any man she had ever known since Charlie. And now that Charlie and Mabel—well her evenings were sometimes lonely, and Ben might have suggested celebrating this successful close of a trying day with a little dinner together at—say the Portola and then (Continued on Page 36)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HE growing tendency to consider a car’s possible second-sale value, 1s frequently a deciding factor in favor of the Hupmobile. Buyers know—by what they hear, if not by actual experience—that lhe Gomfort Gar does “stand up” in really remarkable fashion. ‘TVheyalso know that owners, almost to a man, hold their Hupmobiles at considerably less than average depreciation. ‘These facts, coupled with extra- ordinary performance and truly exceptional economy, add their weight to the general impression that the Hupmobile 1s an especially desirable car.

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Continued from Page nerhaps Pat ; f Ma ‘ te r ‘ And now I ihe ta { i erned, He " ‘ il} ing the ! KI f t ind es} f these pli al q rad t f t ; y i Ben D f tie thing mart the si ( patior That was wl n I ible ¢ tants forward ilaame ’ er on himself ’ Her at mentally tag gered it remembering t! he is a rising young bu ne man ? vy and recalling that Maisie ce before tl lay had estimated sevent fived i! the amount re juired to array hin proper! he nodded, thoug! pect that by that ingle undula tion of the head he added to hi tandard of living at le t one hundred per cent for a man with a sixty-doilar t of custom-mades can never eat where it would have been Ben's frugal inclination to eat just to mention a single detail of re exper ‘ Sam priding himself on a tistrvin salesmanship chatted iffably while he allowed the young man’s eyes and inqulsi tive fingers to guide him, ‘Lively times to-day on the mining exchange,” he re marked ‘Mining exchange?”’ Ben was a little slow. Times had been so lively that afternoon im the ile ol rooming house that he had found it difficult to realize that there could have been any other sort ol commerce at all “Rig strike in Tonopah District, you know,” said im, talking volubly “Big gest ore body uncovered since old Comstock day A year ago Nevada Divide stock was old for three cent Now it’ ten dollars and everything else is jumping with it Seems as if everybody in San Franc'sco was trying to get

into the market Nevada Extension pened at seventy on ‘change to-day and imped to ninet by no rhat ’* said Ber t herringbone patt« na se it struck him would 7 happy dressing issued to | 7 ‘ enlarge 1 n piea customer was a id hooke ten thousand at seventy-one d eight Made sixteen ht two hour ‘Relieve I'll try them the way to the usual cram} room moment whe is a mat } » Dol bene d ‘ hould have noonday; but hum the } nto six hundred and twenty

roadly and tool

lid not, wherefore exchange. i4 phil ophi illy. ger is a man with a K-SOidiers are con- 1 shoulders, solid young man who h to battle for it be adorned with And such a smile was e now as he entered | and pleasant antici- id of motioning one of . e out xty dollar:s?”’

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST hoe rail round the The brokers are in the pit, though it i You can go to the rail, call one of ’em, order a and they buy it for you; or tell them to sell and how much “Anybody can play?” Ben was twisting his body and contorting his face to get a view of the back of the coat in “‘ Anybody that’s got the money. That's the only ticket Ben, contemplating the hang of tl ‘Too short, don’t you thin! dollars into six hundred and twenty to-day, you said?’ Just about right. wearing ’em higher now.

June 28,1919

meant to be a little bit cattish; for Constance’s was a finer suit than a mere stenographer in a real-estate office was likely to be able to afford unless she lived on peanut husks or sawdust flakes or some other substitute for food, though the plump body and full-cheeked features of the lady of the suit proclaimed that she did nothing of the kind. ‘So glad you like it, Maisie,’’ responded Constance just as sweetly. ‘“‘It must be hard to have to wear seedy clothes these days.’”’ And she bestowed a sympathetic glance. Inevitably Maisie winced, though knowing that her suit was far from seedy—unless it were seediness to fail to class up with the really distinguished garments Miss Cathcart was displaying. It was, however, Miss Constance’s bounden duty to herself to explain to Maisie how she came to be thus effectively arrayed. ‘‘Got a little tip on Blue Mule day before yesterday,” she said. “Played it strong for all I could beg or borrow; cleaned out something beautiful be- fore it got on the toboggan. Then I switched to Blue Bell and gathered a little more, when my woman’s mind changed again and I pinned a little bet on Blue Bucket,

which , “Why all these blues?” interrupted Maisie, affecting languor, though in her heart of hearts she was sitting up and leaning forward like a jockey on a horse’s neck. “IT had the tip on Blue Mule and took the others just because blue is my favor- ite color.”’ “‘Interesting,”®? conceded Maisie. “I got this suit for myself and some awful swell silk lingerie. Stop off at the top of the hill and I’ll show it to you, dearie.” ‘“*Kind of hurried to- night,’’ explained Maisie. Thanks.” “T got mother a hat too real chic-looking it is—and a suit for Will. He’s in Poly High, you know, and these half-grown Indians of boy certainly are hard on clothes. That much, anyway, I've got out of the market and put where the wise ones can’t take it I morrow. It’s a great game speculation—I’ll tell the world. Well, good-by, y

away from me. Allthe rest n speculating with to-

| dearie!” = a “Relieve I will drop off “*T’'vee Got a Conscience About Anybody Splurging Round in a Uniform on Their Own Private Dusiness"* with } ou,” decided Maisie ua niring eve the rments that hore helpful I its to note that the eve of his Friend of mine bought old out at eighty-seven dollars in less than tid Ben, and Sam pointed curtained dressing t i when Ben emerged, contem- gns of abstraction. urs, huh? Must be he matter of upper- d had switched at . ling psychology beam of the sun at hat was a rule of his 00,” he explained ng organized, stock rhat’s the way to hey ‘re little; then if uu win you win big. 1 of mine—a lady

eventy-five dollars ng just leaning on

Thanks just the same.”” Downey disappeared liling even though **What time does he came out, garbed once m

ate prospect with he e} e of cold

< to customers about the fortu on the mining exchange until af y body from talking that

change. Naturally Maisie ic-looking suit, dearie This remark was “‘T just do love pretty linge- rie. What did you buy, pinks or blues? With your com- plexion, you know, it’s all the same to you.’ This, I fear me, was rank deceitfulness on the part of Miss M ie Wells. It was ress to base flattery for pur- poses that were ulterior, because she had sagaciously de cided in her small head that if money was to be made in mining stocks the firm of Ben B. Downey & Co., traders, might make some of it. It behooved a member of it, therefore, to be informed concerning them; and if she dropped off the car and went into ecstasies over Mis Cathceart’s investments in fluffs and frills she might — by irk and veiled inquiry—elicit considerable ject of the mining exchange and the J

strategic

data upon the su methods by which operations were conducted thereupon. Meanwhile this same busy little bee of speculation was buzzing in the brain of partner Ben. He had dined sumptuously yet frugally at Herbert’s. The talk as he caught it from near-by tables was all about mines and mining. After his repast he edged up to the bar more to

sample the conversation there and stand surveying the crowd from the vantage of a foot upon the rail than for the sake of the glass of mineral water he ordered and sipped in leisurely contemplative mood. Here once more the talk was of mines and mining. Outside at the tobacco shop on the corner he purchased a cigar and, while lighting it, heard some one in the group before the green baize counter whisper excitedly: ‘‘Yonder! Yonder he goes. Old Cack Johnson. He’s made a hundred thousand in eleven days. Got his mine besides.” jen, following the glance of the other eyes, saw a tall man—a very tall man and spare—with his hands in his Continued on Page 38)

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ne a et oe — —_ ea ee Rapti meee” itltees OG mee = me me — Ee -_-— > §:30. Dad's home. And, of course, gets the important news first. The Paramount-Artcraft Motion Pic- ture Theatre Program for the week is here. No wonder wholesome, stick-together families welcome that little program. Paramount-Artcraft Motion Pictures are the whole family’s Playtime Schedule—five or six million families all over America. Dad’s just a big boy himself—enjoys those seat-gripping, breath-catching pictures as THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Pri to OSes RL. ee ae my cha Le. "Dy Pak ARTE ~S much as the children. So does Mother. Ie’ s a daily invitation to forget Center and live joyous, carefree lives of so and romance—together. Behind Paramount-Artcraft Motion Pictures is the ideal of Famous Players- Lasky Corporation—BETTER PICTURES! That's why the programs of the better theatres are welcome everywhere. That's why the better theatres send them out. That's why they go into the library table drawer where everybody can find them. —— These two trade-marks are the sure way of identifying Paramount-A re raft ictures—and the theatres that show them 7 FAMOUS PLAYERS ~ LASKY CORPORATION A OAN s ADOLPH ZUKOR Pres JESSE L LASKY ¢ NEW Y vs CECIL B DE MILLE Dir an ORGS: a "4 oR bth — WS maa sx e~ 4 Paramount and Artcraft Stars’ Latest Productions Listed alphabetically, released up to With. Save the list! And see the pictures! Paramount John Barrymore li rs il *Knid Bennett i Billie Burke i” { Marguerite Clark Ithel Clayton M *Dorothy Dalton 1 Dorothy Gish t ‘ i Lila Lec > ‘ “Oh! You Women \ I Vivian Marti Shirley Mason I *Charles Ray Wallace Keid Bryant Washburn in “Port In Paramount Irtcraft Specials “Litthe Women A\ A I Maurice Tourneur’s Productiot The Silver King” “False Faces” \ Hi I’ “The Woman Thou Gavest Me H bor I i ( Maurice Tourneur's Production “Secret Service’ starring Robert Artcraft Cecil B. deMille’s Production For Br Douglas Fairbanks i” Tne K Elsie Ferguson l \ D. W. Griffith's Production *Wam. S. Hart Mary Pickford ' Fred Stone ir J ‘ ( *Supervision of Thomas H. Ince Paramount Comedies Paramount-Arbuckle Comedy > Paramount~-Mack Sennett Comed Paramount -F lage ¢ Paramount-Drew Comed Mek et ¥ _s oS ware ee ee en

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rousers pockets, | » Powe et el I ‘ i ymotion nha oy a ed ‘ tee} if 1ount ns or ilong the ered f rock gulches. Un esitatingly the male partne Dowr & Co. disengaged imself from the crowd about the inter and started up ne reet, tra gy the é lla Curiou ly ? Yes, it | no mea | Alre ! fact, there was clear ent in the trailer’s 1 f | be remembered section, quich t t inhesitating action, was the me busine asset f Mr. Downe At the corner of O' Far tall man halted and gazed ibout him pe ilative vith three avenue of white light nviting. Each led to a different part of the city’s joyous ght life Drama to left of him, vaudeville to right of m, palatial hotels in front of him—all beckoned and enticed And here old Cact From-The-Desert halted und considered how he would dally away the evening hours of ar ind plenteous leisure iixcuse me,” smiled Ben, “but you're Mr. Johnson?”’ ‘Called, by gum!” admitted Cactus as one who wasted few word Cack Johr mn, iewed straight in the face, impre ed ne as aman in the forceful early fifties with the ordinary iplement of n i 1 wide clean moutl rht-hand corner of which t hermeticall ealed, Cack’ tan was on his cheek. Hi vide Windsor ti vith a shapele combined black hat or! it a desperate angle eemed to suggest that, i tead of a plodding prospec tor ho had struck it rich at iast, Mr. Cactu nothing to it, but the stock’ all held close. Wisht » the ose and eves ne Johnson was i Bolshevik poet Appar ently, too, to be accosted thus upon the street and a total gethe enor nee he e and of the r with in his Downe mite th a e i him traightforward young met Ken found tl twinkle ‘ { wing He was used to having people like him, at t sight anyway I'm i ul bu ‘ man from Ka i e col tinued; “‘justoutofthe Arn ind vetting my start here in he eit | was thinking of | t? i little mone nto nining stocks to-mo ind on irred to me that i ht te \ ! to tell m ha Ml, Mr. Joh There noth good, ng in, te ell ou the trut und | muuld not 1a te i hopef ung thing a lie ! e would not Mr. Joh ! manner of peect \ empha » mut he upparent itire f hi ( W tire ed | ne Kindiy twink tne eve Ren blushed, however is feeling that | is be perhay j } rebuked f } pr im My “There’s nothi proved up yet but one mine went on Cactus, “and tl ) wondertul you couldn’ dd good Lord I had some of t.." And Cactus ghia modestly ‘The goo tock ilway held close a ) iS anybody Kno [lis most noticea with firmly clamped ] tub of an extinct yes were clear and lil Was “We.” ble feature ips, in the cigar was the desert nuff-brown and his Said the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ou,” persisted Ben—trying to soften his persist- “‘you’ve got a property. “But y ence with the h ney of his smile ~ u've made a lot of money in the last ten days. “That's because a lot of chance takers are willing to bet the same kind of rock is lyin’ at the end of my crosscuts as the real mine is showin’. I’ve made money out of them. They haven’t made any money out of me—yet.” With the conclusion of this speech, Cactus, by a most amazing labial contortion, chewed his cigar stub right over into the other corner of his mouth without touching it th his hand yet continued to look down upon Ben from the height of some six-feet-five with an air of benevolent pate rnity. Sut you hope to’strike the same rock?” ventured Ben. “‘Hope, my son,” reflected the desert sage, ‘‘is the solid block of sea foam on which the stock exchange is built.” This sounded discouraging. Here was a man who made his money in the stock exchange and yet disparaged that mystic shrine of finance boldly and without apology. But Ben came back once more: ‘And yet, Mr. Johnson, you patronize the stock ex- change yourself,” “‘Be patronizin’ it about nine-thirty,’ laconically. “So will I,” said Ben determinedly. “‘What would you advise, Mr, Johnson?” For the first time Mr. Johnson’s lips loosened into some- Evidently he admired stead- admitted Cactus thing approaching a smile. fastness **How much have you got to invest?’ Lapliain; “the Only Soft Thing About Those Tips is the Man Who Plays Them" June 28,1919 “One hundred dollars only,” admitted Ben; “but I suspect, Mr. Johnson, that my little old century spot is as big to me as all your bank roll.” “Only if you lose it it’s easier to duplicate the pile,’’ commented Cactus. “‘ Well, young man, here’s my advice: Put the hundred in the bank. Then you'll have it.” Chuckling, Cactus Johnson started to cross the street, but Ben Downey laid a detaining hand upon his arm. “Mr. Johnson,” he insisted almost reproachfully, “I ask you: Is that the right policy to enjoin upon a young business man—the nothing-risk nothing-lose policy? Will it lead to success? I ask you now.” Mr. Johnson halted with startled eye. Cactus did not believe in the nothing-risk nothing-lose policy himself. “Called again, by heck!” he acknowledged with an amused smile, and again by one of those remarkable feats of labial dexterity switched his cigar from the north to the south side of his face. This movement with Cactus John- son usually signaled a change of course. “Well, young man, if you will you will, I s’pose,” he rumbled from somewhere de ep inside his long body, and from his right outside coat poc! ket he extracted a sheaf of folded and more or less crumpled telegrams, which he began to scan thoughtfully one after the other in the light of the street lamp. Finding nothing to his satisfaction in this pocket, he plunged into the left and brought out another deposit. Before one of these he paused unusually long and then thrust the whole mass back. ** Devil Dog was listed at four cents to-day,”’ he remarked narrowing shrewdly. “Buy it on first call to- morrow and watch it. The higher she goes the harder T you hold, see?” “T’m awfully grateful to you,” exclaimed Ben, push- ing out a ready hand. Cack took it without en- thusiasm. **Prob’ly doin’ you an in- jury for life,” he grunted, “but you'll see me on -the rail in the morning. I'll in- troduce you to my broker. Solong!” And Mr. Johnson moved onward. “Now why did he do that?” inquired Ben of him- self, a glow of gratitude and wonder suffusing his whole person. ‘‘Just ‘because | went up to him and asked him straightforward. Bat- tling Bolivar, but it’s a good world! Anybody’s willing to help a young man along.” Ben’s honest intent now was to turn in at his modest hotel and seek that repose whichtired youth demanded, but in the next block of his progression up Powell Street he met Captain and Mrs. Jackson. Mrs. that soft, fluffy, clinging vine of a woman who early that afternoon had fainted in his arms and whom he had res- cued from great distress by negotiating the sale of her rooming house might pursue an erring hus- band and rescue him from the clutches of a designing Red Cross nurse. But the husband having appeared before the transaction had been completed and the Red Cross girl having turned out to be a myth, nothing re- mained of the affair but grati- tude to Ben on the part of both husband and wife, whose billings and cooings over their glad reunion could only be interrupted long enough to sign the papers dealing with the transfer. Now both greeted the young man effusively and invited him tocomeintotheSt. Fran- cis and listen to the music. But Mr. Downey’s mind was neither upon the music nor the conversation which filled the intervals between. It was entirely occupied with lightning computations (Continued on Page 40) with eyes Jackson was s0 that she

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ui \ D, i | i ( — a

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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At $1975 What Car Rivals The Hudson Super-Six? Does Any Other Name Appeal Like Hudson ? Developed By Four Years’ Experience — It Approaches the Perfection Men Had Predicted Owners of Hudson cars understand the perfection that has been attained in the new Super-Six. They have had experience with its reliability and endurance. It was they who have done so much to aid in its development. And therefore it is natural that when the new Super-Six was an- nounced, the first buyers should be those who knew the car best. Its Quality Never Questioned Not since the first Super-Six — four years ago— proved its leadership on speedway and in road test, has anyone questioned its position. t was the coveted car of thousands who could not obtain deliveries and of other thousands who could not meet its price. Now production is greater than ever. More buyers can be accommodated than has been possible. And because of the new price it comes within the buying range of more people. People have accepted less wanted cars because there was a dif ference in price. But that situation no longer remains. The price of the new Super-Six is little different than that asked for other cars whose popularity has never approached that of Hudson. It is lower than some cars. It is only a trifle higher than many others. Before- you make your choice, look over all the fine cars. Let your decision result from the known qualities and their compara- tive prices. Here is Hudson Proof The new Super-Six is just such a car as you would expect. It typifies all the experience gained in building 60,000 earlier models. Hudson Motor Car Company

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oS — I atid Ai a we <3 ES oa a ™ ae + a Every speed and endurance test in some way influenced an improvement in its performance and endurance As a result the new Super-Six starts easier, rides easier and run more smoothly. All the old qualities are retained—many ar enhanced. Think of the value of such a test as the double trans-continental run in which a seven-passenger touring car made the round trip from San Francisco to New York in 10 days, 21 hours. Or the 24-hour run in which one man drove 1819 miles. So also of the many speedway contests. Records more minute than the temperature charts of the most careful physician, were kept of every phase of Hudson tests. As a result Hudson engineers found ways of enlarging Super-Six attributes, not possible under other circumstances. That is why each new Hudson is superior to its predecessor. It is why the new model is more desirable than any that has preceded it. And it is why it can be bought at a lower price. As Always in the Past, Hudsons Are Scarce There have never been sufficient Hudsons to meet normal demand. Mid-season has always seen a Hudson shortage. Thi: year 1s no exception. Dealers are keeping delivery lists made up in the same sequence as orders are placed. Some dealers are already sold gut for weeks ahead. The situa tion grows more acute daily. So see about your Hudson now. Detroit, Michigan

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(Continued from Page 38 which ran somewhat as follows: Nevada Divide sold at three cents a year ago; now it was worth ten dollars. If he bought Devil Dog Divide at four cents a share one hundred dollars would give him over two thousand shares Iwo thousand shares at ten dollars a share —well, say that Devil Dog did not do quite as well as the great father of all Divides had done ~— five dollars a share for Devil Dog would make ten thousand dors out of his one hundred dollar Fine! Eminently fine! Ben’s only regret was that he had but one hundred dollars. It was a shame not to make more when “Great activity on the mining exchange, we hear!” cheeped in Mrs. Jackson, leaning forward and looking into Ben's eyes with those swimming brown orbs of light that, but for the lucky chance of her having an apartment house to sell, might have been the ruin of his business career. This remark from those plastic lips which had once been blissfully much nearer to Ben's recalled to him that Mrs. Jackson possessed seventeen one-hundred-dollar bills like unto his own single bill, for he had that day paid twenty of them into her hand, of which she had returned to him three. “Great!” he declared, brightening. “I'm going into the game to-morrow. Wouldn't you like to join me in some of those specu- lations? The opportunities just now are very tempting —certainly very tempting.” “Oh,” exclaimed Mrs. Jackson happily, but with a wistful glance toward her hus- band, “I wish we could. I—I believe I will, John. Just a little bit—a mere flyer, wouldn’t you say?” And she was coaxing the big dark-browed army captain at her side But the captain's features framed a frown. He shook his head sternly. Ben saw and understood, but there was that dream of many thousand dollars in his mind. ‘Wouldn't take a little chance on some- thing pretty soft that I’ve dropped onto?” he bantered, looking the captain full in the eye “No,” said the captain, fire sd by the chal- lenge in Ben’s tones; “‘the only soft thing about one of those kind of tips is the man who plays them.” This was harsh, but Ben B. Downey was just as adhesive as glue when he started after a thing. He was determined to in- crease his capital, and the place to seek to increase it was the place where he knew that money lay. He laughed heartily, there- fore, as if the sally were witty without being unkind. “Tell you what I was going to propose though,” he pressed on. “I've dropped onto something that | want to play before office hours in the morning and | was going to ask you to loan me about five hundred till, say, four in the afternoon, by which time vettlements for the day are made.” Upon the fluffy little Mrs. Jackson's face there was an instant look of acquiescence and it was her money; but on husband’s face, who evidently was keeping it for her, the expression was again that of astern and rock-bound coast. ‘Don't like to seem ungracious, Lieuten- ant Downey,” the captain declared, “ but not for the stock market. I am against the stock market.” Ben smiled and saw his chance for a tiny thrust ‘Been burnt?” he asked. ‘Yes!”’ said the captain bluntly, and the conversation switched to other subjects, But the fever of speculation, the Midas dream of sudden riches, the gleam and the glimmer of that thrilling hazard which was coming to him to-morrow, still held sway over Ben's thoughts. And the bright flame of hope was thrillingly heightened when at parting the soft pressure of Mrs. Jackson's hand left something crisp and hard in his palm. When they had gone he saw that she had left him two one-hundred-dollar bills. Bless her little heart! Woman! Tender, sympathetic, helpful woman! What would the world be without her? The business world even! Mrs. Jackson's pin money no doubt; the rake-off she had claimed for spending from that roll of seventeen hundred. “I'll pay her back! I'll pay her back two for one! Ben promised himself impulsively. Just then his eyes, wandering across the lobby of the hotel, encountered once more the figure of Cack Johnson, standing, his overcoat upon his arm, gazing placidly and with mild interest at the coming and going of the crowd, which—to a man who had spent most of the years of his life in the vast THE SATURDAY solitudes of the intermountain deserts—was far more entertaining than any staged or screened spectacle. Eventually his roving glance lighted upon Ben. Now it is a pecul- iar fact in the psychology of generosity that when one has given a person some- thing and experienced satisfaction in the giving the impulse presently arises to give again. And there was something more to give, for Cactus had visited his key box in the hotel office and found three more telegrams there, one of which related to Devil Dog. He beckoned Ben tows ard him. ‘Here, ” he said, “is my broker’s card. They're open all hours to-night cleaning up. Hot-foot it down there now and give your order. They'll place it in New York and save three hours’ time and several cents maybe on the price.” Jen was increasingly grateful and would have lingered to express that emotion at some length, but that the hand of the bene- factor upon his elbow urged him toward the door and he hurried out, imagining that Devil Dog was about to burst into some- thing like volcanic activity on the morrow. “Battling Bolivar!” he murmured and made his way rapidly toward the address upon the card—‘‘ Upton & Connolly,” at a number in Bush Street. The financial district at night presented an air of darkened abandon that was in marked contrast to the brilliancy of up- town illuminations. Nevertheless lights streamed from several glass fronts in the vicinity, proclaiming where the brokers and their clerical forces, brought to the ragged edge of physical collapse by the stress of the last few days, toiled endlessly in the hope of getting caught up on their books with that immense volume of transactions which the feverish activity of the last few days had unexpectedly flung upon their shoulders. A lithe man with keen, deep-set eyes and a tired voice, but with a kind of mechanical snap still pervading his manner, stepped up to the rail, greeting Downey’s entry almost resentfully. ‘Here’s three hundred dollars,’’ the young man announced, laying his currency on the counter. “I want you to buy me Devil Dog Divide in New York at four or as near to that as you can get it.” “Can't allow but fifty per cent margins now, y’understand,”’ crabbed the tired broker. “Too much activity for usual one- third.” “What!” exclaimed Ben, expressing incomprehension but having his ejaculation interpreted as protest and surprise. “That's all,”’ came the answer short and decisive, but an answer which was merci- fully also an explanation. “ You give me three hundred; I buy you six hundred— not a dollar more.” “If that’s the best you'll do,” assented Ben, still not entirely comprehending. “Better b'lieve it,’ said the broker, snapping up the money. ‘See me at rail in mornin’,”” and the man of few words and weary ones turned his back. By this time Ben had gathered clearly that for his three hundred dollars the broker was going to buy him six hundred dollars’ worth of stock; and it struck the young man that the brokerage system was a very benevolent institution. ‘Battling Bolivar, but it’s a lucky world for me,”’ he chuckled and walked woodenly up the street, so much of the wine of hope in his head that feeling had departed en- tirely from his legs. Next morning he bent his footsteps, not to the office of Ben B. Downey & Co., Traders, but to the famous mart of mining shares. It was rather an ordinary looking structure and the largish room into which at somewhere after nine o'clock he followed the crowd held a horseshoe-shaped inclosure, roughly forty feet in diameter at the widest, surrounded by a rail mounting telephones at intervals. Back of the standing room behind the rail was a thin fringe of seats in rising tiers, while above was a gallery for mere specta- tors. Across the open end of the horseshoe farthest from the public stretched a court- like bar or bench, lifting itself high and to be occupied presently by some clerks and a sort of master clerk, who acted as presiding officer of the exchange. The pit was restlessly tenanted by twenty-five or thirty bustling men of all ages, most of whom now moved along the inside of the rail, apparently counseling with and accepting orders and instructions from the great mass of traders who wedged themselves tighter and tighter against its outer circumference. Ben got it quickly EVENING POST that these restless-looking individuals who slouched to and fro with a kind of weary nonchalance were the brokers, and made out among them the man who had accepted his money the night before. Connolly did not look so tired now and the snap to his movements was more spontaneous. He saw Ben and nodded to him. Eventually as he passed along the rail, shaking hands and exchanging comment with this one and that one, he came opposite Ben and leaned over to whispe r: “You're in at ten.” “It was selling at four, I thought,” faltered Ben, disappointed. ““Was!"’ smiled the broker knowingly. “New York curb going wild over that stock. We were lucky to grab it off at ten and it had hit sixteen there before twelve o'clock, which was half an hour ago. It’s liable to open here at twenty.” “At twenty!” gulped Ben, his disap- pointment departing. ‘“Then I’ve doubled my money already.” “Congratulations!”” laughed Connolly, as if to double his clients’ money was his hourly habit, and moved on along the rail, leaving Ben cerebrating wildly. It was a sensation difficult to describe that possessed the young speculator. It was like the exhilaration of a wonderful race —a race about to be started—and yet a race in which he was already returned a winner, though he stood to win more and more. All these people at the rail were like owners watching their horses at the bar- rier. This was indeed the sport of kings! Ben felt the lure, the pull, the lust of it and was eager for the race to be off. The hands of the clock pointed to nine-twenty- eight. In two minutes, he learned from excited comment at his elbow, the calling of the stocks would begin, though he con- tinued hazy as to just what this calling meant. A bell jingled loudly through the building and the air about him was full of final excited whisperings to brokers as traders reached across the rail and nearly pulled the arms of their agents from their sockets in the excitement of desire to get one last word with them. Then the master clerk stood up and began reading a sort of roll in stentorian tones. He read some names and the silence that answered was like the si- lence of the slab room in the morgue at midnight; he read other names and achorus of shouts burst forth, with brokers shaking their fists at the man in the pulpit of finance and making gestures this way or that at one another, holding up two or three fingers, or one, and then turning and sliding out of the crowd asif on skates to note something in little books they carried always in their hands. Ben was at first merely confused. Then he began to get it. The clerk was calling the names of the listed stocks and when he had called a certain name, the brokers who had orders to buy that stock shouted the bids, while those who had orders to sell it rushed and tore madly at them, each seller trying to crowd the other sellers out of the way and secure for himself the sole atten- tion of the buying member. When there were many buyers the seller held his ground stoutly, fighting backward inch by inch, postponing sale till it could be made at the topmost level. When conditions were re- versed it was the buyer who was mobbed and fought a stubborn battle of delay till he had purchased at the bottom price ob- tainable. This was the process by which prices were raised and lowered. It was the cld, old law of supply and demand. Ben hoped that everybody in the world was wanting Devil Dog Divide this morning and it seemed that his wishes were to be realized, for when Devil Dog was called it was greeted by a clamorous shout. A dozen voices bid—many brokers were wanting Devil Dog. The few sellers were mobbed. They backed around the pit des- perately as men who fought for their lives, with the other brokers barking after like groups of ravening wolves. The pursuing pack tore at those in front of them, seizing men by their arms, their shoulders, their col- lars and flinging them incontinently aside in an endeavor to confront the selling member and hurl their bid down his throat. A bed- lam of hawking cries resounded. Sales were made and recorded rapidly until only one broker remained who offered Devil Dog, and round him the tide of battle surged. He was a gray-haired man; his vest was torn open, his black Windsor tie was un- moored at one end, he panted from excite- ment and exertion; but he held his back stifly against the vantage ground of the June 28,1919 pulpit-bar while the two most stalwart and most persistent of the buyers, having bat- tled the rest of the buying group off, con- fronted each other before the one place where Devil Dog was still to be had, with the ousted bidders still struggling to break in. “One!” shouted the red-faced stalwart, smiting his opposing bidder on the chest with a blow that was meant to push him back across the Rhine. “Two!” vociferated the smitten, coming back stoutly with hand and voice. “Three!” fired back the apoplectic one, and again he struck a resounding thwack upon the opponent’s doughty chest. ‘Four!’ retorted the other with a bull- like roar and another retaliating blow. The little gray man clung panting to his record book as if it held his stock and glanced warily, avidly from face to face. “Five!”’ Slap. “Six!’’ Slap. “Seven!” Slap. ‘Eight!’ shouted the man of the bull- like roar, and struck again, for with each cent of rise the opposing bidders had smit- ten each other until the spectacle was more like a give-and-take boxing match than an ordered business transaction. But now the red-faced stalwart was hesi- tating as if some tentacle of reason had reached out and collared his enthusiasm some silvery line of memory perhaps, which warned him of the limit his customer would go. “Eight!” bellowed the aggressive one. “Eight!” and he thrust the hesitating bid- der scornfully away. “Sold!” shouted the little gray man, whereat the whole contending mass fell silent and separated, innocuous as a knot of sand, while only the seller and the buyer leaned together, making notes in their trad- ing books. The voice of the clerk rang out monoto- nously once more and the calling of the stocks went on. “Devil Dog!”’ exclaimed a loud-voiced man at Ben’s elbow. ‘ Well, whi it do you know about that? It’s been kicking around the floor for a month; now it opens at eighteen, jumps to twenty and goes one point at a time to twenty-eight. What do you think of that?” Ben thought it was fine. “It'll go to thirty by the time the call is over and general trading begins,” predicted the neighbor. Thirty! Ben B. Downey was not a porcine creature after all. He computed swiftly The stock had opened at twenty, which doubled his six hundred. If it went to thirty he would have eighteen hundred, less some slight commissions and the three hundred dollars his broker had kindly ad- vanced. Fifteen hundred already! That was too good to last. It was something to be snatched while it floated like a silvery globule in the sunshine. True enough, last night he had calmly contemplated running three hundred dollars into thirty thousand; but that was in a dre am. This was reality. Connolly, whose fellows called him Bob, came sauntering by, sweat pouring from his brow, two buttons minus from his vest and his coat pocket torn till it no longer held safely the sheaf of telegrams every broker seemed to carry there. Ben plucked at his sleeve and whispered in his ear: ‘‘When you can get thirty for my Devil Dog, sell.” For a moment the broker looked sur- prised—looked at Ben with disapproval as feeling that this was a time to buy Devil Dog rather than to sell it; but he said nothing contrary. It was not his place to advise his customers. He seldom did so especially new customers. Besides, his com- mission was as much for selling as for buying. “T can get it the minute the roll call is over,”’ he answered confidently. “Get it!’”” commanded Ben with the air of having made a maste erful decision and entirely forgetting Cack Johnson’s advice: “The higher she goes the harder you hold.” The instant the market was open Con- nolly went skidding and skating to the center of the ring, shouting: “‘Six thousand Devil Dog at thirty! a. “Sold!” yelped a man who leaped at him like a panther, fangs showing. And he was only just in time, for a whole pack “ame plunging down on Connolly. “Got it!” the broker nodded triumph- antly, and stopped a minute beside him at the rail. (Continued on Page 42) ‘ ‘ , | hk j ] j ) \ ' ‘ ) ‘

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Nos. LONDON aa = = TIMES a PHICADELPHIA ~ BERLIN ~~ a ae PUBLIC LEDGER | LONDON TIMES-PUBLIC LEDGER CABLE AND NEWS SERVICE The readers of the Public Ledger were served at their breakfast tables the morning of May 7th, with the concentrated essence of the treaty for which all the world waited, by grace of our exclusive right to the London Times service, which was rushed over to Philadelphia at record speed by our special correspondent in the British Isles, Raymond G,. Carroll. No other morning paper in America was in so fortunate a position. This signal “‘ beat,’ in conjunction with the London Times, cannot but recall another great feat of the same character and in connec- tion with another eagerly awaited treaty. That was, of course, the historic coup of M. de Blowitz, who secured the text of the famous Berlin Treaty for the Times } and distanced all competitors. This Treaty of Versailles is a far greater international instrument. So the } Public Ledger scored the highest possible success by being first in the field on this continent with its authoritative summary. . MR. RICHARD SPILLANE Recently Editor of Commerce and Finance, respondents in the large centers of this New York, is now the Editor of the Busi- country, London, Bradford, Manchester, ness Section of the Philadelphia Public Buenos Aires, Honolulu, ete. \} Ledger. The Business Section is a com- No other American newspaper has any- ' plete eight-page newspaper in itself, cover- thing like it. ing entirely the Business and Financial It is an integral part of the Morning news of the world, with its own special cor- Public Ledger. | PUBLIC ef LEDGER INDEPENDENCE SQUARE, PHILADELPHIA, PA, CYRUS H. K. CURTIS, President Send $1.00 for Two Months’ Trial Subscription to the Daily Public Ledger

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(Continued from Page 40) “When can I get my money?” inquired Ben, lookin g at his watch. “I’m overdue at my desk.’ “Settlements at the office, three o'clock on,” answered Connolly briskly, and turned to answer a beck from along the rail. len-two was what the watch had said to Ben. Was that all? Unbelievable! That he had stretched his capital to fifteen hun- dred dollars and yet it was only two min- ites past the time when he should have met Maisie at the office. Anticipating, he could feel himself swaggering in. He could hear her little shout of joy and surprise when he told her what he had done. How patronizingly he could look down upon that Immature self of yesterday that had been y rent bill and furniture bills and the absence of a bank account! Only one | 4 ugg d weakly in the unguent of pure de hat was thi iff about deferring ther ments till three o'clock po peear the fascination of the game held Ben tight, made him an innocent, irresolute bystander at a contest in which he had a moment before held such an ex- citing hand. Anditwasagame! A glorious, oaring, exhilarating game! Devil Dog! Why, Devil Dog, which he had bought at ten and sold out at thirty, was now mount- ing well toward forty! Ben watched it climb and flutter, climb and flutter; up three or four points, then down one or two, but always ultimately climbing while an hour passed on. He wished he had stayed in the stock a little longer; then wished he had bought in again quickly. Now the price was faltering more and he felt it un- wise to get in But there were other stocks. His eyes kept straying to the board whereon their names were listed and he saw that most of them were rising stocks nder the stimu- lus of the activity in Devil Dog all the smaller stocks were rising. Four and five cent stocks were up to six and seven and eight cents; ten-cent stocks climbed toward fifteen and beyond. It was a great day for the bulls. A great day for optimism. Then there were the few proud stocks above seventy-five cents, ranging on up to where Nevada Divide, the great father of all Divides and what bade fair to be one of the greatest mines in history, stood this morning at nine dollars and eighty cents, with the apparent intention of topping ten dollars before trading ceased. Ben had a feeling that it would be more dignified less shoe-stringy —to deal in these more valuable stocks. Of course that took more money, but they were more substantial. It was astonishing, too, how much the young man had learns d rather uncon- sciou sly. While his eye s had been busy with the scenes in the it, his ears like fun- nels had dribbled into his mind a thousand undesigned eavesdroppings of information upon a thousand phases of these operations that took place so swiftly before him A sample of these was the remark of a young man in the blouse and flat-topped cap of an enlisted man in the Navy, for the specu- lators were of every age and sex, of every rank and station. ‘‘ Most of these stocks haven't got nothing behind them but names for locations,” opined the sailor wisely; “but those fifty-cent stocks and better they’re holes in the ground at least. Look at Nevada Rex. It’s down one hundred and fifty feet and they're on the main breccia dike too.” Breccia was a new word to Ben, though dike, as far as he knew, was a thing to keep the water out of Holland. But this Nevada Rex he kept hearing whispered informa- tion about Nevada Rex. There was more talk about Nevada Rex than about any other stock and more trading in it than in all other high-priced stocks combined. It wasclimbingtoo —ninety-one, ninety-three, ninety-six. And Ben knew now there was some grounding in reason for all these fluctuations, these advances or retreats in values. He was finding out what created them. It was due to information —or mis- information—rumors that traveled with the speed of radiograms about the rail. . If for instance a working mine got an assay showing rich ores, the minute the news became known that stock not only rose, but others representing adjacent properties rose in sympathy “Nevada Rex will go to a dollar-ten before the market closes,”’ prophesied one railbird excitedly—railbird on the San Francisco Stock Exchange, [I am_ told, means always a woman speculator. ‘ War- ing’s just got a hot tip on it. They've struck a new ore face.”’ worried | THE SATURDAY “Tt’ll go to a dollar and a quarter,”’ piped aman. “Holy fishhooks, but somebody is going * clean! : jen B. Downey decided resolutely that he ould be one of those somebody’s. Yonder was Cack Johnson across there now. Ben might have gone to him for ad- vice; but it would take too long to press out of the jam where he was and press into it again a re Cactus was. Besides, Ben had a heady feeling that he did not need advice. He knew what he was doing. “Oh, Bob!” That was how far along Ben was getting on the stock exchange. Connolly responded like a bushman to the cooey. “My credit’s fifteen hundred,’”” Downey postulated carefully. The broker nodded quick assent. “‘Buy me three thousand Nevada Rex if you can get it before it goes beyond the dolls ir. “Got you!” said Connolly, and was off like a shot into the maelstrom. “Have it,” he reported a minute later. “Dollar flat.” Ben turned with satisfaction indescriba- ble to see chalked upon the board in the Nev. Rex column 3000 at 100. That was his transaction. To see a deal of his thus listed proudly on the greatest exclusive mining exchange in the world in what was practically an investment stock at the same time that it was speculative gave the young man a thrill than which he knew he should never experience but one greater. That would be when he should lead his business associate of a day—Miss Maisie Wells—-to that altar whose fragrant incense of virtue and of orange blossoms opens the way into another kind of partnership—for Maisie, whenever he had time to think of her, grew upon him tremendously. And, of course, in a large way he was thinking of her all the time. All this hazard that he entered upon, all this mad rush for business success, he now—manlike—told himself, was for her. For her—and there was poor Maisie, watching and waiting for- lornly in the office, wondering why he did not come, fearing that some accident had befallen, fearing most of all perhaps that he had violated his promise to hey and sat in at the little poker game in Powell Street. But he need not have worried about Maisie—really he need not. Maisie was not ry about him and she was not in the office, but sat daintily comfortable in one of a row of huge armchairs that con- fronted a long blackboard in a broker's office in a fashionable uptown hotel. No one could possibly have mistaken her for the wife of a millionaire, who in morning hat and coat fought the boredom of a too pampered ease and stimulated herself for an effective afternoon at bridge by a flirta- tion with mining shares. Rather might Maisie have impressed as some bravely furbished little out-of-town woman, who on holiday bent was having a quiet lark of it by spending her quarter's pin money in toying with the stock market. The girl was fetchingly clad in her snappiest tailor suit, a black-and-white check that was really quite stunning. Her eager eyes were asparkle with the glow of suppressed excitement; her oval cheeks matched the sparkle with an unusual flush that added to the charm of the picture she made. Indeed, if Ben could have seen Maisie now he must have forgotten for the time being all about stocks and markets. And besides being a happy-looking crea- ture, Maisie was having the time of her whimsical young life. She turned her two one-hundred-dellar bills into tens and twen- ties and sat down coolly to study the stock lists over. Having gleaned all she could of the tips of Constance Cathcart and the method used in playing them she exercised her inde- pendence of mind by scorning tips and methods utterly, giving herself up to quite a different style of procedure. The first stock that drew a second glance of her restless eye was Red Feather Divide. Red Feather! Why, that was like the single red feather upon her hat, which, pointing straight upward, lent an additional jaunti- ness to the girl’s headdress as well as re- flected its owner's aspiring nature. But Red Feather had another point to commend it. It was cheap—only two cents. Now if Maisie had gone out from Tonopah that morning in an aéroplane and soared over Divide Mountain she would have seen that bleak camel-shaped black-topped eminence with the wide irregular peach- blow streaks upon its side pock-marked with prospect holes, pimpled with rock dumps and speckled with gallows frames EVENING POST and shaft houses. Round it in all directions she would have discerned the signs of other pimplings and pockmarkings, while on the adjacent uplands and wide stretches of arid flats she would have picked out black spots, crawling or standing still, with here and there small khaki insects that criss- crossed hither and yon, now climbing the steep faces of hills, now creeping methodi- cally across the flatter stretches of sage- brush. These black spots would have been the automobiles of speculators and develop- ers and the khaki insects would be sur- veyors running lines, or prespectors building monuments and cracking off samples of rock. And somewhere amid these widening areas of staked-off desert, rimmed by the dusty clouds upon the alkali flats, would have been the Red Feather Divide. What faith of man, what optimism of prospector, what ingenuity of promoter had got Red Feather into existence it might have re- quired considerable examination to dis- cover. No doubt, however, the discovery would have been made and upon those scratched surfaces of the ground, upon those outcroppings or vein hintsin Red Feather, there would have been revealed to the discriminating eye abundance of ground for such a measure of legitimate hope as is measured by two cents upon the board. Besides, what soul so mean and carping as to protest that hope at two cents a share is not cheap enough to make any prospect legitimate? The expenditure of twenty dollars made Maisie the possessor of one thousand shares of Red Feather, and she experienced in con- sequence a feeling of sinful pride that was delightful. Desert Canary appealed to her next. It was a pretty name and as attrac- tively priced as anything she had ever found downstairs in the emporium. Thirsty Burro and Laughing Mountain also caught her romantic eye—and there were others. Yet was there a kind of shrewd method in Maisie’s shopping. “Nothing above the five-cent counter, little girl,” she was saying to herself; ‘‘and spread ’em out wide. They’re so low they can't go down any lower, and if one of them happens to come up you may be lucky enough to be down on that one strong.” And besides being shrewd, Maisie was fortunate. This was the day when that sudden if mysterious activity in Devil Dog carried up all other stocks with it. Maisie’s whele line soared sympathetically, some of them pushing off the five-cent counter en- tirely, so Maisie had to go Woolworthing off after them on other planes of value entirely. The degree of her self-satisfaction increased; the hour stole on toward eleven and she was still making money. Her investment had doubled and then trebled. It was the childish instinct to take the money out and look at it that prompted her to sell. And between sales her mind wan- dered as Ben’s had wandered —to the high- priced stocks. There was a sporting instinct in her blood that scorned a piker and she determined to switch her investments to this more dignified line. Ben meanwhile was already in the digni- fied line and extracting great satisfaction from his position there—and naturally, be- cause Nevada Rex continued to climb boldly—now to one dollar and five cents, to one dollar and ten cents and at length to one dollar and fifteen cents. There it hung proudly for a time, then perilously; then it began to plunge. This was the moment when cold sweat broke out upon the young speculator’s brow. Pressed hard against the rail he had watched the stock soar comfort- ably, knowing that every time it went up a cent it added thirty dollars to his wealth. That was a grand and glorious feeling. But when it turned suddenly and began to skid downhill like a boche flying from a marine it resembled a succession of unskillful sur- geries, each without the easement of anws- thetic and each chiseling rudely thirty dol- lars’ worth of quivering tissue right off the most sensitive spot in the whole fabric of his being. Men about him, too, were shout- ing feelinglessly, hilariously. It seemed as if he—an ardent bull in this market—was hemmed in by a pack of ruthlessly savage ars. ““What’s the matter with it?” he de- manded angrily, and looked about him for someone wise enough and considerate enough to impart some gushing streams of information to a soul athirst in the desert of alarm and uncertainty. But for a time, save for a few who were selling—desper- ately selling Nevada Rex out, crop and crupper—nobody appeared to have any June 28,1919 information. But at last someone had it and was willing to let it out. “Apex trouble!" this one reported gravely to Ben. ‘Apex trouble? What’s that?” Young Mr. Downey’s face was innocent of the faintest glimmer of comprehension. But the man was beckoning to his broker excitedly and did not stop to answer. “Apex trouble? What’s that?’”’ Ben de- manded of his neighbor on the right. “Mining law in Nevada,” the other man jerked out quickly. “If a ledge apexes on your claim for instance you’ve got a right to follow the dip—even under another man’s claim. You could scoop him out.” Apexes? Follow the dip? Ben was stuck again—stuck twice. But it is the delight of mankind to give information, especially if its impartation at a partic ular moment may seem to add to the sum of human misery. “Apexes? Guess I don’t quite get you,” confessed Ben blankly, uncomfortably. “Why, it seems they’ve found out that this Nevada Rex vein, which is so wonder- fully rich, apexes—comes to the surface, that is—on the Golden Goose. That gives the Golden Goose people the right to go right under Nevada Rex and scoop out this ore. It generally means a lawsuit and it kills a property for a long time while the courts are untangling it.” The last of this information had almost to be shouted into the ears of Mr. Downey, for other traders were getting the story and were far quicker to comprehend it. Wilder and wilder the massed speculators at the rail had become, more vehement in their gestures, their calls, their supplications and their appeals to their brokers to heed them and obey them, which was mostly impossi- ble because the center of the floor beyond the rail had become once more a seething human maelstrom. There voices barked in- cessantly. Brokers tore at each other like mad. Men seized other men and held them tight, shrieking hoarsely into their faces. Others they seized and hurled them far. The storm center was like a football scrim- mage, a knot of struggling forms to invade which must be to hazard life and limb. Yet this hazardous center of that knot was the one spot into which every man seemed trying to thrust himself. Men leaped at it, dived at it, tore at it, gained it and were themselves ‘leaped at, torn at and ousted— shot out of the center of the mélée as if propelled from guns. Such brokers managed strangely always to light upon their feet, sliding and skid- ding under the force of their own mo- mentum toward the line of seats just inside the rail. There with hats crushed, a pocket hanging, a sleeve giving way at the shoul- der, they halted and bent over markings in the little record books; breathing a mo- ment, casting a sweeping eye at the rail for a recognizing nod or instruction from this trader or that one; and then turning, fought their way once more into the mov- ing mass of legs, arms and bobbing heads. Nor did this storming vortex of human struggle remain ever stationary. It rocked and reeled and slipped to and fro round the pit. Nor was the turmoil of shouts and hoarsely bawled cries in the pit much greater than that without the rail, where men also shouted and shrieked and waved frantic arms, with intermittent clingings to telephones and reaching of long hands back over massed heads to receive messages held up to them by runners. Ben Downey felt himself the most sensi- tive unit—nay, the only sensitive unit—in this great, striving, panting, hand-to-hand conflict of human passions. He was suffer- ing terrible agony. Each throb and pulse of it all shot through him like an exquisite pang. The pain was greater because he did not know exactly what was happening. In rain he looked for news of how the battle progressed upon the blackboard. The last transaction there was 1100 at 100, but that was eternities ago. Now the board boy stood idly looking down with a baffled, amazed expression upon his precocious fea- tures. The deals were coming too rapidly, or the confusion was too great for him to get head or tail out of all that maniacal yelling there beneath him. At length he did catch a sale and record it away down the column, leaving a blank to indicate the unrecorded sales that must have taken place between it and the last record. He wrote, ‘‘2200 at 64.” “Battling Bolivar!’’ Ben groaned, and gazed woodenly. Sixty-four! Surely it (Concluded on Page 45)

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i ee ea ee (Concluded from Page 42) wasn’t possible that this stock —his stock had in these three or four turbulent minutes fallen from one dollar to sixty-four cents. Why every one of those cents subtracted thirty dollars from his profits—No! Profits? His profits had been wiped out when it dropped to one dollar. Now his investment was going. ei! Why if the stock was still tumbling —and of course, it w as, be- cause the riot rage “d on—his investment itself was melting away. He had better, he perceived, get out while he had anything left to take out. Frantically he tried to get the attention of his broker, but Connolly, coatless, collar- le Ss, be llow ing like a sea cow for in com- mon with ne arly everyone else he had begun to lose his voice — Connolly was in the very center of the a. his flushed face drawn with anxiety, his black eyes darting cun- ningly, wrathfully, like a man who fought desperately to save some stake that was of vast importance to him. At length he threw up his hands arm's length, then staggered out of the toils of conflict with an expression of relief and, wiping the sweat from his eyes, he stopped with another broker beside him, comparing the last transaction as each recorded his end of it. Excitedly Ben waved to Connolly, who slouched over wearily with no particular light of joy in his eye. Instead he regarded Ben reproachfully as if that innocent and perturbed young man had been almost the cause of misfortune to him. “Better sell my three thousand shares,” said Ben, trying to appear blasé, “and I'll get out while there’s something left.” “Sell?” rasped Connolly indignantly. ‘You've nothing left. I’ve sold you out to save me. Your margin was wiped out abso- lutely when the stock went below fifty.” “Wiped!’’ gasped Ben, white to the lips. “ Below fifty !’’ and he glanced anxiously at the board. ‘You sold me out? What have I got coming, then?”’ “Nothing!” snapped the broker. ‘ You're lucky when we figure up that you don’t owe me some commissions.” A cold chill of the helplessness of igno- rance, of i incompre +hension and of disaster turned Ben’s veins to coursing channels of CrHmson ice. “1 —I don't get you, Mr. Connolly.” ‘Why,” husked Mr. Connolly, his lip curling sarcastically at such mazes of men- tal darkness, “‘you bought that stock on margins—fifteen hundred of your money, tifteen hundred of my credit. ‘The minute t dropped below one dollar somebody’s fif- teen hundred began to go. It couldn’t be mine. You're the speculator, not me. I carried you as long as I dared, thinking the tock would turn--why, damn it, I know t's bound to turn—but when it got round ixty and I saw it going farther, why, man, had to get in and fight like the devil to ave myself. Part of it went at forty-six at at and I’m darned lucky if the overs take care of the unders.” Ben clasped the rail dizzily. The whole pandemonium of the pit seemed suddenly to have transferred itself to the pan of his own brain. Vaguely he comprehended that he had lost and according to the rules of the game. His fifteen hundred, which in- cluded Mrs. Jackson's two and his one, were gone, all gone. Yet not ten minutes before fortune in a glittering golden pile had gleamed before his eye. “What's it all about?’’ demanded Ben savagely. “‘Golden Goose,” replied his informative neighbor on the right. “Golden Goose is rallying naturally on the strength of that same apex rumor, for what kills Nevada Rex is what makes Golden Goose lay eggs.” Apparently this was but the simple state- ment of a fact. Golden Goose was rallying sharply. The old scenes were repeating themselves. Again hoarse voices rose ex- citedly, again the faces of the traders in that packed space behind the rail turned alternately from watching the scenes in front of them to watching the column of figures on the board, for the rise of Golden while steady and exciting, was much less turbulent than the descent of Nevada Rex had been and the board boy was able to keep track of the sales. Ben watched the advance helplessly. The fever of play was in his blood, which once more had warmed to the excitement of the game, but he could not buy in. His Goose, capital was gone. Waves of anger—at him- self, at the market, at his luck —surged over him. teadily Golden Goose climbed until near twelve o’clock, when it had advanced from somewhere about sixty-one to ninety- seven. Then the ringing of a gong inter- rupted trading. The noon recess had come. But operations would be resumed at one. There was no use in Ben’s return after the recess, but he returned just the same, hun- gry from having moresely taken no lunch- eon, foot-weary from weaving to and fro pondering fruitless schemes to put himself in funds and recoup his losses by getting in on Golden Goose. But in the afternoon Golden Goose was perversely stationary. Nevada Rex had mysteriously revived and was soaring up again by leaps and bounds. “Why, how’s this?”’ demanded Ben, with a sense of outrage and injustice beginning to rankle. It looked as if the whole market had been rigged that morning just to tanta- lize and rob him. “Suit’s compromised,” explained the in- formative neighbor, who now had estab- lished himself on the left instead of the right. ‘‘That’s what I heard at noon.” “Over the apex matter, you mean quizzed Ben with a miserable hollowness in his throat. es. Ben nodded dis At last he was beginning to compreien‘ the mov- ing forces behin i these h iighs and lows, at any rate. But Nevada Rex was skying more ny idly yet. In an irritating] rt time it was back at the dollar the ol i dollar w hove Ben had bought. ““What’s it mean?” he stormed wrath- fully at Connolly when his broker incau- tiously came near. “It’s robbery! It’s stockjobbing! It’s rigging the market that’s what it is.” Connolly gazed sympathetic eye. ‘Hard luck, old man,” he conceded, “but the game was square. Nevada Rex jumped in and bought control of Golden Goose to save themselves. That’s what all that buying was just before twelve. They got it figured out during noon that they had control and that put Rex on the hop again where it belongs. The stock’ll go to one dollar and fifty cents before the close.” The day came to an end with Nevada Rex standing serenely at one dollar and thirty- five cents, one of the most remarkable diurnal fluctuations on record. With itsend, Ben, utterly wretched, having scaled the heights and sounded the depths and feeling himself now crawling along the eg | inky bottoms of despair, t took his es iy to Market Street, careful only that he shor ‘id 1 nowhere encounter the benignant inquiri ng eye of Cactus Johnson. Reproaching himself that he had not even called Maisie on the phone during the noon hour, he forced himself to go ag in the elevator to Room 916 of the Neville Build- ing. The girl was sitting pensive at te r sec- retarial desk. mal satisfaction. at Ben with wearied but “Ben!” she excl: rimed , leaping up half joyfully, half in rebuke. ‘“‘Where—where have you been is what ‘I want to know,” keen eyes noted something that of more considera- were words of been to your friend’s oO" Then the changed her tone to one tion, though the words gentle raillery: “Oh, funeral, huh? And where's your new sui Ben walked straight past her toward the inner office. ““Come on in,” he said thing to tell you.”” Maisie deringly. “*Get another partner,’ announced Ben, sinking into a chair. “I'm a flivver.’ Maisie’s manner changed again ‘Is that so?”’ she inquired, mildly indig- nant but perching herself jauntily upon the corner of his desk. ‘* Want to get rid of me, do you?” “You'll want to get rid of me when you hear my sad and humble story,” wailed Ben ‘Friend,”’ announced Maisie, mock seriousness, “‘something’s botherin’ you. I can see it. I can tell it by your mood of gentle melancholy I gather it from your language. I absorb it from your general atmosphere. Ben Downey” — and the voice grew more e solemn as she leveled an accusing finger—‘‘it’s poker! You've been playing poker!” Ben shook his head. ‘“‘The stock ex- change,” : he croaked. ‘Ben!’ Maisie had spoken sharply. She stood up straight and trim with her hands pre cisely behind her back. “Some people are making big money on the stock exchange,” the man explained wretchedly. “I thought I could do it. I put in the one hundred I was going to get the ‘I've got some- followed won- again with THE SATURDAY suit with EVENING POST and two hundred dollars Mrs Jackson let me have.” ‘Mrs. J night?” “With |} few minut Francis an an ice, untary which she w scious, but “And I mining stocks and lost. Ben's face memory looked upon. “But, oh, they did give me I was fiftee ackson!”’ more. “Y I guess. “Oh!” remarked Maisie exclamation it of the brilliant prospects Maisie stiffened a little ou were with that woman last ver and her husband, just for a es. I ran into them at the St. d we had a dish of something a rather invol- was, and one of was herself oo aps hardly con- it denoted relief quite clearly. put the whole three hundred in But ol * And brightened ludicrously at the he had Maisie, what a run for my three hundred! nm hundred to the good once and then later it looked as if I was going to cop off four t broke and so fast broker to s even lookir housand; but—but the stock took a nose dive. It went down that before I could get word to my ell it was on the ground and not ig up.” Ben concluded his narrative as solemnly as he had begun it, and for a moment sin- ister silence reigned in the private office of Downey & Co. The with her } gravely and virtuously lady partner, still 1ands behind her back, looked out of the window. ‘It will be a lesson to you perhaps,” she said hopefully after an interval. ‘I do not think, therefore, we should dissolve part- nership solely on that account.” Dissolve lently. H misery bee ad he in his Ben started vio- humiliation and n fool enough to suggest that? partnership! Gazing now at this lithe figure of a wise, grave, self- shoulders flinchingly knew thought in would be t nership wi with that were straight an that the one those eyes, with those whimsical, contained woman, whose slight accepted so bravely and un- the responsibilities of life, he most unbearable the whole vast universe of ideas hat of having to dissolve part- th her; with those shoulders, luminous, mischievous gray tantalizing lips just now composed in lines so d sober. ‘It certainly will be a lesson to me,” he declared humbly, at the same time reach- ing out and endeavoring to possess himself of one of This attem his business associate’s hands. pt, however, after appearing to succeed became a failure, as Miss Maisie unclasped the fingers behind her back and transferred toyed with tain at least for a time. that Maisie’s sunny nature could not pose long endure ‘It’s luc cheery smi dred. I’ve fifteen doll: niture bill, cents, down with clothes my Ben was ner, but he rec sh 1e would | “Oh, yes, with an an tones : astonishme hand a roll Laisie!’’ he “Where dic ‘Mining woman su Yes, I have”’ them to the front, where they the cord upon the window cur- But gravity was a even for a laudable purpose. ky,” she said, turning with a le, “that I kept the two hun- paid the rent, one hundred and irs, and the balance on the fur- seventy-seven dollars and fifty and now I think I'll just about walk you and buy you a suit of self.” staggered by the change of man »had presence of mind enough to all to he r that, having paid these bills lave no money left. I have,” responded the lady 1azing degree of pleasure in her ; and to the man’s nt he saw that she held in her of money exclaimed in awed tones. 1 you get it?” laughed that young accompanying the stocks!” rprisingly, laughter and the speech with a most impu- £g I | dent and a chin. “Tour = as if an ide playing the ‘Fair for one other,”’ res} denly serio tones “a most adorable elevation of the ou?” Ben looked for a moment 1 had fallen. “ You have been market?" he faltered partner as ‘tis for the vonded Miss Maisie, grown sud- us from the reproach in Ben's forgave you when you lost. You're not going to hold it against me when I win, are you? Per sen smiled weakly. “Partner!” of humble amazement I'll never he time ‘It wase And his voice was now full contrition oddly mixed with and admiration * Partner id anything against you at any But tell me about it. asy enough,” began Maisie and again she perched herself upon the corner of his desk But her mood became imme- diately more subdued than that in which one usually relates a triumph she began t expression ¢ hardly sure Indeed as o recall the story there was an yn the girl’s face as if she were it was a triumph; a slight tendency almost to shudder at the mem ory. “I heard about what mining stocks were doing last night from a friend and I thought that I would just drop in at a broker's office on the way down town First | got to looking at the board and then I took little nibbles at the lower-priced ones. It seemed to be a day when any boob could win because the stocks all rose up just like a tide “Well, just sitting there and nodding my head once in a while, Ben, I had honestly made so much money that it scared me oh, seven or eight hundred out of two and I sold out straight and clean. But once the money was in my hands I got my nerve back and was going to buy in once more when something got the matter with the market. It had been boiling up like a pot of beans and now it went down again just like the fire was out. The longer I watched it the searier | vot, and then all at once the excitement quieted down and things got steady once more, with men looking at each other kind of pale and a couple of women wipin’ their eyes off in one corner cagylike so nobody would see ‘en But I saw ‘em They had lost. I didn't know but what that was some of. their money burning in my hands right then. Actually, Ben, I felt like maybe | was a thief. I knew I wasn't going to play stoeks any more, but I hated to take all that money away, so I just took out three hundred dollars—two hundred that was ours and one hundred to pay for my time up there this morning — and |. give the rest back to the broker.” “Gave it to him?” ‘What'll I buy groaned Ben with it for you?’ says the broker. He didn't get me at all, you see. Besides, it wasn’t his money any more than it was mine, so I says: ‘Oh, I don't know. Something that I won't have to stay here and watch,’ I says. ‘Something that’s got bottom to it if any of them have.’ So he says, ‘Well, here's a stock that’s on the bottom now and liable to look up any minute.’ ‘I'll take it,’ I says ‘But what was it, Maisie?” “Frisk me! I don’t know,” responded the girl frankly, “only it was a bargain marked down from a dollar-fifteen to forty seven cents—something like that.” ‘From a dollar-fifteen?” asked eyes bulging ‘That's what he said i 6 forty seven?” “Yes,”’ smiled Maisie; “it made a noise just like a real bargain to my woman's ear and I just jumped on it. ‘Buy me that,’ I said, ‘and send the certificates down to my office when you get ‘em I can't stand round here all day,’ I told him. ‘I've got business to attend to.’ That's how he came to give me my money in the middle of the day that way.” Ben had leaped up like a crazy “And did he send them?” ‘Yes, they just came in a minute before you did. I haven't exactly had the heart to look at them It seemed like ope ning upa lot of liabilities of some kind.’ By this time Maisie was leading the way out to her desk, with Ben following madly to where she picked up and handed to him a long manila envelope marked “Ben B Downey & Co.” He examined the con tents ‘Nevada Rex!” he shouted. “ Battling Bolivar! Maisie! You have bought Ne vada Rex. Six, ten, eleven hundred shares of Nevada Rex at forty-seven and it closed at one-thirty-five It’s the very money I've lost.” “Then it don’t hurt my conscience a bi to take it,” declared Maisie, immediately radiant over the transaction. “ How much does it figure?” “Something better than fourteen hun dred dollars,’ gloated Ben “Let's sell it then and get out.”’ “Sell it? Yes!” agreed Ben; “but get out? How else can we make fourteen hun dred dollars in a day?’ ‘I’m not so buttoned-up sure myself admitted the girl. “The ups and downs made me awful nervous, but the finis! nothing to shed tears over.’ solid Ben, man ‘Let's breathe,” proposed the ¢ ed Ben, and he sat down and fanned himself with the certificates. ‘‘ And figure on what we're going to do to-morrow “No,” demurred Maisie, practical a ever. “Let's figure on what we're going to do to-day iffice and I'll Let’s close up the take you down to Sam's and see that you get that suit of clothes myself ‘I told him I might be back,” recalled Ben

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46 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 Through the Gate of Horn HE young man’s face was pale. His jaw, 4 ee in a grip of self-control, lent his clever handsome features a suggestion of force remarkable for his twenty-two years. At maturity his intellect, backed by so much character, would be for- midable. He turned te the window, stared out of it fora long moment. Then he switched round upon the girl: ‘So that’s your last word, Betty? Finish?” Her eyes dropped under his, were raised again in a voli- tion which dared to match itself—though she was tremu- lous with the effort against the challenge of his voice. Their blue depths were charmingly sincere. ‘I cannot help myself, Jack.” She shook her head pathetically. “You ought to understand.” His voice came grimly, with intent to wound: ‘You are selling yourself to James Arrowsmith. Yes, I understand.” She shuddered, turned away her head in despair of sympathetic comprehension. There was a silence, during which both gazed down vistas of gloomy thought. Then she looked up again, diffidently venturing another appeal to his magnanimity “You know father’s position — He nodded sardonically “IT know He thinks his business is safe if James Arrowsmith is his son-in-law instead of merely his go- ahead competitor. He's wrong. Arrowsmith would cut his own brother's throat if he met him on a dark road and thought he had a dollar in his pocket. He’s just a modern brigand.”’ The girl sighed. “What can 1 do, Jack? Father He blazed out in a sudden fury: ‘Oh, yes, | know! Father! I can’t help your father being a fool! It's not my fault that he can’t recognize that he is only capable of appre- potentiality in a man ciating a success that is already made, which he can measure by a balance in a bank! Give me ten years and I'll eat James Arrowsmith!” The girl shook her head sadly “Ten years, Jack— it’s a long time ahead. We have got to deal with things as they are to-day. And to- aay - “I'm nothing!” he said bitterly. She looked up at him You are just a promising young man fresh from college, jack. With a big future before you, I am sure of that but it’s only a future.’ ‘I’ve started, anyway!"’ he exclaimed. “I’ve got that job on the Rostrum -- begin next week. And I'm going to make good!" “Of course you are—but—we can’t marry on your pay as a very junior subeditor.”” She shook her head again. We must be reasonable, Jack. If lL saw any chance ” “Yes,"’ he interrupted brutally; “if you saw any chance of my driving you about in six months’ time in a big motor car like James Arrowsmith’s—then you would condescend to love me.” She stood up, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, don’t, Jack!’ She turned away her head, pressed her hand to her eyes, dropped it in a hopeless gesture. She faced him again, her sensitive mouth quivering at the corners, her expression appealing from misery to com- passion. Evidently she hardly dared trust herself to speak. You know | love you!" Her voice caught, almost broke. “You know | love you now—shall never love anyone else. All my life I shall remember you—if I live fifty weane* His short laugh was intended to express that terrible ynicism of youth losing its first illusions. “Cut it out, Betty! In fifty years you will be seventy. No doubt you will be a charming old lady. You may even be sentimental; you can indulge safely in the luxury then. But you won't even remember my name. You'll be interested only in the love affairs of your grandchildren.” She smiled at him involuntarily —and then consciously maintained the gleam in her eyes, quick to emphasize and elaborate the note of comedy he had accidentally struck. It was escape from threatening acrimony. ‘And you, Jack? In 1969? Will you remember my name? Will you be even sentimental, | wonder? Oh, I should like to see you—a cynical old grandfather, telling your grandchildren not to marry for money but to marry where money is! Oh, Jack!" Her voice was genuinely mirthful. ‘“‘You will come and see me and talk their affairs over with me, won't you? We shall be two such dear old cronies!” He had to concentrate on his frown, endangered by her infectious sense of humor. “I shall never marry,” he announced gloomily. ‘‘So there’s not much use in promis- ing to discuss my grandchildren’s affairs with you fifty years hence. 1 shall never love another woman.” By F. BRITTEN AUSTIN She ignored the somber vaticination, determined to keep on a safer plane of futurity. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to see, Jack, fifty years ahead— and all that will happen in the meantime!’’ There was just a hint of seriousness in the light tone, in the bright eyes that smiled into his. “If one could only know!” Her face went wistful. ‘‘I often wonder—these crystal gazers and people —whether they can really see.”” She looked up at him. “Jack! You are so clever and know everything don’t you know any place where one can go and really see what is going to happen?” He smiled, half in pleasure at her flattery, half in the consciousness of being about to say a clever thing. The smile was wholly youthful, despite his assumption of withered cynicism. “Yes. The place to which you are sending me. “What place?”’ Her tone was puzzled. “Hell!” he said shortly. She wrinkled her brows. “I don’t understand.” “Of course you haven’t read Vergil,”” he said with the crushing superiority of the newly fledged graduate. ‘It’s in the sixth book — where he takes Aineas into Hades. He describes two gates there—a gate of horn and a gate of ivory. They are the gates through which all dreams come. Those that pass through the ivory gate are false dreams; the true ones come out of the gate of horn. I will sit down beside it and report if any of them concern you. You haven't left me much other interest,’’ he concluded bit- terly, ‘“‘and this life will be just hell.” She looked at him in a short silence. “You are being very cruel, Jack. will be much happiness for me?” head. He laid both his hands on her shoulders, compelled her gaze to meet his. “Then let me give you happiness! Betty, I love you! I love you! I care for nothing in the world but you! Risk it! Forget everything except that you love me and I love you! You will never regret it. I will make you the hap- piest woman on earth, as I shall be the happiest man. You cannot live without love. I love you, Betty! And I shall always, always love you! Trust yourself to it, whatever happens!” She withdrew herself from him, shook her head hope- lessly. “T can’t,” she said wearily. “‘I have promised.” “Arrowsmith?” “Father.”” Her tone answered all the implications of his question with a dreary finality that left no issue. Her sigh was a seal upon resignation. “Then it’s good-by?” She nodded in a forced economy of speech. “*Good-by.” He picked up hat, stick and gloves and moved toward the door. “You've nothing more to say to me?’ She shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “No, Jack. Except that I shall remember this birthday as the most miserable day of my life. You have not made it easy for me.” “Why should I?” he asked, the uncompromising ego- tism of youth suddenly harshly apparent. ‘‘ You refuse the best gift I can offer you—myself!” “T can’t help myself. But’’—she hesitated on the pathetically forlorn appeal—‘‘you might be kind.”” Her eyes implored him. He struck himself upon the forehead with a dramatic little ejaculation that matched the gesture. “Bah! It all seems like an evil dream to me!’ She smiled at him sadly. “I wish it came out of the gate of ivory, Jack—and not out of the gate of horn!” He flushed, his raw sensitiveness resentful of this boom- erang return of his own witticism. “You can keep your sense of humor for James Arrow- smith, Betty! Good-by!” He snatched open the door and went out. He could not visualize her standing there listening for his shattering slam of the front door, running to the window for a last glimpse. He thought of her only as mocking at the tragedy that was so real to him. In a furious rage with the universe as constituted he marched blindly out of the house and straight across the pavement with intent to quit even her side of the road. His brain in a whirl he looked neither to right nor left, careless of an environment which was at that moment scarcely real to him. He only half heard the raucous scream of an automobile horn, a warning human shout—and ” Do you think there She turned away her , then something struck him violently on the side, followed it with a crashing blow on his head. He could not see Betty’s face, tense and white, bending over his senseless body as it was extricated from under James Arrowsmith’s plutocratic car and—after her em- phatie prohibition of hospital—borne into her father’s house. He felt himself shoot upward in the vast familiar eleva- tor of the Daily Rostrum Building. His head was full of important business—interviews with senators, statesmen, financiers, which had filled his busy day. With practiced mental control he screened these matters temporarily from his consciousness, cleared his brain for the immediate tasks that awaited him. The elevator stopped opposite a door which bore his name. As he opened it he heard, with the little glow of observed success, the awed recognitory whisper of one of the two seedy journalists he left behind in the lift: “‘The editor!” He entered the big room, hung with wall maps above the low-ranged bookcases, where a lady clerk was arranging his afternoon tea on a little table by the side of his massive desk. His secretary, evidently alert for his entrance, ap- peared at another door. “*Mr. Bolingbroke is waiting to see you, sir!”’ ““Good! Show him in!” He settled himself in his big chair, glanced at the pile of papers on his desk, looked up to nod a curt greeting to the keen-faced young man who entered. “Five minutes, Mr. Bolingbroke!”’ he said warning!y, with a gesture toward the papers that awaited him. The young man smiled. “IT can do more business with you, sir, in five minutes than I can with another man in fifty,”’ he said, extracting a wad of typescript from an attaché case. ‘‘ Here’s the draft of the last article.”’ He took it, leaned back in his chair, ran his eye over it. It was headed *‘ The Cutthroat Combine. The Arrowsmith Apaches Uneasy for Their Own Scalps. More Points for the Public Prosecutor.” He skimmed through it rapidly. It was a scathing de- nunciation of a predatory trust with which the proprietors of the Daily Rostrum had quarreled. Chapter and verse were given for a series of malpractices which, substantiated after this publicity, would infallibly bring the wrongdoers before a court of justice. He leaned forward, picked up a pencil, struck out a few sentences, made other points more telling. Suddenly he frowned, scored out a paragraph. ““You’re too tame over this infantile-mortality business! You want to let yourself scream over it. That’s the note that'll wake ’em up! Get all the sentimental parents clam- oring for his blood!”” He handed back the typescript. “Rewrite the final paragraph and it’ll pass.”” He glanced at his watch. “‘ Four anda half minutes, Mr. Bolingbroke!” he said, an almost boyish note ‘of triumph in his voice; ‘‘and I guess it’s finish for Mr. James Arrowsmith!” He turned to his tea as the journalist made his exit. Then he bent himself forward to the business on his desk. As he ran through and signed letter after letter his own phrase ‘‘Finish for Mr. James Arrowsmith!” rang in his head, repeated itself over and over again with almost the distinctness of an auditory hallucination. A detached por- tion of his consciousness listened to it, was lured into a train of thought that was not unpleasant. Of course he had no real personal grudge against James Arrowsmith. Without him He smiled as he set his signature at the foot of yet another letter. That was a long time ago! And he had prophesied it; he remembered, sud- denly, his own words: ‘Give me ten years and I'll eat James Arrowsmith!’’ Ten years! He glanced involun- tarily at the calendar in front of him, read the date— 1929. By Jove, it was ten years! Ten years ago—Betty’s birth- day! He glanced again at the calendar—and dropped his pen on the desk with a sharp exclamation of annoyance. Good Lord, of course it was! It was Betty’s birthday to-day! And he had forgotten it! For a moment or two he stared in front of him, his brows contracted into a frown which was directed impartially at circumstance and himself. He had been so terribly busy of late—but of course he must find time. Poor old Betty! He took up the telephone instrument on his desk, gave a number. “Hello! . . That you, Betty? . . . Jack. Jack speaking. . Many happy returns of the day! . . . What? . . . Of course I remembered! What? .. Well, it’s only five o’clock.” His tone was one of self- extenuation. “I say, old girl! We'll go out to dinner—any restaurant you like! What? You've got an appoint- ment?”’ He repeated the words incredulously. ‘‘Oh, very well! I say, Betty! You haven’t got a cold or (Continued eon Page 49) ee eee ee OO eee ee a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Lhis 1s Lts Gharacter This picture is a glimpse into the lobby of Hotel Pennsylvania, New York; and fairly represents the character and the good taste and the luxury of that new and much-talked-of hotel. \nd it will help you to understand why the Pennsyl- vania is the New York home of thousands of discrimi- nating travelers who want the best that New York can provide—even before you know another reason for that preference, which is: because the Pennsylvania is more than a beautiful and dignified hotel; it 1s a complete, and comfortable, and thoughtful, hotel: =~ = EE ae oer weds, cones, Every bedroom has private tures embrace two complete bath, circulating ice water, Turkish bath establishments, Servidor (an ingenious device one for men, one for women, which eliminates contact with each with large swimming-pool ; i servants at your bed-room — well-selected library; delightful door), full-length mirror, read roof garden restaurant and ing-lamp on the bed-head, and — lounge. many other unusual conven- Rooms for one person are iences. A morning paper ts $3. $3.50. $4. $5 and $6: for delivered free to every guest two, $5, $6 and $7 (with twin- siete beds, $6, $7 and $8); parlor The special equipment fea- suites are $12 and up. The Largest Hotel in the World Opposite Pennsylvania Terminal, New York, 2200 rooms, 2200 baths ° ° ‘ ° , ° ° . ° ‘ ° ‘ ° . ° ‘ ° * ° STATLER-OPERATED —1n connection with HOTELS STATLER Buffalo Cleveland Detroit St. Louis PENNSYLVANIA

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HAT greater tire mileage, of which Ajax users boast, is built into Ajax Tires scientifically. It is built in by a proven engineering principle, known in its application to tire construction, as Ajax Shoulders of Strength. This exclusive Ajax feature, in principle, is the engineer’s accepted rule for building strength into enduring structures. For instance, the Eiffel Tower, built in 1887 by Alexandre Gustave Eiffel, is braced and re-inforced by “shoulders of strength”’ AJAX ROAD KING MORE TREAD ON THE ROAD Users almost never Proof of this fact vealed by our records: 97°, of all Ajax Tires manufactured are through Ajax dealers directly to indi- vidual car owners. chaser. Ajax. change from lies in figures re- Just how Shoulders of Strength are built into Ajax Tires is shown in the pictured section of the Ajax Road King. A burly buttress of pliant rubber braces each side of the Thus, the Ajax rubber where it surface— sold triangle barbed tread. Road King has more should be more tread on the road. wider wearing The tire dealer who has the Ajax fran-

chise in your vicinity is the best tire

June 28,1919 TIRES “yl lie ly i fal a -*+-- bese 1h a

Hundreds of thousands of car owners dealer for you to trade with. His store know the superlative mileage qualities is the Ajax Tire Supply Depot, head- —~_ \ of the Ajax Road King. This sturdy quarters for Ajax Tires, Ajax Inner \ tire wins the friendship of every pur Tubes, and Ajax H. Q. Tire Accessories. j Ajax Tires Are Guaranteed In Writing 5000 Miles AJAX RUBBER COMPANY, INC., NEW YORK / Factories: Trenton, N. J. Branches in Leading Cities / ( AS “i a “Tk os Stee lls, ( AUN itl iit tnd T ote gad hy: id \ mi \ A\ \\N \\ % Nit Ni Hh i / i ct vil H “il i Nat {| Lietaurg ates PR | Ne QUUINRRO 9, ergy | / A AN i i } \ r { AY r YT an iiliy Mi. \ \ | i{ ; int | IN y!! y 4 Y) J ' 7] ys - Ns oY | wl / ; i wy iy \ Hl | MO, 4 {| id ‘xyes by, | A A\\\) AW ayn ‘atin lies Affu” lfc? Mtr \ \ j SS S 2 Sey Ogle alae FN a sO. Sy a wt! ea Mh, va 8 ey = ¥ se WN NY RC MUM WY 4 ox Zz Y w = s AW Ny “1, it, ——: Si : ey, nny VM), Vy,

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ee ee ee, er cam a — an eee eee ee ee is A Tate eee (Continued from Page 46) anything, have you? Oh, all right. No, I only thought your voice sounded strange.’’ He frowned. .. . “Very well; do as you like! Good-by!” He put back the receiver with a vicious thud. Throughout the remainder of the afternoon, while he gave directions to the series of subeditors who came defer- entially into his presence, an obscure worry persisted at the back of his consciousness. Of course—he had to con- fess it—he had neglected her of late. How long was it since he had been home? Only a month? Or five weeks? The foreground of his brain working at full pressure on the problems continuously submitted to it for instant decision failed to solve the question— relegated it to be worried over by that independent consciousness at the back of his mind. It was a long time anyway! Of course she understood. It was the paper—the paper to which he was the slave— which practically he never quitted—he had a bedroom in the building—the paper of which he personally read every item that was printed and an enormous quantity of copy which was not—the paper which was his pride, his joy, his one interest in life! Of course she understood—but it was rough on her. Poor old Betty! He thought of her strange voice, and winced with remorse. She had been brooding over no letter that morning. If only she would have gone to din- ner with him! He felt that he could have explained things, put everything straight. But she had an appointment! What appointment? With whom? He put a thought out of his mind, and the thought peeped persistently over the barrier. Impossible of course! Preposterous! Docile little Betty. Besides—who could there be? His vanity was scornful of the idea. Nevertheless, as he worked, an impulse kept rising in him, ever more powerfully, an impulse to go home—to go home at once. He fidgeted as he beat back the disturbing desire, had to concentrate himself fiercely upon his task. Suddenly, as though the obscure subconsciousness, which was after all his real self, had come to a decision in which his brain had no part, he surrendered. He was surprised at himself as he sharply pressed the bell button upon his desk. His secretary appeared. “Tell Mr. Thomson to see the paper through to-night. Get me a taxi at once!” The well-disciplined secretary barely succeeded in veil- ing his astonishment. “Very good, sir. And if we get that cable from Yoko- hama?”’ He bit his lip in an unwonted hesitation. Upon the con- tents of a cable expected that evening from Yokohama he would have to decide the policy of his paper, and upon the policy of his paper, as outlined in the leader that would be published in the morning, depended to a large extent the direction of the current of popular opinion—the current that would set in a few days toward peace or war. To- night, if ever, he ought to remain at his post. But the dominant impulse that had swept over him would take no denial. He felt like a traitor to his professional code as he replied: “*I may be back. If lam not,ring meup. You will find me at home.” His straight stare at the secretary challenged and brow- beat the bewilderment in that young man’s eyes. “Very good, sir,”’ he said submissively, and departed. A few minutes later he found himself speeding home- ward in a taxi that, despite the reckless audacity of the liberally subsidized driver, could not go fast enough. The momentary halts imposed by cross traffic seemed inter- minably prolonged delays. Of course he was a fool, he told himself—but his impatience increased with every second, set his fingers drumming upon the unread evening newspaper on his knee. At last! The taxi swung into the pavement in front of the tall block of flats where he had his city home. He jumped out with the feverish alacrity of a youth trembling lest he should be late for a first ap- pointment, almost ran to the elevator. Another moment and he was fitting his key into the latch. Heswung the door open—was confronted by Betty in hat and furs, apparently just on the point of departure. She shrank back at his entrance, went white. “Jack!” The tone of her voice reéchoed in him like an alarm bell. He looked sharply at her. ““Where are you going?” She stared at him, white to the lips, evidently unable to answer. He repeated the question in a level voice from which by an effort of will he banished the wild suspicion that suddenly surged up in him. “‘Where are you going, Betty?” She laughed a trifle hysterically. ‘““You are taking a great interest in my doings all at once, Jack! I’m going out of course. I told you I had an ap- pointment.” His eyes met hers, held them till they dropped and she went suddenly red. He opened the door of an adjoining room, gestured her to enter, followed her. They stood and faced each other in asilence that seemed to ring with the menace of near event. He was the first to break it. “Now perhaps you will tell me where you are going, Betty?” He held his voice on a note of politeness, but it was nevertheless sternly compelling. Her eyes sought the carpet. Her bosom heaved deeply through a long moment during which there was no sound save the suddenly perceived loud ticking of the clock upon the mantelpiece. Then on the wave of a resolve she lifted her head, confronted him proudly. ‘I am going to leave you, Jack!"’ It was evident that she had to fight to keep her voice from breaking. “I—I have had enough of it!” His ejaculation was characteristic: “*My dear! You must be mad!” An answering anger came into her eyes. “Mad or not—I mean it!” “Leave Maisie?” he cried incredulously. She smiled at him, more in control of herself now than he. ‘No. Iam taking Maisie with me,” she said with de- liberate calmness. “But you can’t! I will not allow it!” “Perhaps you propose to sit here all day and watch her?” she asked with biting sarcasm. Then with a sudden change of tone indignation flamed up in her: ‘‘ What is she to you? Is she any more to you than Lam? Do you see her from one month's end to another? Do you ask after her? Doyou writetoher? Doyou take the faintest interest in her? No! Once you leave this flat and go to your hate- ful paper you forget her as utterly as you do me!”’ Her eyes blazed at him. ‘ Maisie and I are all the world to each other, Jack! And we will not be separated! We go together!” The violence of this outburst from the woman whose docility he had so long accepted as naturally as he did that of his staff upon the Rostrum shocked him profoundly. At the same time a blinding passion of jealousy surged up in him. “You shall not go!” “‘T shall!” There was no mistaking the determination in her voice. ‘‘The moment your back is turned!” The room seemed to reel about him. The hitherto so solid foundations of his existence had broken up suddenly beneath him. He could not have suspected so great a capacity for emotion in himself. He pressed his hand against his brow, closed his eyes tight in the sickening shock. “Who is it?” he asked hoarsely. ‘“‘The man? His name?” Her eyes seemed to be probing the depth of his wound as they looked into his, but they showed no compassion. “‘T cannot tell you.”” Her tone was unshakably firm. There was again a silence, in which he fought for mas- tery over himself. He looked at her in uncomprehending despair. “Betty! Betty, tell me why! Tell me why! You used to love me. Tell me why you've changed!” She evidently was also fighting to keep his emotion from communicating itself to her. He thought as he waited for her answer that her head never looked more nobly beautiful. 9? **Do you remember, Jack? ? Ten years ago? You said to me: ‘You cannot live without love A sob that almost escaped its check Ten years 9 " to-day? You were right.”’ came into her voice. ‘‘I cannot live without love. He looked for yet another moment upon the sad dignity of her face, upon the quivering sensitive mouth, upon the eyes that brimmed with tears movement he sprang forward, seized her two hands in hi then with an impul ive The tears were in his eyes also, and in his voice. “Oh, Betty, Betty darling! I remember! And I said ‘I love you! I love you! Trust yourself to it, whatever happens!’ Oh, Betty! Her eyes looked deeply into his, incredulous at first of his sincerity, then softening in a wonderful certitude. She let. herself go into his enfolding arms, her mouth drawn , yet still for a moment withheld. All She implored, like a soul Is it too late? Is it too late?”’ wistf illy close to hi pride went out of her suddenly. that has an unbelievable chance.of life: “Oh, Jack! You do love me? You love me still! Oh, Jack, Jack!” She buried her head upon his shoulder, her body shaking with sobs. He caressed her soothingly. ““My dear! My beloved! My dear, dear Betty! Of course I love you! You and Maisie are all I have in the world—and it’s mostly you! Oh, I know I’ve been a fool! I’ve thought only of my selfish ambition. But, dear, try me again! I'll be so much kinder to you, so rouch more thoughtful. And we'll forget all this. Never remember it. I won't even ask you the man’s name.” She half raised her head from his shoulder and swallowed tearfully. “There —there wasn’t any man!" she said; and broke down again into a passion of sobs that would not cease As he expected, the young man was waiting for him. Maisie was waiting also, standing very tall and rigid by the window, in all the dignity of youth measuring swords with the parental generation. He thought, as he came THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 49 into the center of the room, how like her mother she was her mother twenty years ago, when she had faced her father. He nearly smiled at the remembrance, checked himself with a thought of the matter in hand. This of course was quite different! The young man rose to meet him. They shook hands with the amount of stiffness proper to the occasion. He found himself suddenly wishing that Betty were here after all. He had been hasty in telling her to keep out of the way. She could handle Maisie more tactfully than he could Very reasonable woman, Betty —she had seen his point of view at once. These thoughts passed swiftly through his mind as he invited the young man to a chair and seated himself. There was an awkward silence. He and the young man broke it at the same instant: “You wanted to speak to me?” “T think you understand, sir Both stopped likewise at the same instant, to make way for the other, and both failed to recommence. Maisie stepped forward impatiently, stood between them, towering superbly. “I don’t see why you want all this icy ceremony, both of you,” she said scornfully. She turned to her father. “Jim wants to marry me, father—and I want to marry Jim.. And that’s all there is to it!” “‘Indeed!"’ He raised his eyebrows in mild. sarcasm. “TI wonder you thought it necessary to inform me of such a trifling matter.” “We thought it better to tell you.” fully unscathed. “Much obliged, I am sure. I'm very interested. I expect you will both of you want to marry lots more people before you've finished. I shall always be willing to lend a sympathetic ear when you care to tell me of the latest.” “Father!”’ broke out Maisie indignantly. He felt that he had scored. ‘‘ This is serious.” “Tt always is,” he said philosophically. “And you, Maisie was cheer- young man? I suppose you are burning to add your testimony of the solemnity of this occasion to Maisie’s?"’ He felt that if he could only keep it up on this tone he was safe. Maisie was apt to be so damnably stubborn and unmanageable once he failed to maintain superiority. As for the young man— well, of course he was only a young man. He could soon manage him! This young man, however, was no whit abashed “T am, sir,”” he said confidently. ‘‘Maisie and I are made for each other!"’ he added, uttering the banality as though it were now for the first time new-minted for the lovers’ lexicon. “Really? It is a happy chance, for certainly Maisie’s mother and myself omitted to take you into account when we named her at the baptismal font.” He had scored again. The young man was impervious. ‘‘Perhaps there are higher Powers than you, sir?”’ he ventured with polite deference “Even if you are the editor of the Daily Rostrum! added Maisie viciously He resettled himself in his chair under this lively counterattack ‘Well, let us drop these witticisms,”’ he said with some asperity. “‘Come to business. Let’s hear your case, if you have one - “Certainly, sir. [ask your permission to marry Maisie “‘T appreciate the courtesy. What is your income?”’ The young man hesitated ‘““Well—at present, sir *s “Nothing, I suppose?" He was still keeping his end up, was well satisfied with the tartness of that question. He nearly smiled as he watched the young man wriggle ‘I must confess, sir—but I have qualifications —and I am ambitious!” ‘“All young men are ambitious,”’ he replied oracularly ‘*Let us hear the qualifications!” ‘“‘T graduated with honors at my university “Pooh! So did the man who sells my paper at the corner of the street !”’ - and I have great hopes of getting a good job.”’ “Indeed! Where?” “On your paper, sir.’ He was stayvered by the young man’s impudencs ““My compliments! But as I unfortunately fail to share those hopes I must regretfully refuse the permission you ask for.”’ He had only just managed to keep his temper Maisie sailed forward to the attack “But, father, you have often told me that wher ou { married mother you were only a graduate w job on the Rostrum! We don’t mind struggling — we should like to struggle— just as you did!” “Things were different then. Tha In this year of 1939 life is much more difficult than when your mother and I were young.” “It only seems so to you because ou have got a It isn't difficult to us positive. young people,” aid Maisi« miingly

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50 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST He winced under the unconscious cruelty of this remark. “Perhaps you will allow my experience to be the best judge,” he said snappily. ‘‘In any case I refuse my per- mission! The idea is ridiculous! I do not think there is any more I need say, young man,” he concluded, making a movement to rise from his chair Maisie pinned him down to it, both arms round him, kneeling at his side, her face —Betty’s young face!—look- ing up to him in winsome appeal Father,” she said, and her voice was full of soft cajo- lery, “if anyone took mother away from you wouldn't you feel it dreadfully?” He had a sudden little flitting vision of a crisis ten years back. ‘“‘ Would life be worth anything to you? I mean it seriously.” She paused for a reply he “Well, father—that’s just what life will refused to give be like to Jim if you take me away from him!’ ‘I don’t see the necessity of the parallel,’’ he countered feebly ‘Oh, yes, you do! And, father! If anyone took you away from mother— what would life be like to her? You know! Just a dreary blank! And that’s what my life will be like if you send Jim away from me!” Sut ” he began She put her hand over his mouth, a deliciously soft young hand, with a faint fragrance that reminded him “No!” she continued inexorably. ‘Listen to me! I haven't finished. If anyone took you from mother and she knew where to find you—-what would she do? You know! She would go to you, whatever was in the way! And, father, that’s what I should do! Father,” she said, and her tone was full of solemn warning, ‘‘ would you like to think of your darling little Maisie starving somewhere in a top back room—and hating you, hating you’’—her voice suddenly became almost genuinely vicious —‘“‘ because you wouldn’t give her husband a chance to earn his living? Would you like to sit day after day not knowing where she was, wondering all sorts of things with mother sitting on the chair opposite and not daring to say a word —day after day, and year after year, and never hear from her any more? And all because you were a stubborn foolish old man who had forgotten what real love was!" “But, Maisie "" He did not himself know what he was going to say She snuggled up close to him, looked up into his face, “Dadsie!” she said, and the voice was the voice of the child Maisie, who had so often looked up from his knee with just that irresistible smile which had brought strange tears to his eyes then as it did now—sudden tears he could not quite keep back. ‘ Dadsie,”’ she said once more, and her tone went straight to his heart, ‘you do love your little Maisie, don’t you? And you want to make her happy. All her life you have wanted to make her happy, and you're going to make her happy now. You are going to give her Jim, her man-—as you are mother’s man—a chance to make good. You are going to give us both a chance to make good together —as you and mother have made good together. You are still going to be Maisie’s dear, good, kind, generous father whom she will always love—aren't you, dadsie?”’ The young man stood up “Sir,” he said, “I’ve lost my father. And if I could choose another one——I should like it to be you!” The older man warmed suddenly at the unmistakable sincerity of his tone. He was a good lad, after all—very like himself, he thought —twenty years ago! “Dadsie!”’ implored Maisie, her arms still about him. **Dadsie, say yes! Just think it’s mother and you starting for the first time!” Something broke down in him; almost the barrier against unmanliness. He blew his nose quickly and his smile had a twist in it as he looked into Maisie’s eyes. “That's not fair!’ he said. “But you've won. You shall have your chance. You can start to-morrow, young man; but, mind —to work!" He stood up and went to the door, “Betty!” he called as he opened it. She stood there--smiling at him. He guessed suddenly that she had been there. all the while. “Well?” she said, hey eyes happy. He glanced round to where the two young lovers had stood. But they had vanished together into the garden. “I've been an old fool, my dear!" he said, smiling. ‘You've been an old dear!"’ she replied, putting an arm about him and coming with him into the room. ‘ You couldn't have made me a better birthday present!"’ Her eyes also were full of tears “Forty to-day!" he said. “And it only seems like yes- terday since you and I 9 “And you still love me?” she queried in a tone that had no doubt, looking up into his face ‘I still love you,” he replied, happily positive. “Just as I did then!” Arms about each other he led her in front of the big mirror over the fireplace, and they smiled at the reflected picture of their union. ‘She called me an old man,” he said a little ruefully, patting his hair before the mirror. “I'm getting a bit gray too.” He looked at her. “ But you, dear, you haven't got a gray hair—and in my eyes you are just as beautiful as ever! She shook her head slowly at him in delight. “‘And you are just as handsome!”’ He smiled down upon her. ‘*Maisie accused me of being too old to remember what true love was,”’ he said. ‘Do you think so, dear? Have we forgotten?” “Darling!’’ she whispered as she snuggled close against him. They kissed, believing that their kiss was just the kiss of twenty years ago. It wasn't. It was a symbol of in- finitely more. He sat tapping his foot impatiently on the carpet of the anteroom to the council chamber of the Daily Rostrum. Behind the closed door the arcana of the chief proprietors were in secret deliberation. He glanced at his watch, his dignity fretting at this unwonted exclusion, an unacknowl- edged anxiety unsettling his nerves. He knew himself to be on the threshold of a new epoch. An enterprising, young-blooded syndicate was acquiring the Daily Rostrum, was even then in conclave with the old proprietors, agree- ing upon the final terms. They had sent for him—had asked him—oh, most courteously !—to give them yet five minutes. But he was resentful of those five minutes. Young Henry Vancoutter—not so very young now, though; he must be forty; let me see; twenty years—the chief pro- prietor, ought to have treated him with more considera- tion. He deserved better than to be left cooling his heels while the destinies of his paper—his paper, for he, if anyone, had made it, had lived for it for forty years, had been its unchallenged autocrat for thirty—were in the balance. The old man would never have done it, he thought, resent- ful of this rising generation. Never once was old Van- coutter lacking in the respect due to him, the prince of editors, who had made his property one of the most valu- able in the journalistic world. He wondered what the future would bring. Doubtless the policy of the paper would be changed—that was only natural of course. They must go ahead with the times. He nerved himself for an effort that he felt would be a tax upon his strength. Yes—perhaps they had fallen a bit behind of late. The circulation was not what it was—not half what it had been fifteen years ago. They had made rather a virtue of being a trifle old-fashioned, appealing to conservative instincts. Not in the old days, certainly but for the last twenty years. And undoubtedly they had suffered from it. He must look up the side lines a bit—the radio service to private subscribers, for example. He drifted on to a vague calculation of the initial cost for the service of wirelessed cinema pictures of current events, mingled with advertisements, with which their go-ahead rival, the Lightning News,was making so great success with hotels and flat communities. His jaw set. He would beat them on their own ground. He would show the world that the editor of the Rostrum was still alive, was still a power. Yes—he was not done yet. He could not—no one could—conceive the Rostrum without him. He was the paper itself. There was not the faintest possibility of his being replaced. It was unthinkable as practical near politics, as unimaginable as death itself. He wondered what Betty would think of the changes. Poor old Betty! She was getting very frail; but, he thought cheerfully, considering that she was sixty to-day she was a wonderful woman. He glanced at his watch again, fidgeted with impatience. She would be waiting for him in the car outside—very nice of the old dear to come down for him every day as she had done for now, let me see, was it five or six years past? Ever since he had had his illness. Dear old Betty! He warmed himself with the thought of the splendid fur coat he was going to buy her as a birthday present that afternoon. The door opened suddenly. Young Vancoutter uttered his name with a smile, murmured an apology, beckoned him in. He entered, glanced round upon the familiar faces and the new ones gathered on each side of the long table. The new looked up at him with interest, the old bent over blot- ting pads on which they scribbled idly. He seated himself. Vancoutter spoke in his familiar crisp tones: “Mr. Trenchard, I have to inform you that the board has come to very satisfactory terms with the syndicate, who are in fact now the new proprietors of the Daily Rostrum.” The speaker paused for a mument, cleared his throat. “ You will of course readily understand that these new proprietors wish to have complete control of their property and that their ideas of editorial management may not coincide with ours—with those which you have so successfully and so worthily upheld for so many years.” He felt himself turn sick as he listened, pinched his lips together lest his emotion should be remarked. A mantle of ice seemed to compress him. Vancoutter continued, with an indulgent smile: ‘We for our part of course have safeguarded the inter- ests of a man who has served us so brilliantly, whose asso- ciation with our paper ad “Our paper!"’ He almost smiled in bitter irony. “i has so materially contributed to bring it to that pitch of influence at which it is still maintained to-day. June 28,1919 Therefore, as part of the purchase price paid by the new proprietors, ten thousand shares have been set aside as your property—and if you prefer it the syndicate has engaged itself to buy those shares of you, cash down, at the current market valuation ——” He scarcely knew what followed. He had only the most indistinct recollection of several other long-winded speeches whose flattery was sincerely intended to soften the blow. He could not remember what he himself had said. Ap- parently he had kept his dignity; had duly thanked the old proprietors. Of all the welter of words he clearly re- called only: “The younger generation, Mr. Trenchard! A man of sixty-two owes it to himself to retire!’”” And they haunted him, rang over and over again in his brain like the knell of his life. At last he escaped, went stumbling blindly down the stairs, forgetting, for the first time for forty years, the elevator. Betty was waiting for him in the closed car, her head peering out of the window. He groped for the door, almost fell into it. She helped him to the seat. “My dear! What is the matter?”’ she said, white with alarm. “Are you ill?” He clenched his jaw in the agony of his humiliation. “Sacked!” he said briefly, the tears starting to his eyes “Sacked at a moment’s notice!” She stared at him, unable at first to grasp the full sig- nificance of his words. “Oh, no, Jack! No!” she said. ‘““No! You can't mean it! It’s not true?” He nodded, gazing fixedly out of the window, away from her. “Tt’s true!’’ he replied grimly. ‘‘ My life’s finished!”’ She felt timidly for his hand, pressed it without a word. He turned and faced her. They looked for a moment into each other’s eyes, then suddenly he crumpled into her arms, a dead-beat old man, and sobbed like a child. “Oh, Jack, dear! Jack!"’ she said, caressing the gray head, upon which her tears fell like rain. ‘‘ At last we can be together!” They sat side by side on the porch of the country house, overlooking the wide lawns, which swept down to a belt of trees and the river. Along the bank two young couples were walking in a close and intimate comradeship whose happiness was indicated by the bright young laughter that floated at intervals in the stillness of the sunny afternoon to the porch of the house. He watched them as they went, then turned silently to his companion. Betty sat, sweetly placid, a little smile just accentuating the loose wrinkles on the soft face, her eyes looking perhaps after the young people, perhaps into happy thoughts. He thought she was very beautiful as she sat there—and inestimably precious. “Betty darling,’’ he said suddenly, lifting her hand to his lips, ‘“‘to think that you are seventy to-day!” She turned and smiled at him, her gray-blue eyes dark- ening with grateful love. “‘Nineteen-sixty-nine, Jack!" she said softly. ‘“‘Do you remember a His smile answered hers. “Yes, dear. I remember.” She checked him with a little gesture. “Hush! Don’t speak!"’ she murmured, as though i: awe. They sat there, hand in hand, in silence, gazing over the lawns to where their grandchildren wandered with the lovers of their choice, in a quiet eestasy for which they had no words. Love swelled in them, filled them with the soundless harmonies wherein life’s discords are resolved. “Hush! Don’t speak!” He opened hiseyes. Betty was bending overhim. Betty? He stared at her, puzzled. Where were the soft wrinkles, the gray hair? This was Betty—Betty as she used to be all that time ago. Then his consciousness readjusted itself suddenly to its environment. He gazed round on an un- familiar bedreom, where Betty moved with an air of pro- prietorship. ‘I have had such strange dreams, dear,” he said weakly. She bent over him again and smiled. “From the gate of horn?” she asked. How charming she looked! He collected his thoughts with an effort; remembered, all at once. “I hope so, dear. Please God, they are!” She rearranged his pillow, smoothed the sheet under his chin, smiled again. ‘‘Go to sleep, Jack —lots more sleep!" she commanded gently, authoritatively. Without strength or will to protest he let himself relapse once more into drowsiness. Suddenly he opened his eyes. “What was the name of the man who wanted to marry Maisie?” he asked, as though he had been long puzzling over the question. “Maisie?” She looked at him in blank lack of compre- hension. “Our daughter!" A beautiful smile of tenderness, of something ineffably feminine, came into her eyes. What was it she gazed at in that instant of silence? “Hush, dear. Don’t talk!" she said softly, kissing him on the brow. “Go and sit again by the gate of horn.”

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——— ee ~ APS and lights out! A moment, and total darkness folded in Sec- tion C, Barracks17, AirService Flying School, Cashin Field. There was a great creaking of strained cot springs, of groan- ings in spirit of the old bunk as cadets inserted themselves between tight-wrapped blankets for the nightly bunk fatigue. The fire of a cigarette here and there in recumbent heads waxed to a warm glow and waned again. Fell a partial silence of relaxation. “Gimme a cigarette, Bustard,”’ importuned a voice from the dark. “Wait till I get one for myself, will ya? Where the devil are my britches? Here y’are! Want me to stick it in your mouth for ya?” “No, I got it,” said the voice, properly ignoring the sar- casm. ‘‘Now gimme a light.” “You got the gimmes too, Zoll? The world’s gone cuckoo with the disease. Never meet any one any more, friend or unknown, but what the first thing is, ‘Say, woncha gimme ‘4 A match flared up, exposing two faces leaning far out of bunks toward each other. The cigarettes glowed; the match went out. ‘*Want me to spit for you now?” “‘No, guess not. You're so good to me! Getting smart just because they gave you your Rules and Instructor’s Card to-day! Think you'll fly soon! Very superior! Poor boob! It’ll be weeks ’n weeks yet.”’ Zollicoffer’s voice held friendly envy with its raillery. “T thank you, old thing, for them kind encouragement,” Bustard replied with deliberately smug complacency; “‘but you’re wrong. To-morrow I fly. It is written.” A voice at the far end, strong with despondency, chimed out in the darkness: ‘‘Pooh!”’ it said. ‘‘Pooh! Even if you're assigned you'll be sweeping hangars and policing round for weeks. We didn’t enlist to fly. Everyone knows that. We got in because we loved fatigue work. Of course you'll be policing up! What’s a kaydet for, anyhow?” At this question a strong diversity of opinion manifested itself. “God knows!” “To hound.” “To do all the dirty work so enlisted and drafted men keep their tempers.” Sidewalk Patter in Barracks . RONG!” shouted Bustard. ‘‘A kaydet is for Kewee officers to practice on.’”” Howls of approval greeting this offering, he continued: ‘‘Otherwise he should get off the earth.’’ Then the tone of exasperating conde- scension returned. “I’m going to get off to-morrow—fly off. You know I’m awfully sorry for you poor birds, though. Heaven knows when your chance will come. I'll probably be instructor to some of you.” “‘Where do you get that stuff inquired a wrathful voice. ‘‘I didn’t wish you any harm, but now I hope you crash.” “Say your prayers to-night, Bus?”’ ““Not yet. But I saw old Allen up there dust off his Bible and read it for a full hour this evening—when his hands didn’t shake too much. Funny how a man gets reli- gious when 43 Promptly the attack got the rise it was intended to produce. “That’s a lie! I didn’t read it for an hour, or just this evening. I read it a little every evening, as any intelligent man ought.” “But you’re not an intelligent man,” charged Bustard. ‘*Got as much sense as you!” “Don’t deny it, ‘cause I got caught too. The fact remains that if you had ail that was coming to you, you’d never have enlisted in this service as a flying kaydet.”’ A shout of agreement. “‘Good boy! Go to it, Bus!” “That’s no lie.” “‘The cream of the service is getting sour.”’ “They used to say that ooze was the lowest thing be- cause it’s at the bottom of the sea. But there’s one thing lower now.” The response to this was instant, unanimous, powerful. “You bet! A flying kaydet!”’ “Quiet!” suddenly shouted Bustard in a stentorian voice; and then in dramatic Patrick Henry style: ‘I must rest, for I fly to-morrow.” Envious catcalls, derisive jeers. ‘Listen to the hangar sweeper! White wings don’t fly!” “All because your name beings with a B too! Lucky bum!” 9% THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “‘Next army I’m in, my name’s Aaron Aaron. You hear me!” ‘*Hell, look at me with a Z,"" mourned Zollicoffer. ‘I always get the leavings.” “Well,” said Bustard calmly, ‘it does look as if we were taken alphabetically, I admit. But that’s a wrong idea. I am informed we were selected because of sheer ability.” Cots fairly rocked and shrieked under the agony of writhing bodies. “*How’d you get in on it then?’ ““How do you get that way, anyhow?” “You're close, Zoll; soak him with one of your trench shoes.” Talk and tumult died away. One by one cigarette butts shot from the bunks like little falling stars and plopped upon the floor. Heavy respiration; more sporadic and fainter squeakings of springs; a gurgle here; the smack- ing of a slumbering mouth there as though thoroughly tasting something either very good or very bad. Quiet. The Great Day Arrives EVEILLE had blown at least five minutes ago. Two uneven, scuffling, half-awake ranks of white hatbands were leisurely forming outside along the barracks, facing toward the barbed-wire inclosure. The center of the line was near the door and here the later stragglers piled out and stood jammed against the rear rank and up into the door itself. If unmilitary, there was at least good tactics in the maneuver, for it hid certain kinds or lacks of apparel and yet enabled these gentlemen thus uncertainly clothed to answer to their names, then dart within immediately upon the word “ Dismissed!’’ It was plain word had gone round that the C. O. still slept. The cadet sergeant —big, deep-voiced, devil-may-care stood under a solitary light that gleamed down from one of the posts behind him and faced this derisive, turbulent, impatient mob. In his hand he held a piece of paper. ‘“‘T think he’s got the roll, Zoll,”’ said Bustard, hustling out of his bunk and grabbing some clothes. ‘‘Ne’mind. I'll answer for you.”’ And he hurried to jam himself in the doorway, clad in shirt, unspeakables and shoes. Zollicoffer, with a muttered “Aw right,” turned sleepily in his blankets. ““Comp'ny, ’tenshun!’’ boomed the sergeant. His eye caught the mass jammed in the doorway. A grin, slight but malign, came to his face. The farce had begun. “Say! You birds think this is mass formation? How many ranks you got back there? Some day the C. O.’s gonna get awake and up and catch you. I’m telling you! Get in ranks! Fall in!” The only answer to this behest was an uneasy swaying at the doorway and a protesting “‘Aw c'mon, sarge. Le’s go.” The sergeant stepped back. His maneuver was ingen- ious, unexpected. ‘First two ranks—forward, march!” Highly tickled, the two ranks marched forward, and as they uncovered the motley crew their risibilities rose uncon- trollably. Palpable consternation reigned behind them. ‘“Aw, sarge, what th’ om But the sarge, relentless, adamant, fulfilled his purpose. “Ranks, halt! Now you guys fall in.” With argument, pushing, convulsive shovings backward and forward all along the line, and laughter, the ranks absorbed the reca!citrants. “Shut up! You're at attention! “Sections report!’ A short silence ensued. There were six sections to report. ‘All present or coming!’ shouted someone. Raucous laughter. “Blub-blub-blub!”’ reported someone else. laughter. The sergeant received these reports gravely. *“‘ All present or accounted for,”’ he said solemnly. Then out he roared, waving a hand in gesture of benediction. **At easy, men, at easy! I got a order to read.” Laughter halted in an immediate eager silence. Some- how they knew what this order was. The first batch of them were by it at last to be assigned to flying. It was momentous. For these men, who had struggled for months through ground school and concentration camp, who had been here at Cashin Field now for more than a month with no sign of a chance to fly and less of a sign of that far-away commission, would begin to see with this order their goa! looming faintly ahead. Doggedly they had hung bellowed the sergeant. More y Gordon Dugo on all these months in spite of chains of disappointed hope, of threats, of discouragements thrown in their way; of abuse, of laborious fatigue heaped on them; of petty heckling and a thousand untold minor humiliations. Yes, they had hung on, chasing this will-o’- the-wisp thing, grimly keeping their spirits, their pluck, their courage, their folly and their laughter. The sergeant began to read: AIR SERVICE FLYING SCHOOL CASHIN FIELD HEADQUARTERS, CapeT Wing, August 6, 1918 The following named men will report to the Flight Commander, Hangar No. 3, for flying instruction, at 7:30 4. M. this date Auparp, A. J Basset, L. A Boreav, T. 1 ALLEN, P. § BascomB, Q. ( BROWN, S AusTIN, R. | BeLpeNn, A. H Bowen, M.O BALDWIN, T.5 BLONDELL, G. I Bustarp, R. ( By order MAJOR FILBURS T. 8S. PInKMman, 2d Lt. A. S. M. A., Adjutant “Lucky hounds!” yet happily. “Whoopee!” yelped Bustard, dancing in his unspeak- ables. “Sitting on the world!” ‘*Bustard will take charge of these men and march them over in formation at 7:30,” continued the sergeant. ‘‘Com p’ny, ‘tenshun!" The company snapped up, straight, expectant, pre- paring for a mad rush. ** Dismissed !"’ congratulated someone enviously A rush of feet and a wild orgy of slamming and shoving began at the door. It became dammed with twisting, heaving bodies. Curses, groans, laughter, heavy panting, gasping and the warning creak of the long-suffering door- frame. Suddenly the crush gave way and the trampling crowd fellin; then flowed back to make the morning toilet before mess. It was this way every morning the C. O. overslept. Mess was over and Bustard, having made up his bunk, was sitting on his locker in ill-restrained impatience. “Zoll,”” he said finally, ‘‘I can't get a broom and I got to go. Will you clean up under my bunk for inspection?” The obliging Zoll answered the request courteously: “No! Hell with ya!” Whereupon Bustard, knowing full well that this was an affirmative, went through the sections with a prideful ‘Flyers on the line!"’ And having got his band together, marched them in column of twos toward Hangar Number Three and—joy! Heckling by the Way PON the way they met small columns of older students in leather coats and helmets marching to their re- spective stages. The eyes of these veterans lighted with diabolic joy at sight of them as with consequential look and quizzical grin they cast at them the same old taunts which they themselves had once endured ‘Look at the ears on 'em!”’ By which expression it was implied that their aural appendages stood out like wings and that with sufficient speed they could probably take off. “Oh, mamma! Look at the aviators!’’ in tones of childish wonder. **A fine body of men!” “Why so pale, dearies? Have you seen the bulldog on the meat wagon?” The meat wagon was the ambulance “And all of them aces! Just think!” Not for worlds would they have shown to these heartl« faces the deep happiness that pervaded them. looked fierce and growled and swept by in step and at attention. The doors of Hangar Number Three were rolled open. Within, their eyes now no longer controllable, they sav So tnev ships and ships, from the engines and propellers of which blue-denimed mechanics were removing the car coverings. Bustard halted them on the side of the hangar next the flying field and left to report their presenve. Feeling ver new indeed and the object of every laugh and gibe the heard about them, they stood in an attitude of defiant embarrassment, making tight-lipped resolves that some day they would show ’em all! Things were busy. out coats, goggles and speaking tubes. They heard them called gosports. Instructors with silver R. M. A. wings upon their left breasts began to show up in boots, putties Cadets were arr ng and signing

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST These gods collected in a close r time of day and joshing each unheard-of fool A small dark lieu- tenant came jumping down a flight of steps leading from in office built upon the top of the hangar. He interrupted a short choppy harangue be- congenial knot, passing tne other wit! shnesses. their frivolity and began prinkled with profa: The ld talk } commander could talk li awed dozen knew intuitively that only a stage ‘ like that to instructors. These men this man was a supergod. they caught. “Not getting fast enough. Getting hell at head- flew and were god “Lying down on the job,” men off quarters all the time Their attention was distracted. Mechanics and cadets the ships out. Tail high in the air on a shoulder, they wheeled them to the dead line that bounded the flying field from the row of hangars, then turned them against the blocks. One of them got in the Another got at the propeller. “Off!” they and from the cockpit echoed “Off!” hanic at the propeller turned it over vigor- ously and, leaving it nearly horizontal, stepped back. “Contact!” he cried. From the cockpit came sharp re- sponse: “Contact!” The mechanic stepped to the propeller, put his finger tips upon the blade, swung his right foot forward, then back, at the same time skillfully throwing his weight down and from it. The swung over and suddenly the engine went off with a crash of its multiple cylinders. The plane strained itself against the block, longing to be off Down the the stage were getting brawny rear cockpit. heard him say The mee | 4 1 LICK aw ay and up. whole long line of hangars the same things were happening. The air was vibrant with the din of w irming motor an enlisted man who had a sheaf of papers in his He the timekeeper, the chief factotum of the stage commander Bustard returned witl hand and a harried look upon his face. Wils “*Gimme your instructor's cards,” he demanded. ‘“‘ They gave you your Rules of the Field, I 8’ pose » ye sterday = They all eauge rly assented, ‘Well, we're so can’t assign you to any to-day. May want you for policing.”” With turned and left them, bearing away their instructor's cards, which they The eagerness and joy left the faces and old, old Gloom settled back into his accustomed wrinkles. ‘And he said that so ea y !” sighed Blondell. where we sit round for another month and do fatigue.” ‘Dear ol’ air service,’ sobbed Allen, ‘* Well, it’s a great life—-for the first hundred years. They say they're the hardest.” Bustard He heaved a sigh structors and But just stick round which cheering news he hort on would see no more, “T see was staring after the retreating timekeeper. *This,”’ he announced, “‘is the durndest war | was ever in.” Five minutes later they were sweeping out the hangar and picking up snipes and other refuse about the grounds, Swinging the Prop pe® a week this condition of affairs persisted. Each morning the hangar was swept and garnished. Yea, they could touch the lovingly, tenderly, On tiptoe from eyes ate up the cockpit verily. But now—oh, glorious sop! ships awesomely. without, their hungry rudder, instruments fingers fondled the helped put them on the line. One day a trouble shooter—a mechanic—taught them to swing a prep. And on a dead motor they practiced diligently. Otherwise they sat on a bench near the dead line and watched the ships take off, circle the course and land. rhey began to spot ships that contained solo birds cadet And wild gentlemen land on their noses; they saw them land in aseries of mighty bounces, like sti k, afety belt and seat. Their itching control; and every morning they who were making their first trips round alone. they saw some of these bucking broncos; they saw them come down to land and then, fear overtaking them, go on again with a roar of the motor; they saw them land on their backs, at which an am- bulance dashed across the field, more furiously reckless than the solo artist had been. And they saw these green but hardy tyros miss the hangars by inches, each other by cen- timeters and the giant water tower by feet. But they saw few hurt, for God loved the cadet fledgling, even if the com- mandant of cadets and the D. M. A. at Washington did not. To prove their zeal they ran out with helping hands to seize a wing as ships taxied in to the dead line for gas and oil and water, And when the wild driver of the gas wagon had dashed at the ship as if to demolish it and had stopped just short of that achievement by a scant inch with a scream of the brakes, they helped to gas it. One by one, nervously at first but with growing assurance, they began to swing the props to start the engines. Each morning in the early dawn they saw with a never- ending fascination this mighty flock of birds leave the ground. By tens and twenties from the whole line of han- gars the ships crept slowly out into the green flying field, switching their tails gently to right and to left in the grass like a swarm of giant grasshoppers going out to feed. Then turning lazily into the wind they stood, wings outspread, waiting, their idling propellers forming dazzling disks at their noses, in seeming drowsy-minded reflection as to whether to fly or not. Suddenly a roar and a burst from the exhaust. A pro- peller had become an almost invisible shimmer. A drowsy beetle had awakened to gather speed—speed. The tail lifted clear of the ground and, like some graceful bird, the ship soared slowly up, up and rushed with a swishing crash over their heads and down the line of hangars. One after another they came in a stream of galvanized activity. The air was filled with them like a conclave of teetering gnats in spring. The dome of heaven echoed the vibrant hum of their motors as from a deep well. Down at the stunt stage they took off sensationally, as be- fitted. And always a dozen pairs of awe-struck eyes watched them with bated breath. For these ships were driven by lone cadets almost through their training—cadets who never knew the reverence that filled those neophytic hearts. Instead of soaring slowly upward as did the com- mon herd, these ships skimmed the ground at terrific speed. Then suddenly they zoomed, and as a giant wildcat springs they leaped straight upward fifty to eighty feet and took their sweeping flight away. And there at Hangar Number Three a dozen hearts were filled with unutterable ambition, unutterable admiration whose ecstasies found their only vent in slappings of each other on the shoulder and an “Oh, boy!” or a “Can a Kaydet fly!’’ Later they could see these same boys high against the blue practicing their acrobatics in different sectors of the sky, darting into turns, looping, spinning, flying on their backs—resembling nothing so much as a school of fish playing and jumping in the water at evening. The Prince in Khaki qvARS and mouths open for knowledge, drinking it all in 4 and thirsting for more, they learned to recognize some of thestunts. Like old hands they would say: ‘‘That’s a nice loop"; or, “‘How’s that for an Immelman turn?”’ or, “That fellow’s gonna do a tail spin. There he goes! Wow!”’ On dual stage, which was their own, they saw the old, old round. The ships took off and landed—took off and landed monotonously. Like many another thing seen from the outside only, it began to seem easy. The ships appeared to take themselves off and to land in the same way. With that caustic criticism which only ignorance exercises they condemned to each other luckless cadets who performed these two feats poorly. “Shucks! Look at that bird, won’t you? I could do better than that myself without any instruction,” said Allen of a particularly bouncy landing. And voicing the opinion of most of them he added: ‘‘ Why, they land them- KE lve 3!” “Sure,” quoth Bustard confidently. “Wish they would give me a ship and say ‘Take 'er round.’ Bet I could do it.” And so thought they all until _ A day came. The timekeeper appeared at the bench upon which they sat. “‘Allen, Belden and Bustard!”’ he called. Three instan- taneous “ Heres” snapped out. ‘You are assigned to Ship 143 with Lieutenant Ganes as your instructor. Report at once.” Three hearts gave mighty jumps. Their hour was close upon them. A big, tall, self-confident lieutenant clad in a khaki flying suit and bearing upon his shoulder a gosport tube strode up as the three proprietors stood at their ship. Like autom- atons—rigid, straight, reverence in their hearts and eyes they snapped to attention and saluted. He did not return the salute. Instead he gave them each a sharp appraising glance. Then he held out his hand. “What are your names? Mine is Ganes. intructor.” “Allen, sir,” timidly. Belden and Bustard followed suit, giving their names and hands in some embarrassment. ‘Allen, Belden and Bustard, eh? Well, just listen to me now: You can cut out that saluting and sirstuff while you’re flying with me, The military is all right in its place; but this isn’t its place. Not while I’m teaching you to fly. I can’t get at you and learn to know you by stiff-arming you. So forget it—see? Now I'll show you how toinspect a ship. You want to get so you can do it rapidly and thoroughly. You can always tell a good flyer by the way he steps up and inspects a ship.” “‘He’s a prince, isn’t he?"’ whispered Allen to the others aside as they followed the lieutenant through the inspec- tion. “I'll say he is!” Bustard was emphatic. “You'd never hear a Kewee say ‘Cut out the salute.’ You can bet your berries on that.” “Yes. And I'll gamble he can handle a ship to a fare-ye- well too!" asseverated Belden, admiration trembling in his voice. I’m your said that gentleman and shook the hand June 28,1919 Their instructor turned to a mechanic who stood by. “Is this ship ready to go out?” “Yes, sir. She’s been warmed up. She’s all ready, sir.” “‘There’s another thing, fellows,” said Ganes to the three: ‘‘I may talk pretty rough to you sometimes. If I do don’t get sore. I’ve been in this instructing game for some time and everything I say to you is in an attempt to teach you something. Get me?” “Yes, sir,”’ they all chorused promptly, then glanced at him guiltily. “Forgot already,” he laughed. ‘‘ Well, let’s go. Who's Allen?” “T am,” owned Allen. “You go and get goggles and a coat. on the tube.” He shook the gosport on his shoulder. take you up first.” He climbed into the front cockpit and Allen, coming back clad in a leather coat, climbed into the rear. Bustard and Belden crowded up close to him. “This,”’ said Ganes, turning to look at Allen, ‘‘is just going to be a jazz ride to give you an idea of how it feels in the air. Just relax and enjoy yourself.” To the others he added: “I'll be gone twenty or thirty minutes. You want to watch this ship and when I come in be on the job. Run out and be ready to hop in. We can’t waste time. And always remember to see that the safety belt is fastened on the fellow going up.” : Bustard and Belden were helping the fussy Allen fasten his helmet, hang his mouthpiece and put on his goggles. They now belted him in. “Ready?” called Ganes through the tube. “Yes, sir,” said Allen. “Hear me all right?” “Yes, sir.” “Dammit, cut out that sir, can’t you? Off!” he said to the mechanic, who stood expectant at the propeller. “Off!” repeated the mechanic and whirled the prop. “Contact!” The mechanic waited ready for the swing. The timekeeper lounged up. “Who's going up?” he asked. “Allen,” said Bustard. ‘A new bird, huh?” He jotted the time on his eternal papers and sauntered away. Bustard and Belden stepped back with one last look at Allen, who bravely essayed a nonchalant grin, but achieved only its vague similitude. Ganes pulled down his goggles over his eyes. “Contact!” he snapped. The mechanic swung the propeller, the engine opened up and, leaving a blast of blinding dust and pebbles in its wake, the plane taxied swiftly out into the field—another beetle lost to view amid the devastating horde. A few minutes later the anxiously watching Bustard gave a shout and pointed as a plane thundered over their heads and turned down the line of hangars. “There he goes, Belden; there’s old One Hundred and Forty-three!” “Dam’ ’f 'tain’t,”’ said Belden, staring with all his eyes. “Old Allen! Scared stiff, I bet.’ Thirty minutes later 143 came bowling into the dead line. Bustard and Belden ran to meet it. The mechanic, seizing a wing, held it fast; the plane swung round and stopped, the propeller idling lazily. I’ve got helmets “Tl Allen Out and Bustard In fo qgras wan and ghostly, fumbled with feeble fingers at his helmet strap. Belden hurriedly undid it for him and took his goggles while Bustard unhooked the belt. He tried a grin that was horrid; then with senile fumblings of the hands and feet he climbed out. In consternation they eyed his deathly sickish pallor. ‘“‘Lord!’’ he muttered thickly, and lolled his head from side to side. Ganes was looking back at them from his cockpit, a mocking smile upon his face. The two returned his glance fearfully and questioningly. “His jazz ride made him sick, that’s all. I had to bank for ten minutes so he wouldn’t ruin my ship.”” He laughed in infernal enjoyment. Then he spoke sharply: ‘ Bus- tard’s next! Hurry it up!” Bustard jumped, gave one glance at Allen, shot the lieutenant another of reverential but challenging defiance and, divesting Allen of his coat, climbed in the rear cockpit. “You won’t make me sick,” he gritted inwardly. In all his trappings he felt like a trussed fowl. His goggles were amber in color and the wide sides bothered him. The helmet deadened his hearing, the mouthpiece of the speaking tube annoyed his mouth and the tight belt made him well-nigh helpless. He felt much like a victim bound to a torture stake. “Ready?” came through the tube. The voice was fairly in his ears, blurred but intelligible. He gave one last look at the worn and faded Allen face. “Yes!’’ he yelled, remembering his lesson. “Then we're off!’ he heard, and the idling propeller leaped into energetic life. Fast and furiously they taxied out and, whirling round into the wind, stopped. (Continued on Page 57)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 55 A NEW TYPEWRITER RIBBON—MADE OF SILK HE business letter to which you put your name will be a neater messenger, a more efthcient repre- sentative, if the typewriter on which it is written has the benefit of an Ault & Wiborg ribbon. For this is a new ribbon —made entirely of the purest silk —barely half as thick as the ordinary cotton ribbon —a ribbon more serviceable than any other yet produced. It stamps cleanly, faultlessly and without blur, the im- pression of the type on the paper; from the beginning of its usefulness until the end, it writes with the preci- sion and uniformity of engraving. It outlasts two and often three of the ordinary cotton ribbons, and makes more and clearer carbon copies than are possible with ribbons of heavier weight. 5 | The Ault & Wiborg Company has manufactured fine printing inks, varnishes, colors and chemicals since 1878—being one of the an in promoting and perfecting new processes for the Graphic Arts. The international reputation of Ault & Wiborg products has required the establishment of branches in England, China, Uruguay, Brazil, Argentina and Canada, in addition to 15 branch houses in the United States. The better stationers and office supply dealers carry Ault & Wiborg products—a special quality ribbon and a superior car bon for every use. CThe AULT & WIBORG Company CINCINNATI, OHIO, U.S.

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Og ~ — LS (Continued from Page 54) “Can you hear me?” ““Yes!’’ ‘**Keep your eyes out for other ships. Let’s go!’ The engine’s purr broke into a roar again. The air from the propeller crashed and hurtled back past him, carrying the nauseous exhaust to his nostrils. They began to gain speed. Faster, faster! The earth rushed away, a blurred green under them. Bustard felt the ship grow more level. The tail was off the ground. Still their speed increased. Ganes was looking about—this way, that way, behind and in front—seemingly oblivious of the fact that there were any controls to work. Bustard watched the stick between his own knees; it was moving but little. The rudder had taken a slightly cocked position and was nearly still. A voice startled him right in his ear: “You are now leaving the ground.” “Yes, sir,”” he answered inanely. But he looked out. He had noticed in a vague way that the bumping had ceased, that the riding was singularly smooth, but this idea had not entered his mind. They were rushing like devastating death toward the hangars. He popped his head over the side despite the whelm of air that gripped it, took his breath and sucked at his eardrums. They had indeed left the ground and imperceptibly were leaving it farther and farther below. The hangars were just beneath them now. “This is a bank to the left,” said the blurred voice in his ear. The left wing dipped slightly and the plane gently altered its course up the line of hangars. Round the course they went. Bustard looked at the altimeter. Seven hundred and fifty it read. Again he dared look out and down. ’ An Atom Lost in the Heavens HE men at the hangars were motes, the hangars toys. He could not tell that the ship was climbing, yet he knew it was. A thrill of a kind of pleasurable fear ran over him. He lowered his mouthpiece and tried to whistle. He could not hear it. Only the motor roared deafeningly in his ears and the air crashed and plopped back at him in relentless stream. He whistled again, with the same result. Then he shouted. But though his lips moved and his lungs strained he might as well have been a mute. The altimeter now registered about fifteen hundred feet. The ground below had plotted itself into squares and rectangles of green and black fields. Here was the white string of a road. Trees and grass had merged; houses were specks. He had long since lost all sense of direction. Nowhere was the flying field. And with it had gone, too, the sense of speed. He knew that they were traveling at seventy miles an hour, yet for any sensation of it he received they might just as well have been suspended in mid-air to some cloud or perhaps astar. The unabated thunder of the motor, the shriek of the air gave him his only knowledge of any motion. At the nose the propeller whirled, almost invisible. The rocker arms on the engine bobbed up and down, up and down in swift, rhythmic assurance. The ship vibrated under the smooth, unfaltering firing. A sudden feeling of helplessness came over him. He was lost—an atom in the vasty expanse of heaven. He was not even a jot or tittle in this mighty sweep of space. Caught in this the most enormously strange experience of human flesh, he seemed in a dream. The theory of flight as he had learned it deserted him. What sustained them anyhow? He looked at stick and rudder again. All pre- conceived notions of how they should act were overthrown. He would never be able to manage them. Without that calm, insouciant figure up there in the front cockpit; that indifferent individual who leaned his arm on the side of the cowl and stared round, he was lost—lost in the void until he should fall like some glorious meteor and his bones be gathered to his fathers. And then, as suddenly as it came, his feeling of helplessness left. A mighty faith in that figure before him, a wonderful veneration crept into his heart and drove it out. There was his god, and in the hollow of that skilled hand lay the fate of all that was mortal of him. And then the god spoke: “Well, we’refarenough out. Suppose you take the stick and see what you can do with it. Don’t bother with the rudder. I'll handle that.” “Yes, sir,” said Bustard breathlessly. This proposition unexpected. He had longed; oh, yes, he had his hour had come and he knew he was was sudden longed, but unequal to it. “Keep those rocker arms down on the horizon and your wings level,’”’ went on the voice. ‘‘ Now take it.””. Ganes’ hands went above his head. Fearfully, with every force of his body and mind in an agony of tenseness on that one thing, he took the stick in his hand. His eyes strained aligning the bobbing rocker arms with the horizon. To his horrified gaze the nose began to go up. He pushed the stick timidly. The nose went down—too far. He pulled back a trifle. “Your left wing is low,” warned a voice in his ear. “Sir?” The “sir’’ came from him in a whisper of such excitement that Ganes looked back at him and laughed. “I didn’t say the engine had fallen out. Your left wing is down.” “Oh!”’ Bustard’s staring eyes left the rocker arms an instant and flicked to the wing. Then he managed a small grin at the laughing face turned to him. Timidly he at- tempted to correct that wing. And behold! the right wing dipped. “Your nose is too high. Bring it down.” “Yes, sir.’” Desperately he tried to fix it. For he thought these faults meant imminent death. The nose went down too far again. “Look at your right wing!” But things had gone to hell for him now. Nothing stayed put. His hand was too heavy, too inept; his eyes could not watch fast enough. The plane was pointing sky- ward or earthward; a wing was always flopping. The pal- sied flight grew momentarily worse. “Look at that right wing and your nose!” bellowed the voice. He looked, and even as he looked he was doomed— in a mad and frightful incubus. The stick suddenly leaped backward out of his hand. He saw the nose of the plane rear into the air above him: The universe, the very dome of heaven heaved and rocked about him. A bewildering, whirling confusion snatched at his senses. He whipped downward against his belt —fall- ing, falling, falling! Dust and dirt from the cockpit blew up and bit against his face. He felt a dizziness such as he had never imagined or experienced in a revolving chair. Spun as a molecule must be in some powerful chemical re- action that seeks to tear it apart, he fought for his con- sciousness, his integrity of body and soul. As through a glass darkly he saw the bedimmed green face of earth crowding up toward him with indescribable velocity. De- struction owned him. And then He found himself lolling, inert and lax, against the right side of the cockpit and they were sailing along again se- renely level through space. A face wreathed in diabolic smiles looked back at him. Twinkling eyes behind amber goggles watched him. His pride rose. He sat up straight and smiled. “See what happens when the nose gets too high and a wing goes down?” said a voice. ‘‘You go into a spin.” “Yes, sir,”” quavered Bustard, “I see.” But he didn’t. He only knew that for what seemed hours—in reality it was but a second in abeyance, confused and struggling but grasping noth- ing; and that his consciousness alone, thus eclipsed and obscured, had remained with him. “*How do you feel?” He summoned his voice. “All right, sir. I mean—all right.” “Very well. I'll show you a steep bank to the right.” Heart throbbing, lungs breathless, Bustard braced him- self and prepared his mind for unimaginable things. This time he wouldn’t lose his grasp on events. his senses had been A Pair of Chastened Cadets HE right wing tipped down and Bustard with his eyes followed it. Down, down fell its tip toward earth, until he could not sit upright, but leaned against the fuselage. The horizon spun abouthim. They seemed to be revolving faster and faster about that wing tip. Worse, the earth turned on it as an axis. In the whole whirling firmament it was the only thing fixed, stable, secure—that wing tip. Again his senses began to reel, and with an effort he turned his glance into the cockpit. What a relief! Things were all except the stick, which was leaning mar- It should certainly be in neu- ! And he was alive, sane in there velously on the wrong side tral. What a topsy-turvy business in a great unreality of the unreal! The ship swam out of the bank. ‘“We'll go home,” he heard. : Certainly it was time! They had been out hours. Bus- tard looked at his watch. Thirty minutes only! Incon- ceivable! The sum of all the emotions of a whole year rathered into one second of time could never equal this. It was a dream——vague, unique as a nightmare. His mind was hazy, laboring in the inability to grasp it all. With an effort to shake awake he looked out. The altimeter read 400. Surprising grace! The long white row of han- gars lay beyond in front of them. Between his ship and them on the field a line of weaving ships like busy ants strung at uneven intervals across the green. As his mind gripped on the scene the roar of the motor suddenly ceased, the plane tilted forward down for earth for destruction. A terrible sinking sensation thrilled in his stomach. Resisting, he leaned backward, then forward. Straight ahead bet ween the wings the ground rushed toward him threateningly. Closer, closer came the ground, and still they dived at terrific speed. A crash was inevitable. Then as calmly and assuredly as the sun rises the plane leveled out more and more and, skimming across the field but a few feet high, it lost its impetus until with an almost imperceptible shock it settled upon the wheels and tail- skid simultaneously. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 57 “A three-point landing,”’ called Ganes; and Bustard’s first ride was over. Bustard, stalking up and down at the bench, too excited to keep still, babbled at the mouth. Belden was in the air for his initiation. “Can he fly?” innocently asked one of the unelect. “Can he fly! Oh, no!” Bustard’s scorn was crushing. He walked a moment. “That spin! Oh, doctor!” He flung out his arms help- lessly. ‘I'll never be able to fly. I know it. I didn’t even know where I was. Did you, Allen?” “No!”’ moaned Allen. “And I didn’t care. Oh, Lordy, I never felt so unnecessary in all my life. I’ma heat wave.” He held out hands that still trembled from nausea. “T'll never fly,”” repeated Bustard in dark despair. *“‘Shucks!"’ He threw out his hands again as some new proof of his hopeless incapacity struck him. Upon the faces of the uninitiated came knowing and superior smiles. Bustard turned on them fiercely: “Grin, damn you! You think it’s all so easy, just as I did. You've got it coming to you and you'll get it.” But the cocky gentlemen on the bench only broadened their smiles. The eternal dual duel had now started. The war be- tween cadet and instructor was on. The grind of learning to take off, to fly the course, to land had commenced. No more jazz rides for them. Up, round and down again; up, round and down again—the stream of ships was doing it all day long, the same old thing in the same old track. Hard words uttered by instructors and taken meekly or sullenly or flaringly by cadets. Instructors laughing, jok- ing with each other, seemingly happy and care-free. Cadets incarnate clods of hopeless gloom and dejection A Lesson in Banking HE battle was joined! It was Bustard’s second ride. They were ready to take off. Ganes looked back at him and asked the old, old question: “‘Can you hear me?”’ “Ter” ““Well?”’ The tone was insistent. To Bustard that was curious; but he learned about that later, to his serrow. a | ag “Allright.” He gave a satisfied nod. ‘‘ Now I want you to follow me through with your hand lightly on the stick. Don’t you bother with the rudder. Always look behind and in front for ships taking off or landing. Let’s go!" The engine opened up and they gathered speed. “Push forward on the stick till your eyes pop out, Are you following me?” ‘Yes, sir.” “Very well! Then as you gather sufficient speed, gently ease back and—you are leaving the ground. See?” And it was even so. But to Bustard, who said ‘ Yes, sir’’ with his hand lightly on the stick it was magic and he did not see. “To make a bank to the left,’ his ear, “‘give right aileron and right rudder together.’ The plane did a banking turn. “‘Can you hear me?” “Yes, sir. But I don’t ” Bustard was very meek. “Huh?” The tone was sharp. **Nothing, sir.” “All right.””. The words were filled with a certain satis- faction. They had turned down the hangars now. ‘‘Now you see what you can do. Try a left bank when I tell you. Now!” Bustard, eager enough to do and mest certainly willing, but being in that most forlorn condition of not knowing exactly what todo; bewildered, too, by the air that thrashed by him, and the thunder of the motor in his ears, and his goggles and his helmet and his belt —Bustard did the right thing, but in too hearty afashion. Also he did other things of which he wotted not. Unwittingly drawing it back, he gave the stick a hard push to the left “Good God!"’ Instruction requires strong language and the speaking tube actually vibrated. “‘I thought I showed you a spin this morning!’’ And the stick jerked violently out of his hands. Bustard, in blissful ignorance of the fact that the plane had done anything unusual under his master hand except that the wing had gone down as he thought it should, folded his useless hands in his lap and leaned back in crushed silence. “Try it again and don’t act like you are rowing a and keep that nose down! Now!” Go easy on the stick Bustard, gingerly this time, put a feather Weis against the stick and nothing more “Bank! Bank! What’s the matter with you anyhow? “I'm trying to,” said the patient Bustard The stick yanked from his hand. The gloom deepened, Bustard sank back again and mentally faced that great void that was his knowledge of the art of aviation “Now in landing pick your spot and then make for it. See that spot over there?’’ Ganes pointed to a space between two ships that had just landed ’ continued the voice in hf

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58 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Yes, sir,” lied Bustard. For though he peered through his goggles with all his eyes that spot eluded him. But he was expected to see it; he had done poorly enough already. So he lie d. “Well, I'm going to land there. Follow me through.” The motor quit; the plane shot toward earth. Bustard, his hand gently on the stick, felt again that sinking sensa- tion in his stomach. Vaguely he wondered if he'd ever get used to it. **You dive the ship at about this angle and then twenty or thirty feet off the ground start to level her off like this.” They leveled out and skimmed across the field, settled easily and came to a full stop at that spot. “Follow me through again and try to do better this time.”” They were off Round and round. Round and round. Now and then a “You take the ship,” shortly succeeded by a violent jerk- ing away of the controls. Forty minutes of it and then came Belden’s turn Bustard climbed out of the cockpit. He was weary with the tenseness of it. Up there in an agony of concentrated straining effort where there seemed a million things to do and to watch and not half enough eyes or quick enough brains to do them all, he had not noticed it. Heavy fatigue of mind and body settled on him—and he was hungry; empty as a bee-gum tree. But the eventful first morning They were flying cadets now, starting on their an R. M. A. com- was over perilous voyage to that glorious goal mission and service at the Front Lieutenant Ganes had said: ‘* You fellows will come out all right, I think. But there’s one thing I won't have alibis. Don’t give me any. When you do a thing wrong I know as well as you why you did it. Don’t try to alibi out of it. And don’t go back now and do a lot of barracks flying amongst yourselves. You learn wrong things. All that I want you to know I'll teach you here. So long.” Nevertheless, that night they counted and recounted to envious ears, to any and all who would hear them, the experiences of the day. And the sergeant’s “ Lights out” left them in their blankets jabbering themselves and others to sleep with it. Each flying hour saw the duel waxing more bitter. On the instructor's side the effort to teach and on the cadet’s side the straining effort to learn seemed to work at cross purposes. For all this, heckling was necessary to keep the student in the proper state of humility. Pride never goes before a fall more certainly or literally than in aviation; and an unbreakable conceit generally hides a yellow streak. Yet to the cadet, loving and reverencing his instructor as an idol but blindly struggling against ignorance and inept- ness, it all seemed tinjustified, uncalled for, and it stung and bruised his very soul and cast him into the depths of despondency. Which was as it should be. Bustard'’s Bad Quarter Hour | USTARD knew the why later; knew and understood But now he suffered mostly in si- lence, sometimes flaring back. He had learned to use the stick and rudder together in flying straight and level; but it taxed his every faculty. Each added minute seemed to burden him with new contingencies, new troubles. It was and was thankful. as much as he could bear. There was something always wrong: a wing too low, the nose too high or low. Sometimes he received only a warn- ing, wearied or cutting, through the tube. Other times the stick was yanked so violently from his grasp as infallibly to whack him on the knee and the trouble thus roughly and emphatically corrected for him. How he skidded! Espe- cially on his turns, though for the longest while he could not detect it. How he was made well aware of it when the rudder kicked suddenly back and cracked him on the shins! But he was learning, though he did not think it. Came a period when Ganes allowed him to taxi out proudly but slowly. Sunlight shone into his long-darkened heart. **Now see if you can take her off. I'm not going to touch the controls unless you make it necessary. Fly just as if I was not. in the ship.” Looking anxiously about him, then obliquing the ship after a fashion, he pushed on his throttle and made a wavering take off. It wasn’t any great cracks—that take off—but he had accomplished it alone, or so he thought. He had not felt Ganes’ feet upon the rudder. The ship was in the air; he was proudly happy and expected some small meed of praise. No praise came; happiness died a sudden uncouth death. The stick left his grasp with the now familiar but always startling jerk. “Keep that nose down! Won't you ever learn? Didn't you see that ship ahead there?” “Yes, sir. But I * stammered the smitten Bustard. “Don’t want to hear it! Rotten business! Take the stick."” Ganes threw his hands up on the cow! to show he had released it. Bustard, trying to watch his rocker arms, his wings, his rudder and at the same time the hangars so that he could start his turn, took the stick and began his bank. “You're skidding,”’ was shouted immediately in his ear. He tried to correct it. ‘You're banking too steep.””’ He land on. lifted the wing. ‘‘You’re slipping.’”’ Despair filled his heart. But he had negotiated the turn. “‘Get your left wing up.”’ Intent on his work he did not hear. “‘Did—you—hear—me?” The voice, loud and deadly, broke his concentration. A face that said ‘‘ You liar!” turned and gave him a hard stare. “‘Since when did this tube go bad?” Bustard made no reply. He made the next turn better. But now being afraid of toosteep a bank and alsosuspicious of a skid, he drifted far over a big acreage of woods that stretched along that side of the field. “‘T have the controls,” said a resigned voice. The ship drove in a flash to safety. “I’ve told you to keep away from those fields until I’m tired. Suppose the engine went dead. “If you want to leave your bones down there I don’t. Take the stick.” He drummed on the cowl in a pose of patient weariness. A second later he spoke again: “As you make this turn at the road pick out a spot to Don’t make that spot another ship. You prob- ably would if I didn’t tell you. I'll cut the gun for you.” I ask you now if, handicapped by such a wayward hand and such deceitful feet that the moment your eyes were turned they lowered the nose alarmingly or raised it suicidally or banked threateningly or skidded with a dash and verve as sudden as it was startling, for all of which troubles you addedly receiyed solemn rebuke or sarcastic abuse almost before they occurred; I ask you now, how are you going to look for a landing space when the ground lies at best hazy and undetailed to an eye unfettered to rocker arms and when on that ground as it appears there is nowhere more than eighteen inches of space uncluttered by ships landing or standing or taking off—I ask you in can- dor, How can you pick your spot? Another Alibi Gone Wrong ERE was poor Bustard, eyes chained to rocker arms, busy already with more than he could properly do; here was Bustard, who did not know even enough to cut his throttle and could hardly have spared the thought if he had been asked—nay, commanded to do it. He had made his last turn and the time had come. There was but one thing to do. Closing his eyes and trust- ing in a beneficent Supreme Being, he nosed the ship down. True to his word, Ganes cut the gun for him promptly. The engine died to idling speed, flaring back long tongues of flame from the exhaust. Bustard opened his eyes to them in panic-stricken apprehension. He glanced at the fire extinguisher. Just then the engine snorted viciously in gasps and the flames went out. Ganes had jazzed‘ the throttle. In consequence of this confusion, I fear Bustard forgot to level off —if ever he really understood how and when to do it—and they came hurtling at the ground in alarmingly tail-high fashion. Strong hands seized the stick, the plane began to behave and they landed. Ganes lifted his goggles up on his helmet. There was an ominous silence in both cockpits. Bustard was summoning all his fortitude to meet the attack which he expected but which he was not entirely sure he deserved. Presently a pair of malign eyes turned to him. “Do you know what level off means?” “Yes, sir. But the engine flam ——” “An alibi! An alibi!” screamed Ganes as if in pain. “Bah! A waste of time to talk! Take her off!” Goggles were yanked down and the throttle thrown full on in one motion so suddenly that Bustard was caught unprepared. The ship zigzagged across the field in ever-increasing speed with wild and terrifying dartings here and there as he attempted to control it. They gained the air, but Bus- tard knew to whom the credit was due. Gloomier gloom settled upon his spirits. “* Will you please keep those rocker arms on the horizon?” The voice was exasperatingly polite. Bustard made no reply. He lowered them. His face was grimly black. “Did you hear me?’ “Yes, I heard you.” “Well, why don’t you say something then! Look out! You're skidding! You're skidding! You're skidding!’’ Ganes kicked his rudder a terrific blow and of course Bus- tard’s struck him on the shin. “Is it the size of your feet makes you keep skidding? What number shoe do you wear?” “‘No, sir,” answered Bustard with cold dignity. ‘‘The number of my shoe is seven and one-half C.” The tone of the voice and the manner of the reply caused Ganes to turn and give him a hard stare. The face was stern and set and angry. But the eyes were unwavering in their vigilance on the rocker arms and horizon. Ganes faced front again and chuckled. “What’s this ship turning up?”’ he asked presently. “Sir?” , June 28,1919 “IT say, what’s the tachometer read? The R. P. M.? I haven’t any in this cockpit.” This was hard indeed. A foolish question like that when he was so busy. He did not know there was a purpose behind—the purpose to make him forget his tenseness. Bustard cast a fleeting glance at the instrument. “Thirteen seventy-five,” he shouted. “Is it? Not bad for an old mote. Watch that ship! Here, I have the controls. All right! Take them! I don’t like ships that close, especially these solo birds.” A few seconds later: ‘‘Now pick your spot and when you’re ready cut your gun and dive for it. I’m letting you do it all this time.” Unholy, agonizing responsibility! More tense than a hypnotic subject—aching, uncomfortable from rigidity but only semiconscious of the ache—he sat bolt upright under his belt while every sense and power strained to meet the occasion. The throttle was on the right. Driving with his right hand he would have to reach over with his left to cut it. With a motion that his fixed eyes did not follow he managed to close it—but then he forgot to nbse the plane down. “Dive it! Dive it!” screamed in his ear. He eased for- ward a little. They were settling to earth in a very level, quiet way that was highly gratifying and much more comfortable to him. When they could come down so easily this way, what was the sense of diving so steep? He was quite satisfied. This wasn’t so fast that you didn’t have time to think. But the stick was shoved roughly forward and their speed increased. The ground seemed quite close. It was certainly time to level off. And so at a height of about fifty feet Bustard went through the motions and made a fine exposition of what he considered a good landing. He heard a gasping in the tube that sounded like a curse. Vaguely he saw, too, that the spot he had picked to land upon and the one upon which he would land, should he ever come down, were entirely far divergent places. As terror filled his soul and guilt like a wilting flood ran through his veins, the engine drowned all sound and round they went again with Ganes driving. “Now,” said a stern voice, “I’ve picked your spot and you're headed for it. Take the stick, cut your gun and land there. And for Pete’s sake, nose herdown! If you're afraid of the ground better quit now.” Afraid of the ground! Rage at the accusation filled him Angrily he slapped the throttle shut and with violence he nosed the plane down. Every wire screaming, they shot like a bolt toward earth. Bustard Hears Rough Talk “T)LOOD of an angel! Pull her up!’’ Ganes jerked the stick back like a flash. ‘‘You want to kill us both? Use some judgment, man! Now hold it in this glide.” Bustard, grim and still unappeased, held it. “‘Now start to level off. Easy! Don’t jerk! You're overcontrolling. Easy, easy! Back, back! Back, I say! Look out!” Ganes snatched the stick. They struck the ground with alarming force. The shock sent them bounding high into the air. The engine sang out an instant; then they settled to earth again. There was no ominous silence this time. Like an out- raged tiger Ganes turned upon the luckless Bustard: “If you’ve no better judgment than that I’ll get rid of you. What do you mean by pulling off a death dive like that? I don’t want this engine in my lap—not yet! Hold that stick back!” Bustard meekly clutched the stick between his knees. He always forgot that stick when he landed. Ganes settled himself round more comfortably to his work. “The last time you made straight for a ship. To make it worse you didn’t nose the ship down when you cut the gun. Ov't of all the landing places in this big field’’—he swept his hand—‘“‘you picked a ship to land on! I let you go, tosee what you'd do. I thought I knew and I did! Like a blind dreaming fool you’d have landed on it. You’re just a poor rotten ham. “When I finally got you to put her in a decent glide, what did you do? Leveled off about eighty feet up in the air. With nearly five hours’ flying you haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re doing. ‘Five hours!” Bustard was startled. He knew he had had but two hours in the air. However, he said nothing. This was just part of the injustice of it all and must be borne. “Where do you think the ground is?’’ continued Ganes. “‘ Are your eyes defective?”’ He paused a moment. Then, his injuries bursting out afresh: ‘‘ Because I told you your glide wasn’t steep enough you tried this time to stick her straight up in the ground. Tried to kill me. You had no more idea of leveling off than you have judgment. I’ve had enough of this to-day! We’ll go in.” He jerked round in his seat and, almost at flying speed, taxied furiously up to the blocks at Hangar Number Three. As Allen came to take his turn he gave an inquiring glance at Bustard. The solemn melancholy that set that (Continued on Page 60)

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(Continued from Page 58) gentleman’s face in gloom told well the story. To Allen, Ganes gave a cheerful smile. The twilight in Bustard’s soul be- came total darkness. He was certain now of what he had often thought: that he was the slowest-witted cadet that had been on the field in months. He was a prodigy of ignorance and inaptitude. Toward noon a wind, slight but change- able as a woman’s whim, sprang up. Bus- tard was due for the last ride of the morning. His funk had somewhat abated. Never was anything truer than that misery loves company. And company he had that day in the persons of Allen and Belden. So far as he could learn, what he had endured of sarcasm, abuse and ridicule was not a trifle to what they had received. So with spirits somewhat revived and a resolve to do or die, he entered again the grinding duel. His first minute with this tormenting god left him only the will to do or die. His take off was not a success, it seemed, though he thought it was—supre mely so. “You're drifting! You "re drifting! Lower your wing into the wind.’ Tense, his eyes fixed on those inexorable rocker arms, he could not know that. All that he knew or wanted to know was that he was successfully in the air and that that air was knocking his wings this way and that in terrifying fashion The controls were jerked from him. Then he saw that, whereas he had left the ground toward Hangar Number Three, now he was far down the field going toward Hangar Seven, and drifting into the path of other ships. The controls were given to him again. And, oh, the fullness of those minute-hours! Never, it seemed, in histo had such a violent wind blown. How fook. hardy to fly in it! His turn was nearly dis- astrous. The plane tossed and rocked like a ship in a heavy sea. Would they come out of it alive? The controls worked harder than he had ever known. And he believed with reason, though he could see his hands, that Ganes was holding them braced against him with feet and knees. To him it was a wild, horrifying storm and he struggled with it like a stevedore. His eyes had never been more unwaveringly fixed, his senses and body never more taut. Had he but known that Ganes was making it worse by means of the rudder he would have slain him, “Where in time are you going?" came the flaying voice. “Crab, crab! Don’t you know how to crab? Can't you fly without drifting? A little more rudder! There!” More of the Same There occurred now and then inexpli- cable upward lifts to the plane and then sudden sinking drops, “What's the matter with you anyhow? Lost your nerve?” “No, sir, but “But what?” **It’s so bumpy and windy. in is “Bumpy? Windy? Are you trying to hatch an alibi? You don't know what bumps and winds are! I soloed in a twenty- five mile wind! If you can’t fly in a little breeze like this, what woul d you doin that? Kill yourself, I guegs There was a sort of satisfaction in the way that prophecy was given! The time to land came. Bustard cut the gun and nosed the ship down. “You'redrifting, you're drifting!” that warning! He would hear it in sleep. ‘“‘Lower your wing!” The controls were struck to the right under his hand and the wing went down. Like any dumb, bewildered animal, Bustard tried to hold it thus. Slowly he leveled off and they shot across the field. “You're still drifting. Don't it? As she settles kick with it.” “Yes, sir,” said Bustard. But what should he kick and how much and in what direction? To save his soul he could not tell that the plane was drifting. If he could have told he could not have stopped it. The plane settled with a side-swiping motion. He heard a gurgle of rage through the tube. They bounced and reared into the air. Accidentally Bustard in his wild working knocked his elbow against the throttle. The engine responded with its crashing din. He slapped at the lever with his left hand and cut it. They came at last to a stop in a series of diminishing bounds. Silence—infinite, vast! Goggles were lifted with deadly deliberation. I never was Again his you see THE SATURDAY Then: “You seem to be trying to make Will you hold that stick back?” Bustard clutched the stick quickly. “You seem to be trying to make a three-point landing all night! Two wings and the propeller! “You overcontrol all the time. You drift and don’t seem to care whether you drift into another ship or wipe off the landing gear. Even when I tell you, you don’t pay any attention whatever. I guess you don’t hear me. That’s always a good alibi. “I know what’s wrong with you! You're just a poor rotten ham, but you think you can fly. You don’t listen to me because you know so much more than I about the game. I told you to kick into the drift just now and you didn’t pay any more at- tention to me than if I’d been a mute. It’s just stubbornness. I’ve seen it before and I'd advise you to get over it. Right now! There was only one thing that you did that showed sense or judgment—you gave her the gun when we bounced. But you ” So terrifically unjust even modified by the praise, which, irony of deserve—that Bustard “But I didn’t know — “That's enough! If you didn’t know you could at least have listened to me. Take her off!” That night the question, old as the air service, was flung at the three: “Did you solo to-day? And Bustard answered out of the bitter- ness of his heart and the blackness of his discouragement: ‘‘No! What’s more, I never will! Nothing right; never is with him! Nothing suits him. I can’t land and I know it! I can’t fly and I know it! But that’s no reason why he should always be bawling me out, I don’t claim —— Aw, what's the use was this tirade— last modicum of it all, he did not ‘began a protest: The Dreaded Question And until taps the three, surrounded by ambitious youths, flew the day over again. Then some jealous, unsympathetic voice shouted: “Well, you can put the ships in the hangars now. We don’t do any night flying at this field.” The morrow dawned and became The Day. The morning of The Day had nearly passed. Bustard made a lucky well-nigh perfect landing; a landing so good that he gasped his own astonishment. To Ganes’ reluctant ‘Well, that’s fair,’ he charged “You did it yourself.” Ganes turned round and looked at him. “No, I didn’t,” he denied. His eyes studied Bustard speculatively. Then he spoke in tones, casual enough, words that brought the boy’s heart pounding to his throat. ‘Think you could take her round alone? The unexpectedness of it made the answer slow in startled hesitation: “Why, yes, I think I could.” “Well, I guess we won't try it now.” And the stiffened Bustard relapsed. From that moment Bustard knew that he could land a ship; not perfectly maybe, but at least without cracking. And fearful of his hour, yet courting it, his heart now yearned to solo. The fledgling had found his wings stronger than he knew and he ached to be away and gone, free from restraint and fussing and worry. And the ache grew! But as one swallow does not make a summer neither does one landing make a solo bird. Rouna and round he went, badgered and bullied into sullen smoldering silence. With this sudden new confidence in his heart that he was not so poor as painted, his resentment rose and rose as the heckling continued and became more violent. His last ride of the day was here, and from the looks of his instructor there was yet no sign of relenting. To-night he would face again that damnable question, “Did you solo to-day?” The face that laughed at others was flint to him; the mouth that warmly joked with others coolly flayed him. A reckless, despondent rage possessed him and in it he took off. At the turn he banked viciously, the wing dipped terrify- ingly low—and, I am sorry to say, he skidded frightfully. Yesterday had he done that, or even early this morning, he would have shrunk back meekly, knowing what to expect and knowing, too, that he de- served it. Not now though! A fierce, vindictive joy thrilled him as the burning > EVENING POST words flowed hotly through the tube and he felt the controls being wrenched under his hand. He held to them in a feral desire for battle. ” “Let go the controls!”” came a snarl. “*What’s the matter with you, freezing on the controls like that! I'll bench you for “If you’re afraid, I can take her round alone,”’ he snarled back in a voice not his own. A silence ensued in both cockpits—a silence large with surprise. It would be a hard matter to know who was the more surprised. For with his words Bustard’s fury evaporated as suddenly as it had burned. A sort of awe at his own temerity replaced it. In silence the course was flown and in silence Bustard pulled alone, without one movement from Ganes, the most abomi- nable landing a ship purposely made to withstand that kind can endure and re- main unbroken. In after days, when he had become an instructor himself, he re- alized the consummate nerve Ganes dis- played when he sat there motionless during that attempted landing. The ship had not ceased to roll when the motor crashed out; for Ganes had given her the gun. Again in total silence the course was traversed. And now Bustard was worried. This man Ganes in front sat too still, too quiet, too ominously inert, as if awaiting, expecting something to happen. Another terrible landing was committed. The ship came to a halt. The silence was fairly broken. A face of fury turned back to him. “If you make another landing like that I'll recommend you for discharge. ”" The voice was quiet, even, deadly. ‘“‘I know what’s wrong with you. You think you ean fly. You've probably been reading the Life of Guynemer. You're another Ace of Aces, I don’t think! The poorest ass of asses. You want to solo! You're a good flyer! You make fine landings! If I wanted to save myself patience and the Government didn’t need the ships I'd let you solo right now and kill yourself. But — That reference to the Ace of Aces struck again to flame all Bustard’s rage. He had never read the book; had no desire for heroics. Roughly interrupting he gritted out: “I'd take the chance.” The ak increased in the face before him. ‘Getting sore, eh? I'll tell you this right now, cadet! No pupil of mine ever cracked a ship, and none is going to. My object isn’t to teach you just to get a ship on the ground, as you'll find out. I’m not in love with this old tub, but you’re not going to have a chance to crack her. When you make three successive three-point land- ings, I'll let you solo; and not before. Take her off!" He slammed round in his seat. Strong Talk Again they came down. The wind had changed a bit and the ship was drifting despite his utmost efforts. It hadn't helped his nerves any either, as they flew the course, to have Ganes bobbing round in the front cockpit like a very lively cork on water, waving to workmen on the road be- low or thumbing his nose at instructors as they came close to other ships. And now in this crucial moment he began to sing The Old Gray Mare. In infernal jumble it all came back to him. How could he land with that going on? Yes, they were drifting, he knew it now; but annoyed as he was he could not con- centrate. They were settling and drifting fast. A mighty fear of doing the wrong thing possessed him and possessed him so completely that he kicked the wrong rud- der. The wheels touched the ground; there was a sudden slewing of the plane. And in that instant hands and feet, furiously competent, snatched the con- trols. The gun went on and—a landing was made. “Know all about the flying game, don’t you?” Ganes’ eyes gleamed triumphantl ‘You know so much that you did exact tly the wrong thing. When you should have —— “Yes, sir, I know ——” Bustard was humble now—ready, eager to alibi. “K ww what? What should you have done?” Very sharply Ganes took him up. “Well, you were singing. And then I thought —— “I don’t want to know what you thought. You can’t think in this game. And never mind my singing. That’s no alibi. What June 28,1919 should you have done?” hard and relentless. “T ought to have kicked into the drift,” said Bustard helplessly. “Then why in hell didn’t you?” He waited for an answer. Getting none he continued. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you; you did better at four hours. You’ve had nearly seven now and can’t land a ship!” Bustard gasped. Ganes suddenly pointed across the field. “Now there’s a solo artist that can fly! Watch him land. I’ll bet he’s not had as much time as you either. All I got to say is, you use poor judgment. I’ll swear | don’t see whatever led you to believe you'd fit in this service.” He broke off into a shout. “Hello, you old apple knocker!” An instructor standing in the field near their ship casually approached as he heard this greeting. He had a handkerchief in his hand and for a helmet he wore a woman’s tan-silk stocking rolled up and pulled over his ears. “a old buzzard chaser,” he answered languidly. ‘‘Say, what kind of a she-ip you got there? One of those Saint Looey Sash and Door Company she-ips?”’ “Nope. This is a good she-ip. Turned out by the Amalgamated Coffee Mill Con- cern.” “Good she-ip, eh? I reckon she turns up nigh onto twelve hundred?” The eyes were The Short and Ugly “Nearly! She’s good all right, if she don’t fall apart in the air!’’ The other laughed. ‘‘Gotta solo bird yet?” Ganes gave a fleeting, significant glance toward Bustard, who sat back and listened in gloomy silence to this persiflage. “No!” he said, his voice registering disgust. “You got one up?” “Yep! Had about seven hours and — Here he comes now, but he won’t — He ran out and waved his handkerchief frantically. A ship diving down like the wind leveled off, but dangerously tail high. The wheels struck with a thud and the plane with its occupant reared high into the air. They caught a glimpse of the driver tensely up- right in his cockpit staring straight ahead. The motor sangiout and he was gone again, his attempted landing an abortion. The gloom partially cleared on Bustard’s face. The instructor came back to the ship, a mixture of worry and laughter in his c ounte nance, “Tm going to have to shoot that bird down,” he said. ‘‘That’s the third time for him. He’s living up to what I told him all right! I told him if he saw he couldn’t make it to give her the gun and go round until he could. That’s judgment anyhow. It’s a crime to crack a ship as long as there’s gas in the tank. I guess he'll be out of gas all right soon. Then he’ll have to come down!” He laughed. ‘‘ Not changing the subject but” ~his face took on a look of childish wonder- “say, mister, can you do a immigrant turn? “‘Nope,” retorted Ganes in kind. “‘ Lieu- tenant, who taught your kaydet to do the falling leap? Here he comes again. He might get down this time.” The instructor with the stocking helmet ran out to an open space, handkerchief aloft. And Ganes with a “Let’s go” shot on the gun. Bustard had mixed emotions as he took off. In the first place he was in better spirits because he had seen one cadet with twice his time make abortive attempts to land. He certainly could do no worse. Ganes thought—or said—he had had seven hours; that was all right. He’d show him! What kind of a fellow was Ganes, who could bawl him out so mercilessly one minute, as if that was all that mattered in the world, and then with an astoundingly cool nonchalance forget it all to engage in foolish repartee? It meant so much more than that to Bustard! Ganes was heartless. Ganes didn’t want him to learn. Ganes was deliberately holding him back for some grudge. Ganes liked to make a mark of him. Well, he’d see, he would! “You're climbing too much!” said Ganes. Bustard watching the ship and busy with his thoughts did not hear. “Did you hear me?” Bustard heard that; it was shouted. “No, sir. What?” “You did! You're a plain liar.” For an instant Bustard was cold with surprise; and then all the half-suppressed (Concluded on Page 95) ”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST With Electric Starter and Lights, and on Pneumatic Tires This Reo “Speed Wagon” Was the Forerunner of Its Type @._ In 1915 when this Reo “Speed Wagon”’ was first introduced, those features—electric starter and lights and pneumatic tires—constituted a sales liability. @ Today, they are its greatest asset @. Then, our dealers told us the one “‘sales resistance”’ was the reluctance of buyers to “experiment with pneumatics on atruck.’”’ @ Now, those same dealers tell us it is mainly because of those fea tures that this Reo enjoys such a tremendous popularity. @ Then, there were only a few Reo **Speed Wagons”’ in hands of a few daring owners. @ Now—more than 20,000 are in hands of the most conservative and critical class of customers. @] Then, even the tire makers were skeptical of this Reo innovation. @ Now, tire makers, without exception, advocate pneumatics for trucks not only of this type, but up to five tons and over. @ Then, the average buyer considered an electric starter a non-essential and electric lights superfluous. @] Now, he would as soon buy a “street starting’? automobile with kerosene lamps, as a motor truck of that obsolete type @. Then, only the Reo engineers appreciated the superiority—the greater efficiency, speed, economy and lower upkeep—of a truck mounted on pneumatics. @ Now, rival engineers are copying this Reo as closely as they can. @ Then, only drivers knew the saving of time and fuel and motor wear effected by the electric starter. @ Now, the owner knows even better—through his cost accountant. @ Nor need we now show how the working day is lengthened and the radius increased by the electric lighting system—for that also is patent. @ Again, is Reo “conservative progressiveness”’ justified. @] Again, is the leadership of Reo shown—and by imitation, that sincerest form of flattery—is the superiority of Reo design and the soundness of Reo engineering endorsed. @ Now —you must be equally fore-handed if you'd secure a Reo ‘“*Speec Wagon,”’ for demand is almost hopeless‘y in excess of the factory capacity. @ Only way to be sure is to see your Reo dealer and order at once. Today won't be a minute too soon Reo Motor Car Company, Lansing, Michigan “THE GOLD STANDARD OF VALUES “

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62 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST RYE HAY WI woxsrerer ss onion By VICTOR SHAWE 1 ia arye iy il’ Smith account Then he cleared his desk and beckoned the office manager across the room to him. I have fired myself he stated laconically. ‘‘ Please make out an order for my pay.” The manager shrugged his shoulders. He could not understand ich men. Good pay and good treatment eemed to count for nothing with them. This particular bookkeeper had come into the office as an errand boy some ten vears before ow, at the age of twenty-five, he was making twenty dollars a week and was being considered for the position of head bookkeeper. The manager watched witt l-concee iled contempt as the fellow stopped for a whispered word with one of the stenographers before he left the office At the street entrance the ex-bookkeeper waited im- patiently until the girl left the home-going throng and joined him. He took her to a near-by restaurant and laborately ordered ¢ Why the celebration?” she asked Many times Christy O’Connell had almost persuaded herself to waste no time with this man. There had always heen a suggestion of indefiniteness in his attitude; a lack of purpose that boded ill for his future. And yet from the beginning she had liked him. His eyes were always teady, humorous, friendly. His mouth was wide, generous. In their friendship he had maintained a jestingly imper- onal attitude that made possible a comradeship she valued highly : It had beer he given a better position. whispered in the office that he was soon to Apparently without reason, he had sacrificed whatever prospects he might have had. Tell me the story,” she urged ‘You know Eggleston, the head bookkeeper,”” he said. He is going to quit soon. I was afraid they might give me his job His is a good position,”’ Christy protested Do you think so? I had dinrier with him and his family the other evening I learned something He is past fifty now. Dyes his hair to keep looking young! He has been in the office more than thirty years and is making thirty He has been able to save about twenty-five hundred dollars. Can you guess what he is planning todo? Answer: Buy a poultry farm! Wouldn't five dollars a weel it get you?” A light of sympathetic understanding was in Christy's eyes A little dairy farm is daddy's ambition,” she said gently That’s just it,”” he replied your father and Mr. Egglestor all the old one ire living, planning, dream ing this back-to-the-soil thing. And I have had my dream of a home not in an apartment building-—a home where children could have a wider horizon than a city street affords; and I have had my dream of a tall fair-haired girl who would delight to live in such a home “If L remain simply a bookkeeper,”’ he continued, ‘it will be thirty years before I can save enough to buy such a place as | want. Think of scrimping and doing without things for thirty years in order to live contentedly when I am old — too old to really enjoy life! He flung his arms outward, disclaiming the drab prospect ‘Not for me!” he declared ‘No longer am I Book keeper S-Smi. Henceforth I am Mr. Williams, Robert Herndon — Bob, to my friends.” ‘What of the fair-haired girl »’ Christy wh ispered ‘I have been thinking of her," Williams answered When I marry I want my wife to have silks, eriousl) jewels, leisure the things every woman should have.” If a woman has the necessities of life and the man she loves " Christy suggested Oh, damn the necessities of life!"’ he burst forth. “‘ Any fool can supply the necessities if he knows how to save. I hate saving!"’ he continued passionately ‘I have saved nickel by nickel and dime by dime until I have over six hundred dollars. And I hate every nickel and every dime of it. To-night | am starting a new system Instead of saving, I am going to begin spending. By the time this six hundred is gone [| may know what I am good for. I may find I am a promoter or a salesman. I may be of the material of which financiers are made or perhaps only a bookkeeper with a grouch.” Christy leaned forward, her eyes bright with the thought of adventure *Let me help spend the six hundred,” she coaxed. For a month they reveled. Then one evening when he called for her at her home he left a small bundle. When they returned later in the evening he unwrapped the package and displayed overalls and a jumper ‘The six hundred is gone,”” he told her. “*‘ These are my a he tucked the denims live ry of independence,’ e sa d as under his arm. He kissed a finger tip and laid it lightly upon her lips. “It took me ten years to save six hundred dollars,”” he said. ‘‘When I can make six thousand in one deal I’ll come back and play with you again.” One night, nearly a year later, Bob Williams crept out from a stock car in a Northern Oregon railroad terminal. He was unshaved and dirty; clothed in ragged overalls; possessed of but a solitary twenty-five cent piece, his sense of humor and an abiding appetite. He decided to save the quarter until morning; so he climbed to the loft of one of the livery stables and burrowed into the hay for the night. Early the next morning the men at the barn routed him out. He washed at the watering trough and pressed into service a piece of newspaper for a towel. Then he took the quarter from his pocket. ‘*Come heads, I eat you,” he said as he spun the coin in the air. ‘Come tails, I drink you.” A chuckle of amusement roused him to the fact that he had an audience. ‘‘Do you always flip to decide whether you eat or drink?” he was asked. ‘Not when I have two quarters,” he replied. Harvey Saunders, a rancher, smiled in comprehending amusement, “Do you ever work?” he asked. “Work is my middle name,” Williams assured him. “I’ve had nineteen jobs during the past year. The first I lost because I didn’t know enough; the next because I knew too much. Since then I’ve been fired for all sorts of reasons. The he« k of it Is, I know I must be good for he added plaintively; ‘‘but darned if I can something,” find out what it is.’ “Ever work with horses?’’ Saunders asked. ‘Nope ” “Perhaps you can cook?” Williams shook his head sadly. “But I can eat,”” he suggested hopefully. Saunders burst into a roar of laughter. “I’m going to take you with me,” he declared. “‘I have an extra horse along. If you can’t ride now you'll know how by the time we get to the ranch.” He produced a long wallet and gave Williams some money. ‘*Get shaved and have your hair cut,” he said; ‘‘and buy a pair of riding boots and some new overalls. I’m taking a bunch of mares back with me. When you are ready you'll find me down at the corrals.” A little later as they were leaving town Saunders advised Williams to stay in the road as much as possible. “This ride will be no pienie for you,” he said. “When the mares break for the sage I'll turn them.” The road led southward across a rolling stretch of sage and juniper. Mile after mile they covered at a steady pounding trot. Soon they came to rougher country, where the plain was broken by far-reaching rims of red basalt. Then the road dropped abruptly between the sheer walls of a narrow cafion that led into the valley of a turbulent mountain stream. Here the mares drank eagerly and would have been content to rest and graze; but Saunders drove them swiftly back to the road again. They left the valley and climbed steadily upward, travel- ing more slowly as the grades became steeper. It was almost noon when they reached the summit. On the south ridge after ridge from the timbered slopes of the Blue Mountains stretched like giant fingers westward toward a table-land that extended to the south and to the north as far as the eye could see. Beyond the plateau rose the jutting snow-covered peaks of the Cascades. Fora brief moment Williams sensed the grandeur of the scene. Then the horses commenced trotting again, and he was con- scious only of the racking jar of the horse he rode and of the stifling dust that swirled upward from the road. The long shadows of the hills were blending with the haze of twilight when the road brought them round the shoulder of a low ridge. Beyond them and below lay mile-wide fields of alfalfa. Across the fields, half hidden by parallel rows of poplars, could be seen a group of white houses and red barns. “A part of the Hay Creek Ranch,” Saunders said. ““We’ll stay there until morning.” When Williams went to bed that night his body was stiff-muscled, aching, lame. The next morning his every movement was an acute agony. He hobbled painfully to the barn, where Saunders was already caring for their horses. “You move round right spry for an old man,” the rancher jeered good-naturedly. “Huh! If you felt as nimble as I do you would be in bed sobbing for a nurse,”’ Williams retorted. Saunders grinned. June 28,1919 “You think you took a ride yesterday, do you? Why, son, yesterday we rode only thirty-two miles! It is nearly forty-five farther to my ranch. I’m figuring we'll make it to-night.’’ Williams groaned. They left the valley where they had spent the night and rode toward a timbered outpost of the Blue Mountains which Saunders called Old Grizzly. When they reached the summit of this mountain they could see far beyond them the clustered buildings of a little town that nestled in the valley of the Crooked River. “Only ten miles to the town,”’ Saunders said; ‘‘and eighteen more to the ranch,” headded, smiling at Williams’ expression of distress. They passed through the town and, leaving the river, made their way up a dry cafion, timbered thickly with stunted juniper. Late in the evening they suddenly came to the river again. Here, on a high-walled close-circled flat, was Saunders’ home ranch. Williams adapted himself easily to the routine of the new life. Time passed swiftly for him. Unconsciously he began to adopt the dress and customs of the range. The agricultural possibilities of the great plateau ap- pealed to him. He was loath to accept the opinion of the ranchers that the soil was not productive. It was ad- mitted, as a possibility, that rye hay might be raised; but most of the stockmen spoke slightingly of the crop. He had noticed, however, that Saunders had considerable land sown to rye. One day he asked regarding the value of it. ““Good old rye!” Saunders told him. ‘Plant it any- where, in any way, at any time, and it will always make a crop for a fellow. It is not the best hay that grows, but it certainly is better than a snowbank when the alfalfa is all gone.” In the beginning Saunders and his riders had called Williams by his initials, R. H. Because of his growing interest in the crop, they came to give the initials a new meaning and began calling him Rye Hay. Saunders had a ranch on the upper reaches of the Des- chutes River, where he took his blooded cattle in the summer. Williams knew that the ranch consisted of an immense natural meadow. One day Saunders told him to bring in a couple of horses; that they were going to ride to this other ranch. Williams had never been there and was glad of the op- portunity to go. At midday they skirted the western slope of a long low butte. There, under a sheltering basalt cliff, they came to a clear swift-flowing spring. They watered their horses and let them graze on the grassy flat below the spring. Williams and Saunders lolled for a while in the warmth of the sunshine. Below them lay the wide plateau of sage and juniper. On the west could be seen the bold outlines of the Des- chutes Cafion. Beyond, the Three Sisters of the Cas- eades held their age-long vigil. Far to the north, like white clouds under the noon sun, could be seen the crests of Mount Hood and Mount Adams. “‘What a location for a home!’ Williams thought as his gaze returned from the distances of the mountains to the fertile meadow below the spring. He knew Saunders owned the subdivision of land upon which the spring was located. But a rancher from the Deschutes River had been taking advantage of the fact that the spring was always accessible to the range stock, and had been crowding his cattle onto the part of the range tacitly understood to belong to the Crooked River ranchers. “Isn't Bud Wilson crowding this way on your range? Williams asked. Saunders’ face darkened. ‘*Bud is hunting trouble!” he declared. With a gesture, Williams included the land below the spring. “Suppose I file on as much of it as I can,” he said. “I could shut Wilson out and prevent a lot of range trouble and perhaps make some money for myself. “‘Here is more than three hundred acres of land that could be plowed without clearing either sage or juniper,” he continued. ‘For two seasons such soil should produce at least a ton of rye hay to the acre. The third year it should produce at least half a ton. At the end of three years I should have nearly eight hundred tons. The average price of such hay is seven dollars and a half. There have been years, I am told, when the price has gone as high as twenty-five dollars. “If you will stake me to the necessary horses and machinery, and loan me money enough to fence the place and to buy seed, I'll give you a mortgage on the crop. If the crop doesn’t materialize I'll give you a deed to the place as soon as I get title to it.” ” (Continued on Page 65) —— ww Se tee a

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a THE SATURDAY EV&NING POST een [ue same thoroughness that General Electric engineers have shown in electrifying our industries and railroads has been applied to the electrification of housework in the American home ‘See eo 2 . ” . = Oo we we. “4 ee. Se = & we a At last.a reliable laundress ! — the GE Motor, will attend to that NSTEAD of the Monday morning “dis- appointment”’ you touch a button and the electric washer goes to work. American manufacturers in recent years have been devoting themselves to overcom- ing the irksome tasks of housekeeping. The electric washing machine is one result of From the very beginning of electrical de velopment the General Electric Company has led in the manufacture and application of motors in every sort of service. Quite naturally, the leading makers of electrical household appliances equip their products with G-E Motors. They know—as most Look for th their efforts. It is less expensive, less de- business men do—that the reputation of te mark ¢ structive to clothes and linens, and more their product is joined to the reputation of ectrical thorough than even the best domestic the motor that operates it. That is why you a laundress. can depend upon any machine or appliance Washing machines vary in size and design. But just as the power source is the heart of street railway service, so the electric motor is the vital factor in the dependable opera- tion of a washing machine. that is G-E motored. Make sure before ordering any motor driven appliance that it has a G-E Motor Years of dependable service from your in vestment will follow \ from the Mightiest to the Tiniest —=\" LECTRIC COMPANY

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 Chassis Prices TATon - $1965 VATon - $236 SATon - $346 FO.B. ALLENTOWN.PA. BETHLEHEM ’ MOTOR TRUCKS The Motor Truck bought today without Electric Starting and Lighting will be out of date tomorrow BETHLEHEM MOTORS CORP'N ALLENTOWN, PA.

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Hy SS ee eg ee a (Continued from Page 62) Saunders studied over the matter for quite a while. The hay proposition seemed like a good gamble. He could easily drive cattle from his place in one day, and it was an even easier day’s drive for stockmen on the Deschutes who might need hay. And, also, he saw a way to eliminate Wilson from this part of the range. “T’ll make you this proposition,” he said: “If you will fence the place and leave an open lane to the spring, so range stock can have access to it at all times, I’ll stake you to horses and machinery and loan you what money you may need. When you are ready to sell your hay let me make a bid for it; and after you get your patent to the land, if you want to sell, give me the first chance to buy it.” Williams agreed eagerly and the matter was dismissed as settled. Later in the day, after they had left the open range and were riding in a forest of pine and fir, they came suddenly to the lava banks of the Deschutes River. They dismounted, and Williams crept down the jagged rocks until he could put his hand into the current. The swift chill power of the river fascinated him. As he watched the resistless current a great idea came to him. He visioned the river diverted from its barren channel and turned out over the table-lands. He pictured the stretches of sage turned into fields of grain. He saw the junipers give way to shade and fruit trees; the trails remade into wide roads. ““Why couldn’t it be done?’”’ he mused. “Trrigation?’’ questioned Saunders, sensing his com- panion’s thought. ‘‘Some day it will come.” “Why couldn’t we start the thing?” Williams asked; it seemed that a little blasting and a little ditching would be sufficient to turn the water. “T’ve thought of it,’’ Saunders said, ‘“‘but it’s too big for me—too big! It will take millions to build the dams and ditches, and more millions to clear and cultivate the land. The surveys have already been made,” he con- tinued. “‘A New York engineer, a man named Dunne, has done all the preliminary work. But for some reason capitalists seem afraid of the proposition.” Williams was loath to relinquish his idea. Whenever an opportunity offered he questioned Saunders, until he knew all Saunders knew of the preliminary work that had been done. **Some day,” he declared, “I’m going to start this thing going. It isn’t fair to all the people in the cities who had rather be in the country to leave so much good land lying idle.”’ “Go to it!’ Saunders encouraged. ‘“‘I’ll put up a few thousand dollars any time to pay your expenses while you are raising the millions necessary to make the proposition a success.” Under the old homestead laws there were various ways of securing government land. By means of his own rights and with Veterans’ Scrip Saunders had obtained for him, Williams filed on four hundred and eighty acres of govern- ment land. After the first autumn rains he fenced this land. He plowed and seeded about three hundred acres. The following summer brought bountiful crops. He cut and stacked nearly four hundred tons of hay. The next year was not so favorable; yet he put up close to three hundred tons of bright clean hay. The third summer came, and with it a drought and dry hot winds that swept across the table lands and valleys, burning and shriveling the grass and hay as if with flame. Williams had planted his crop early the preceding fall. It had made a good growth before winter set in and i started well in the spring. In spite of the adverse season, he put up more than one hundred tons of hay. Early fall rains started the grass anew on the ranges, and when the cattle were brought in for winter they were in fairly good condition; but throughout the district the hay crops had been unusually scant and many of the stockmen were threatened with a shortage of feed tor the winter. Williams planned to summer-fallow his place the follow- ing year; so he put off plowing until spring. One day in the early winter Bud Wilson met him in town and asked whether he had sold his hay. “I’m not sure I'll need it,’’ Wilson said; “but if you want to sell I'll take all you have at eight dollars a ton.” “Saunders has the refusal of the hay,”’ Williams told him. “Now let’s talk turkey,’’ Wilson persisted. ‘ You're not tied with Saunders. All he holds is your personal note. If he did not know that I stand ready to loan you the money he would have closed you out before this. You don’t need to stay on your place in order to get your title. I'll loan you money to commute with. Then you set your price and I'll buy you out—lock, stock and barrel—and take your hay at ten dollars a ton.” “My place is not for sale,” Williams answered quietly. “And that talk about Saunders closing me out is a lie.” Wilson, good-natured, blustering and crooked, studied Williams closely for a moment. Then he laughed. “Don’t mind what I say about Saunders,”’ he said; ‘but remember I’m offering you eight thousand for your hay.” “Come to me in the spring,’’ Williams said. “* Maybe I'll talk to you then.” Spring opened early and many of the settlers turned their cattle out on the range. Though nearly all the hay was gone, the more experienced of the stockmen held their herds close to the feedlots. These early springs were treacherous. Often after the stock was weakened by the tender grass, belated blizzards swept down from the Cas- cades, working fearful havoc with the cattle on the range. Williams, taking six workhorses and a gang plow, went to his homestead alone. Saunders had said nothing about buying the hay; and Williams had said nothing of Wil- son’s offer, fearing Saunders might think he was trying to force the sale. Day after day the black ribbon of his plowing widened. The days were clear and warm. But one day the wind shifted from the south to the northwest, and the sun, a dull red disk, set behind banked and threatening clouds. Dur- ing the night snow began to fall. Early the next morning Williams rose and cared for his horses. Plowing was out of the question. During the day he could only wait and wonder. Had he won? Or would Saunders and Wilson hold their cattle in their feedlots, hoping the storm would pass quickly? Hour after hour the wet snow fell steadily. In the after- noon the wind shifted to the north and brought with it a penetrating chill. As the wind increased in fury an icelike crust formed over the wet snow. Williams knew the storm meant death to the stock on the range. As night was closing over the plateau he heard, faintly at first, the bellowing of cattle. The sound came from the west. In afew moments Wilson opened the cabin door and crowded close to the little stove. ““We've made it!” he exulted. ‘In another hour the cattle would have been drifting with the wind and all hell couldn't have turned them.” As he talked the noise of the cattle increased; and the sounds seemed to come also from the east. Williams opened the door and peered into the storm. Listening he heard the shrill crying of Saunders’ riders as they urged their cattle forward. Wilson, too, realized that Saunders was coming and wasted no time in preliminaries. “You hold the cards,”’ he said. ‘“ And I’m glad to see you win, even if I do have to pay the bill. I can give twenty dollars a ton for your hay and still break even, if the snow doesn't last too long. I’ve been told you have eight hun- dred tons. I'll give you a check now for sixteen thousand dollars if you think that is fair enough.” ‘“*How many cattle did you drive over?” Williams asked. “T brought everything,’ Wilson replied —‘ between eight and nine hundred head.” Williams believed Saunders would bring more than one thousand with him. The hay would be sufficient for two thousand cattle for about one month. Williams was doing some figuring on his own account when there came a tramp- ing of feet at the door. “T’ll give twenty-five dollars a ton,’ Wilson urged as Saunders entered the cabin. “You're a lucky devil!”’ Saunders greeted as he sought the warmth of the stove. “‘You have us where you can cross-lift us to your heart’s content.” ““What do you think of him?”’ Wilson grieved. ‘‘I just offered him twenty-five dollars a ton and he didn’t even seem to hear me!” ‘He saw me coming,” Saunders said, smiling a wry smile. ‘‘He thinks he can stick us up for thirty.” ‘*How much can you afford to pay?” Williams asked. “Tt isn’t a matter of how much I can afford,”” Saunders replied. ‘‘My cattle are here now and it is simply a matter of how much I have to pay.” “How much can you afford?”’ Williams persisted. “‘T can break even at twenty dollars,’’ Saunders answered after a moment's hesitation. “Then that is what it will cost you,’ Williams told him. “But where do I come in?” Wilson objected. “You are the villain of the piece,”” Williams answered. You de not come in. You go out. Do you remember the day you and your toss rider were branding a big roan calf on the other side of the butte? Your horses whinnied and pointed toward the timber. You took your field glasses and searched for several minutes before you finished the branding. “T was up there in the timber,’ Williams continued, without waiting for Wilson to speak. ‘‘ You say you have between eight and nine hundred head of cattle. Your neighbors believe you got about half of them the way you got that roan calf. I don’t aim to sell you any hay; and so you stand to lose the whole bunch.” Wilson realized that Williams was thoroughly in earnest and his habitual good nature deserted him. “Don’t think I drove my cattle over here for the fun of it!” he flared. ‘‘ You'll sell one-half of your hay to me and one-half to Saunders or I’!] cut your fences and let the courts decide what I owe you.” “T thought of just such an emergency,’’ Saunders said, speaking for Williams. ‘‘ My boys are riding. guard at the stackyard now.” “ec THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 65 For a moment or two Wilson stood studying the other men ™ “Put your cards on the table,” he said at last abruptly “T am going to buy your cattle,” Williams told him “Tt isn’t going to be a question of what you think they are worth. I’m going to sell my hay to Mr. Saunders for sixteen thousand dollars. And I am going to give you sixteen thousand dollars for your cattle. You'll sign a bill of sale giving title to them and to any other stock that ever shows up in Central Oregon with your brand, or any brand you may claim.” For a few minutes Wilson paced the little cabin. He knew that for some time the honest stockmen had been trying to force him off the range. He realized he was known as a rustler. He controlled a large ranch by con- tract, but in reality he was only a renter. For some time South America had appealed to him as a better field for his methods. Finally he faced them, smiling his easy good natured smile. “‘Make out your papers,” he said. “I have a few dimes in the bank now, and with your sixteen thousand dollars I'll be able to see a good deal of the worid before L begin rustling again.” There was no rancor or hard feeling in his tone. He had simply played a losing game. “T knew you would be sensible,”” Williams complimented. Then he turned to Saunders. ‘‘Write Mr. Wilson a check for sixteen thousand dollars, if you will,”’ he said; “and take care of the bill of sale for me. We'll go in fifty-fifty on the hay and the cattle. I owe you twenty-five hundred dollars already,” he added. ‘“‘Now I want to borrow a couple of thousand more to start that ditch we've been talking about.” Early the next morning Rye Hay Williams saddled a horse and rode north through the abating storm. For five long years he had dreamed of a tall fair-haired girl. He was going back to see whether she remembered him. Four years away from city life, four years spent in the environment of the range, four years of hard riding and hard work, had made a stranger of the man who called at Christy O’Connell’s home a few days later. But it was the same blue-eyed adorable Christy who opened the door far him. Williams took both her hands in his and leaned for- ward eagerly, inviting her lips. Christy drew away from him. “Aren't you rather impulsive?” she asked coolly. Williams released her hands and smiled a twisted mirth less smile. As she drew away from him he had caught a glimpse of another man in the little living room beyond the hallway; «a good-looking fashionably dressed young fellow —such « man as he had been five years before. Williams hung his soft brown hat beside the fashionable black hat that belonged to the other man and followed Christy into the liv ing room He found it difficult to adapt himself to the situation It was so different from what he had hoped. He wished he had written more often to her. But he had felt all the time that a man should not try to hold a girl's affections unless he had something of material success to offer. Now he wanted to make her understand and appreciate the life he had come to love. How could he, in formal words, bring to her nostrils the tang of the sage and the balsam of the pines and firs? How could he bring to her eyes the magnif icent distances of the mountains and the purple haze of the hills and the crimsons and golds of the skies? For a while they plied him with questions. He answered in hort constrained sentence Then the other man described a new dance he had learned. He went to the piano and played the music for it. And he and Chr, ty sang some of the new popular songs When Williams rose to leave, Christy asked whether she would see him again soon. He had told them something of the Deschutes River and of the possibilities of utilizing its waters for irrigation “T leave for New York in the morning,” he said. “‘I am going to see an engineer there. When I return I'll surely call again—if I may.” Willtams knew this was an evasion and untrue. He knew he would not return again. At the door, in parting he kissed a finger tip and laid it lightly upon her lips, a he had done once before. *“*By, little girl!” he said. “I wish you had wanted to be impulsive too,” he added wistfully. If he had taken her hands again; if he had leaned f ward as he had done earlier in the evening Wi knows? Half-forgotten emotions had awakened in Christ heart during the evening. But Williams would not have her see the sorrow of loss that was written in his eye He turned away abruptly and left her The girl at the information de In the ite fi f Dunne & Co., Engineers, appraised William th eye that missed no detail of his unpressed gra lit, his soft collared shirt, his square-toed shoe ‘‘No need to ask such a man for a card,” she thought “‘Who shall I tell Mr. Dunne is waiting e said

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66 ‘Mr. Dunne does not know me,” Wil liams explained. ‘Tell him a man is here, from Central Oregon, who wants a dam built across the Deschutes River.” A moment later he was admitted to the engineer's office ‘Irrigation?’’ Dunne inquired briefly. Williams nodded an affirmative. Whom do you represent?” My partner a stockman named Saun- ders and myself.” Archie Saunders?" Dunne said. ‘‘ How long have you been in partnership with him?” Williams grinned About ten ds * he admitted. “I sort of wished this urtnership business on him,” he explained. ‘But I’ve been riding with him for several years We've been cooking up this irrigation idea for quite a while. We figure that, where a hundred men are making an uncertain living out there now, a thousand can make a sure living if we can make irrigation possible.”’ ‘You've said it!’’ Dunne exclaimed, his lighting with enthusiasm, “I’ve been preaching that thing for years. I made a of that whole district several years eve irvey zo. Some day the project we planned will be-put over.” The light of enthusiasm lied from his eyes But the time isn't ripe } et,” he said. ‘“‘The men who control the railroads won't build into that country irrigation is an accomplished fact. And the men who could finance the irriga tion project will have nothing to do with t until a railroad is built.” You're pessimistic,”’ Williams said. There are several hundred thousand rere ing acroas Central Oregon own that land?” of a military road land grant extend Have you ever talked to the men who What would be the use of talking to them?” Dunne asked “Their land is for sale,”’ Williams ex- plained. “I talked to them a few days ago. hey realize that any movement which will draw attention to the farming value of the land in that locality will be of direct benefit to them. They represent millions of if this irrigation project is started it is logical they will lend their in- ence to carry it to successful completion. ‘| stopped for a day in St. Paul,” Wil liams continued, “I talked to Jim Hill. He i trongly in favor of the proposition And yesterday I talked with Harriman. He said he'd be glad to see the project gotten under Way es “Hill and Harriman are at each other's throats all the time,”’ Dunne said. “If one hould express himself in favor of this thing the other would fight it.” “| believe not,”” Williams argued. *‘ Both f them can see the worth of changing a desert into a grain field. I believe they would have no quarrel over the proposition intil the other started to build a oad into the district.” Dunne pondered ove! a time | believe you have a regular idea,” he finally Are you going to let ne build the dam and dig the ditches for you”” he asked Chat’s what apital to believe one ofr the matter for juite uimitted I've come to you for,” Williams confided. “I've been told you are i sort of single-minded, simple, honest guy. If there is a lawyer in the city like you we want you to find him. He'll have to be smart enough to organize us so that we van keep control of the outfit until the project is completed,” “| know the right lawyer,"’ Dunne said. ‘And he is smart enough to organize us so that he'll get his fees out of the organiza- But it is my personal opinion that most of these Carey Act projects are going tion to go on the rocks before they are com- pleted,””’ Dunne continued, “‘The chances ure that all I'll get out of this will be the fun of engineering the job. I'm curious to know what you expect to get out of it.”’ I'm a sort of simple-minded guy my- If," Williams admitted, “All | expect to yet is a bad reputation and a lot of ex- perience ‘You'll get bot! Dunne assured him. The organizing and financing of that project is history now. In the money cen- ters of the country the wise ones still tell, marveling, how a lad of thirty—a clear- eyed smiling fellow, with a curious sobri- quet of Rye Hay-—-came from the West, with a vision of a desert country trans- formed, and accomplished the impossible in finance, They still recall the wide publicity he newspapers gave him at that time. Christy O'Connell read the newspapers At first, she was only casually interested in THE SATURDAY the news of a remarkable irrigation project that was being undertaken. But one Sunday she read an article about the man to whom the newspapers gave credit for making the thing possible. It is true the picture of the man did not resemble the picture of Bob Williams she had framed on her dressing table. And, even though the article told that he was a man past forty, and a product of the Central Oregon he loved so well, Christy simply shrugged her shoulders. She knew newspapers could not be depended upon for accuracy. Christy’s father could never quite ex- plain how he came to join a colony of settlers who were going into Oregon to take up land under the new irrigation project. He was content with the knowledge that at last his dream of a little dairy farm was to become a reality. Christy helped him to select eighty acres of level land not far from the Deschutes River. They favored that particular loca- tion more because of the scenery than for any other reason. Quite a community grew up round them. They called it Pleasant View. One of the men who had come in their party opened a store and established a post office. A schoolhouse and a community hall were built. Then a town-site company started a boom and a town grew up almost overnight. The O’Connells took part in all the pub- lic and social activities of the community. They became acquainted with Mr. Dunne, the boyish-looking engineer in charge of the irrigation construction. But the man of whom the newspapers had written so much, Rye Hay Williams, had become a figure of romance; a person seldom seen, but of whom all manner of stories were told. ‘A queer fish,’ was the summary of public opinion; ‘‘a man who could have been elected to Congress and who was con tent to become a county commissioner; a man who would go a mile to look at a good horse, but who wouldn't walk across a street to meet a pretty girl.” Little by little the lands that were to be irrigated were cleared and ditched and made ready for the coming of the water. Finally a day was set for turning the water from the river into the main canal. And that day was chosen by the settlers as a day of celebration. The day before the celebration Williams and Dunne decided to ride the length of the canal to make sure there was no break or barrier to divert the water in its course, It was a long ride and hard, So they grumbled at each other and scolded as they rode; for they realized this would be al- most their last day together, and each feared lest he show the affection he felt for the other. Their instinctive liking for each other had developed into a warm attach- ment during the months they had labored together. “Where are we now?” Williams de- manded; the sun was setting behind Mount Jefferson and he was hungry. “We are about four miles from Pleasant View,’ Dunne told him. They had come to a road crossing the canal, “If we go by way of the road can we shorten the distance any?” Williams asked. Dunne consulted a pocket map. “Yes,” he said; ‘“‘we can save more than a mile by leaving the canal here and then turning to the right on the first crossroad we come to.” “Are you sure?” Williams asked in a querulous tone. “‘ These darned settlers are establishing so many new roads a fellow never is sure of where he’s going.” “Didn't | just look at the map?”’ Dunne demanded. “I’m telling you the map shows that if we turn to the right on the first road we come to it will bring us right to Pleasant View.” \ little farther on they came to a newly fenced lane that led to the right. “This isn't a road,’’ Williams said posi- tively; “this is just a trail.” “It doesn’t make any difference whether you call it a trail or a road,’’ Dunne said. “The map shows Pleasant View is due west of here; so let’s be going.” Williams went with him, grumbling again. They rode for a little distance and found their way barred by a wooden gate that opened into a well-kept yard. A cozy looking bungalow stood a short distance from the road. “It looks like an honest-to-goodness home,’ Dunne said. ‘Maybe we can get something to eat here. Hello, the house!"’ he called, EVENING POST A girl came out of the house and walked down to the gate. She was enveloped ina snowy white apron. A sunbonnet rested across her shoulders. Its ribbons were tied in a wide bow under her chin. “The map was right,” Dunne told Williams triumphantly. ‘I tok’ you if we took the first road we should come straight to a pleasant view!” Christy O’Connell crossed her arms on the top of the gate. She bowed gravely to Williams; but she smiled her most inviting smile for the benefit of his companion. “Good evening, Mr. Dunne!” she said. “We've lost our way,”” Dunne explained. He did not even glance at Williams as he continued: ‘‘ My ditch rider, here, told me this lane was not the right road. He seemed peeved because I insisted on coming this way. Perhaps we may be able to ride across your place and find a road on the other side that will take us to town.” “Sorry,” Christy answered; “‘but there is a cafion on that side which is too steep to cross. You'll have to go back the way you came and turn to the right at the first road you come to.” “Thank you!”” Dunne said. He hesitated a moment and then started to turn his horse. Williams stopped him. ‘Wait a moment!” he said. ‘‘The young lady most likely is from the East. If she knew the custom of the West she would say: ‘Dismount, strangers. Put up your hosses and I'll get you a bite of something to eat.’” Christy made a polite little curtsy. *‘Dismount, strangers,”’ she said. “Put up your horses and I'll be pleased to get you a bite of something to eat.” The men dismounted and Christy led the way to the barn. While they were caring for their horses she went to the house. Dunne began whistling a weird little three-note tune. “Why all the hilarity?’’ Williams de- manded., “There is to be a dance to-morrow night,"” Dunne explained. ‘I’m betting something,” he added; “I'm betting I dance the first dance of the evening with our tall fair-haired hostess. And I’m betting I dance Home Sweet Home with her too.” “I’m calling your bet,’”’ Williams said promptly. “I’m offering any two horses I own against that little knot-headed fuzz- tail you ride that she dances neither of those dances with you.” **Who will?’ Dunne wanted to know. “T will,” Williams stated calmly. “‘My steed against two of yours!” Dunne said. “It’s a bet. Why, you piece of cheese, you haven’t a chance in the world!’ he gloated. ‘‘Because she knows who I am. You heard her call me Mr. Dunne, didn’t you? And I've put the poison in your hash. You're just a ditch rider!” As they started to the house Dunne realized, for the first time, that he did not know Christy’s name. “I’m going to get in bad right at the start,” he complained. ‘I met her once at some irrigation meeting and she'll think I should have remembered her.” “You should have,” Williams decided judicially. ‘“‘Now I’m going to convince you I’ma regular sport,” he added: “If I’m not mistaken in the location, this is where that little Irishman O’Connell lives. I’ve heard he has aright good-looking daughter.” “That's who she is!’’ Dunne exclaimed. ‘Christy O’Connell! Now I remember her.” Then he looked suspiciously at Williams. **Where do folks get the notion you never notice girls?"’ he asked. Christy had dinner ready in a surpris- ingly short time. “Is it proper to eat with the menfolks?” she asked. ‘‘Or should I wait until you’ve finished? I’m awfully hungry!” she added plaintively. They decided that, though it wasn’t quite the proper thing, she might sit down with them. As they went to the table Dunne remembered his manners. “By the way, Miss O’Connell,” he said casually, ‘this is Mr. Williams. He’s one of our most faithful men—has been with us since we started this irrigation project.” Williams acknowledged the introduction gravely. Miss O’Connell hesitated and then offered her hand. When the dinner was finished Christy told them she was going to leave the dishes until after she had milked. ““Whynot let Mr. Williams do the dishes?” Dunne suggested. ‘‘He is a homesteader, you know, and is!accustomed to baching and doing dishes. And I am good at milking,” he said. ‘I'll go with you and help.” June 28,1919 You’re awfully good!” Christy told him. ‘‘But I hate milking,’’ she confessed. **So I'll let you do it to-night and I'll help Mr. Williams with the dishes.” A moment later Dunne found himself on the porch with two milk buckets. He had never milked a cow in his life. He feared he was in for an unhappy experience. A quarter of an hour later he started slowly back to the house. He hadn’t had any luck at all. He found no one in the kitchen; and the dishes were still on the dining table. He went out on the porch and then walked slowly round the house. He found Wil- liams and Christy where they had gone to see a certain view of Mount Jefferson Christy was fond of. But they were watching no far horizons when Dunne saw them. They were in silhouette against the gold of the evening sky. Williams stood with one arm across Christy’s shoulders and the other round her waist, and both her arms were round his neck as she drew his lips to hers. “You kids come right back to the house!”’ Dunne called sternly. Obedient, they came slowly, loitering as they came. Williams kept his arm round her waist shamelessly. Once he stooped and whispered to her; and her laughter rang clear and silvery, vibrant with pure happiness. “Fast work!”” Dunne commented judi ciously when they stopped in front of him. “‘But where do they get this skirt-shy notion about you?” he asked Williams Then, with sudden suspicion: ‘‘ Let me see that picture in your watch.” Williams opened his watch and showed the picture of Christy he had treasured for sO many years. “And you said you were a sport when you told me her name to-night!’’ Dunne said reproachfully. It was Dunne who washed the dishes that night, and Christy and Williams who milked the cows. Christy would not listen to their proposal that they should ride on to the town for the night. **Daddy and mother are there now,” she said. ‘‘They have put in the day helping prepare things for the celebration to morrow. I was with them most of the day; but I had to come home to milk the cows. I am going to ride in as soon as I’m through milking in the morning,” she told them. ‘And I like good company,” added. That night Christy readjusted the dreams she had cherished since the hour she had persuaded her father to leave their Eastern home. It had been her belief she would meet Williams again and that they would find their happiness together. But she had always thought of him as the man who had made possible this great irrigation con- quest; the man whose achievement had been featured in the newspapers through- out the country. Now she had found her R. H. Williams, and he still loved her. She didn’t care if he was just a homesteader and ditch rider. The next morning, after the cows had been milked and the breakfast dishes washed and put away, they saddled their horses and started for the town. “*Let’s do this right,” Williams sug- gested. ‘‘Let’s go back to the canal and ride in as we intended.” So they went back to the canal and rode along its banks. And as they rode they heard such a sound as one hears along little ocean-flowing streams when the tide turns the current back upon itself a birling sound, as the Scotch say. Soon beside them came a trickle of foam, yellow and slow moving; and then, like a flood, the water came. For a distance they raced with the stream, shouting like children at play. Then they came to the town; and the people who crowded the streets recognized Christy’s escort. They waved their hands in greeting and cheered. “Oh, you Rye Hay!” someone shouted; and others took up the ery. Christy had reconciled herself to the thought that her R. H. Williams was a ditch rider. Now he was being cheered and greeted as the famous Rye Hay Williams. She couldn’t quite figure the thing out. There was a puzzled look in her eyes as she turned to him. Williams reined his horse close to hers and squeezed her arm in a lingering affectionate grasp. He was smiling whim- sically, teasingly. **Don’t look at me like that!’ he said. **Act as if you knew me! she

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST N the height of the harvest season a big tractor wades through acres of grain, hour after hour, without break- down or layoff—and a crop comes in in record time. Only a machine correct in principle and rugged in construc- Every individual part must be de- And of major importance among tion can stand the pace. signed for strain and wear. the factors contributing to such performance are the bearings. Fafnir Ball Bearing ¢ Gurney MANUFACTURERS OF QUALITY Ball Bearing U.S. Bal | Be Where every “day off” for repairs is vital It is for this reason that builders of the better tractors heed the lesson learned from car and truck builders—they install ball bearings to reduce friction, develop more horsepower from less fuel, and lengthen life. For tion of frictional waste in the ball bearing lies science’s most practical elimina- proven day after day by the high- est achievements in every phase of industrial progress. Hess-Bright Manufacturing Co ring (Strom) Manufacturing ¢ BALL BEARINGS

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68 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 OROX The Smooth Tooth Paste Ay + = 4 ! ~& Po , “A ? a “Gest it for YOURSELF ‘ ra 4 1 as ee ee 2 2 2 ee EEBEes Ee ‘-. 2 “ h ug " | VEN sense of touch proves one CHLOROX virtue —unusual ‘~ "a smoothness—for CHLOROX is the “milled” toothpaste, iP ny highly pulverized to protect as well as polish delicate tooth enamel. pen re is Ye, " ; laste tells you that CHLOROX is cleansing thoroughly far back in your wa re, mouth—CHLOROX is “that clean taste”, unspoiled by candied flavoring. c 5 in ne But to test how CHLOROX hardens the gums, cleans the microscopic channels ee a of the mouth and throat, and stimulates nature to circulate its vital rebuilding fluids t j 4 you must use CHLOROX. N ; it ° . , “cs , oe . 1 . 4 Smokers who use CHLOROX have no “smoker's taste” in the morning. The \ » te, CHLOROX tube contains cleanser to protect you for three months used twice de a daily—a generous fifty cents’ worth. "The key empties the tube. And the last bit a x, is equally as soft, creamy and cleansingly effective as the first—test it for yourself. ha t a , CHLOROX does not waste—never hardens in the tube. A OW ‘a CHLOROX IS SOLD—EVERYWHERE a ‘— NULYNE LABORATORIES JACKSON, MICHIGAN e, a i D = een ees eee eee SF

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ny Aen ame WO pirate rivers in the Andes displaced the Continental Divide and came near to starting an international war. The boundary line be- tween Chile and Argentine Republic originally followed the Continental Divide. This was as- | sumed to be permanent. But it was not. The steep Chilean rivers ignoring the old topography committed swift and picturesque piracy. Eroding rapidly headward with flank advance they be- headed Argentine rivers and compelled the waters of these to flow to the Pacific. They broke and displaced natural and national boundaries. Streams struggle for existence and sometimes break through an established stream boundary and invade the headwaters of an adjacent stream. The invader geologically is called a “‘pirate’’ and the stream seized is said to be “‘beheaded.”” The a international commission selected to settle the dis- puted boundary line found that no map had ever been made of it. The survey then made revealed an interesting river habit—piracy; which included invasion, seizure, river adventure and a revised geography lesson. The shifting channel of the lower Rio Grande is about as permanent as a mirage, and the bank and land residents of this stream may wake up any morning and have topographic allegiance to the nation on the other side of the river. It is difficult to say whether this kind of stream is a born ad- venturer or is endeavoring to make a permanent peace commission necessary. Stupendous are the changes wrought by running ater, as the Grand Cafion shows. Every stream a landscape artist, a continental sculptor, an erosive power of first magnitude. There are no eternal hills. The earth’s surface is being steadily lowered by the aged and endless activity of rivers. Old surfaces and scenery are melting into the new before the ever-changing rivers and the change- less sun. The artistic relief work of streams—hills and dales, countless cliffs and cafions, valleys and plains—is all about us. The struggles of streams in hills and mountains appear almost in the nature of feuds decades long. Territory and channels are taken and retaken. These feuds have oscillated watersheds on the map and resulted in that determining topographic power known as geographic environment. The earth channels created by streams have directed the movements of man and predestined his de- velopment even hundreds of miles from their orig- inal scenes and ages after they ceased to play in path making. In the Adirondacks there were contending In- dian tribes who never quite settled a boundary line. And amid these poetic and geologically an- cient mountains old river channels, like ruined cities beneath Troy, appear to be about nine deep. The Potomac River heads in behind a mountain range and owes its present prestige to past piracy. The Appalachian and Blue Ridge Mountains are Pe full of graphic records of river piracy and mountain- stream feuds. These contending streams cut channels and gouged new gaps without the slightest regard to the old régime, and with no thought for innocent bystanders or new geography lessons. But their audacious and influen- tial piracy contributed something to posterity. Cumber- land Gap, that strategic thoroughfare of both peace and war, through which the westward course of empire took its way, is the channel of a beheaded stream, a base level cut through a mountain barrier abandoned by the pirate. The Wars of the Waters _ rivers lengthen by cutting headward. Stream piracy may result from advantages possessed by one stream over its competitor —steeper grades and softer rocks, which enable it to cut its way more rapidly, to lengthen its lines, to seize and intrench itself successfully beyond and behind the neighboring stream, which has to cut through resistant rock with slow grades. However, the pirate often has his day and is then outpirated. An obsolete stream on the other side of the top cuts through into a stratum that gives easy going; or warping of the surface gives it high speed and all the power for piracy. The geological story of the Tennessee River is one of rare romance and piratical adventure, one of the best in river biography. This stream of mighty flow and now deeply intrenched main line of communication has had a turbulent and contentious past. Parts of its stirring rec- ords have been washed out; others time has only camou- flaged with forest, vine and flower. The Tennessee River . By L. BROE is made up of three ancient and once honored rivers which formerly flowed in other channels, each over it lividual course and toward a different point of the compas It is a union of streams formerly independent, and of water- sheds which once had different connections and allegiances. Sometimes after a stream has lost out and become old and decrepit a sudden upheaval or a soft geological stra- tum occurs—and old landmarks are swept away and the long-fixed watershed conditiong are changed. The middle courses of the river usually are safely trenched for long periods, but if it reach the sea the ever- 1e stream builds for itself lengthening lower course that t is over a channel subject to breaks, bendings and abandon- ment. Or, as sometimes happens, it is drowned through submergence. There is severe competition in the animal world. Species crowds species and endlessly contends for place and food; but at times there is a truce. Often they codperate, fre- quently a species forms alliance with a foreign one and with this fights a common enemy. Much of their advance is due to codperation and mutual aid. But astream’s source seems never to be settled. The war with its competitors does not end. Its competitor sud denly speeds through local uplift or easier excavating and seizes theentiresummit. After centuries of successes, when a stream source has almost secured all the coveted water- shed it has dug itself in-—-is deeply intrenched—then the current changes and it loses. It may sink into insignifi- cance or even be completely absorbed and eliminated from the map THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 69 RIVERS AS SCENE SHIFTERS By ENOS fl. MILLS Rivers, like glaciers, make vast and picturesque ivations headward—‘‘backward,”” as an old prospector put it. By this apparent working back ward, by advancing one direction while flowing the opposite, they remove hills and sometimes dig a channel through a mountain barrier. Yellowstone Lake for ages sent its waters to the Pacific. But something, not many centuries ago appears to have blocked the old outlet. The wa- ters proceeded to add interesting revision to the geography of this wonderland; they abandoned an old and added a new section of Continental Divide and cut a channel that gave connections with the tlantic. This added the falls and the Golden Cafion with sunset colors—a new and shining landscape. Running water thus is the mighty artistic direc- tor of the earth. With its ever-active rivers it is constantly making scenes and constantly changing or merging them into new ones. The topography of any section is geologically born, going through periods of youth, decline and is the topographic described as being old age. It is changed A river scene hifter Rivers in Youth and Age YIVERS have their day. They have youth, growth, decline and old age. A river has an adventurous life, so much so that geologists, who use mostly mathematical words, tell of a river meeting with ‘‘accident,”” being ‘‘beheaded,”’ “drowned,” and “struggling for existence.’”” Many a river has a biography well set with excitement and dramatic scene. Countless fine-toothed streams are constantly combing and raking the entire land surface of the globe. Flying squadrons of clouds fill the sky and drop untold tons of tiny water bombs upon the earth. Gravity directs the gathering and the trans- Frost and chemistry are also diggers the forces used to break, loosen and dissolve the surface. The fluency of water in portation of the wreckage connection with gravity, evaporation and precipi tation gives it alliances and perpetual motion for transporting the materials gathered from the sur face of all continents. Speedy streams help dig with tools of sand and stones the countless chan nels that we know, The sea, sending its messages by cloud and storm, lays tribute on all the land that lies above the surface of the waves. Each little drop of water conducts a little grain of sand back to the sea, and with the cooperation of chemistry each drop also carries salt and lime and phosphate in solution for sea gardens, coral building and the flavor of the sea Excessive saturation, soft strata, steep slope cause earthworks to slip and to move as landslide The débris of these forms dams, more or less per rverwhelm manent, in river channels, te ing the stream with sediment to transport. The Cascades in the Columbia, the Ray ids in the Col orado are in part wrecked peaks and cliffs from a former place in the sun Beaver ponds are constantly silting up with sea-bound sediment, hampering erosion and stream success. Millics of these have filled, reduced sediment de livery and added empires of rich soil, changed boundaries of life zones and invited meadows and forests to expand But erosion never cease Each year the rivers of the: United States alone mine and move 513,000,000 tons of solid matter in sediment and 270,000,000 tons of land surface in solution back into aters of the sea. In boating down the Mississippi years ago I landed an island, where I met island’ origin. When a young mal ne Was £ river and his steamer struck a snay and sar \ quickly formed in the eddy. It well kr sandbars form round a mere snag in a aman who explained tor rescue his sunken boat the man t this sandbar, which had grown i: “* Have you ever thought,” I asked hit how mu a solution from Kentucky caves is ant the sea?”’ ‘Enough to give the present ter | ation a three years’ supply,” was his instant re The overturning of my boat f the Grand Cafion caused me t f ‘ t heavily laden, with several pounds of fin lour, marble, mica and iron sagging my clothes and ide yiving a strange stiffening overload of armor hat peded ever move

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70 lhe Grand Cajfion is a masterpiece of ero- ion, a record of running water The form ng of the transported and bu up in the delta of the Colorado The old ev muddy Missouri Ri still ] material removed in the Grand Cafion was flows or laden wit! ywhere here A wi too thin for cultiva for navigat } in this dull river the fertile happy peopl move, and liquid land taken from ever will be piled omew that the Missour tion and too thi imag tree-fringed farm acTo lelta lance where the restle ocean washes myster! ous and adventurou ind Every down old stream is ascene shifter: it pull landscapes, carrie them far the ky, then readjust id material \ substantial lands ipe is g away under and recasts thi wholly ne ven its impres ient place in the white Amazon, day ive th rugh tral light of the sun. The est river on the globe, the great each pours an inconceivable of sediment Day through the quantity into and night, ind the ny the the sea ever flowing eason many r loads and into the becoming years, mighty rivers are pou building enormous deltas out seVeN seu Slowly th irth lower and wider housand deltas are filling in the i The seas wit! irge current and brea! ers ever wage their endle roaring war uchment But on of the b front of sea and land the land has made the effective drive That shifting ally of land and water, the wind, generally on these encré many sector attle aided the sea; but a con forward a ent reserve tinuous stream flow pour upply of sedin which gravity eagerly, steadily thousands of and these reserve never-e dir 4 conscripted from quare miles of sur face sand vanced that the bent bac! The Ita of the Ganges is greater than that of the state of Pennsy! cities of of little grains of teadily ad little drops of were so strategically, water urea of the ae vania. Numerous prominence stand upon deltas that built dur of the past Interlaken i built out 350 tream a lake delta. 1851 the Hwang-ho River quit emptying into the Yellow Sea and shifted to the Gulf of Petchili to the north As this was betwee fifteen to thirty ing the age upor Hwang-ho delta ha mile In s00 mile n dikes with a surface level treet and farm levels its change was dis- Mogul laid the foun Pu-tai. This city now ts from the seashore Once Adria was a port at the mouth of the River Po. It now is fourteen miles inland feet above most Generations ago a Chinese city of inland turbing dation of the seaport forty-eight mile The Mississippi Delta EW ORLEANS, now a cons mouth of the Mississippi, i and so low-lying is it and so built up the river bed that the traveler climbs flights of stairs to get aboard the steamer Every Father of Waters, the mighty Missis- sippi, pours more than a million tons of earth sediment and Gulf. The delta of this river is each day advancing its ragged, sectored shore line nearly Gulf, ad about one iderable journey from the built wholly upon a delta, day the solution into the one foot into the vancing mile every In the course ixteen years of a two growing will compare favor ably in size with some of the Euro pean that are struggling for a place in the In drilling a at New Orleanssome peneratior or this ever land area nations sun well years ago a piece of was struck feet beneath surface. The River wood 1042 the Mis delta issippt contains age old wreckage; it is a continental contri bution built by the Father of Water THE SATURDAY EVENING Y : j A . A 4 It is a mingling of mountain fragments and broken farms, the blended ruin and richness of ten thousand plains and peaks. In it side by side lie remnants of Pike’s Peak, an Ohio hill, the heart of old Kentucky, a part of the Mam- moth Cave, lava from old Yellowstone fires, glacial silt from Canadian mountains, dust from the Great Plains, sediments from rocks that were formed in ancient seas, and even the black meteoric dust of burnt-out worlds and stars. A delta may be a combination of all geological rock strata and of all life that has lived its little day and re- turned to dust, and may carry even the wreckage of other worlds than ours. A polished piece of granite in this delta may be as old, almost, as the earth. Erosion on Canadian mountains un- earthed it. The southward sweep of the ice king seized it, carried it a thousand miles southward, grinding and re- ducing it, then depositing it in Ohio. Here a flood seized it, rushed it to a sandbar in the Mississippi River, and it lin- gered. By slow stages it rolled its way down the Mississippi channel and at last came to rest within sound of the sea. Sections of this cosmopolitan delta may submerge in Nature’s melting pot, become a stratum, lie buried and POST June 28,1919 forgotten for ages beneath the sea, then reappear in fiery volcano or uplifted stratum, in new landscape slowly wasting under the erosive forces of unmeasured time. Scientists tell us that this continent is being lowered at the rate of one foot every nine thousand years, Continents have been uplifted and worn down again and again. Geologists say that the sedi- mentary rock strata of the earth have a total thickness of forty miles. But we are in these scenes such a little while make a mere transient visit—that we cannot see except with revealing mathe- matics and poetry that the most substan- tial landscapes and age-wrought scenes are moving pictures— moving through a vast orbit of endless change. Landscapes Absorbed ROSION showed monumental results during the Mesozoic Era. The earth entered this era with mountains tower- ing on all the continents in the northern hemisphere and the rivers changing their landscapes. The rivers, though acting leisurely, were ever eroding and made changes vast. Mountain horizons were peopled with ponderous and ancient life; the earth circled away in alternating day and night. Evolution worked slowly on, remodeling the old life forms and junking many a model that had had its day. In the midst of this long and wondrous era the wild flowers first showed their pure and lovely faces to the sun. During this long day with countless and advancing changes in earth history the rivers ran on. Before the day was done—before the Mesozoic Era had given way to its suc- the mountains which over the northern hemisphere had greeted its morn- ing had been worn down by running water; but the rivers now were slow and sluggish and the landscapes in which they had a place in America, Europe and Asia were but vast low plains. Landscapes are being absorbed. Every scene-shifting stream has salt for the sea, lime for shells that will strew beaches yet unborn and for coral islands on whose white and palm-plumed shores deep blue oceans yet shall roll; sediment and chemicals with which to make and color the strata that are yet to rise from ocean's depth and have a place—be a crumbling and tran- sient landscape in the sun. What is Thrift? HRIFT means simply getting your money’s worth and your time’s worth. It means disposing of your energy and your income with intelligent regard as to how you can get the most long-run satisfaction out of them. A young gen- tleman of our acquaintance bought an overcoat last winter. He should have bought an overcoat. To go without would have been wasteful. But he succumbed to sartorial temptation and bought a much more expensive garment than he needed or could afford. He had some moments of satisfaction over the style of the coat and the fine material in it, but for every such moment he suffered three others of remorse over the inconveniences and privations to which ~~ pe } his” extravagance > subjected him and in thinking how much better he might have done with that amount of money. Inshort, he disposed of that money in a manner that brought him a final net product of dissatisfaction. The thrift cam- paign means just getting the most in long-run satisfac- tions out of your time and money. “Don’t waste” is the whole of it. We need to press that campaign year in and year out. cessor

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pe E ee geen cee oe i IMPLEMENTS — THE SATURDAY EVENING POST How Did the U. S. Navy Protect the North Sea Mines from Rust? When the famous mine barrage was laid from the Orkney Islands to the Norway Coast to remain for months why didn’t the salt water eat its way through the steel and destroy the mine cases with rust? Because the U. S. Navy protected the mine cases with the Parker Process! Of all the mines in the North Sea barrage, more than three-fourths were Parker Processed. Governments Confirm Experience of American Industry The wide use of the Parker Process by the Allied Governments during the war bears out the experience of the leading American and English manufacturers who have been using this process for several years, (See list of products below.) And now that it is so generally known to the public that the Parker Process does prevent rust it is a distinct sales asset to any manufacturer employing iron or steel. The time is fast approaching when buyers of practically all metal articles will ask themselves— Is this product proof against rust, or is it offered to me with the tacit admission that sooner or later it will corrode and go out of service long before its time? Manufacturers—Industrial Executives A Practical Rustproofing Book for You The Parker Process is not a paint but is a ED Wide Variety of Metal Articles Now Rustproofed By the Parker Process! Among the Products Protected by the Parker Process are: Arms and Munitions Automobiles Automobile Specialties Bicycles Bolts, Studs and Screws Cameras Coil Springs Dental Supplies Electrical Equipment Farm Implements Fire Extinguisher Parts Hardware Specialties Machined Parts (Dimensions not changed) Mechanics & Carpenters Tools Motor Trucks Motorcycles Phonographs Scales Time Clocks Typewriters PARKER RUST PROOF COMPANY of AMERICA DETROIT, MICHIGAN, U. S. A. FR PARKER PROCESS * RUST PROOFS IRON AND STEEL Railway Supplies Ranges and Stoves Sewing Machines Sporting Goods Steel Furniture Telephone Equipment chemical process applied by manufacturers with special equipment in their own plants It not only enables them to rustproof the iron or steel parts they are already using—but frequently makes it possible to cut production costs by sub stituting rustproof iron or steel parts for those of costly copper or brass Every manufacturer or industrial executive using iron or steel should have a copy of the Perker Process Book a practical talk on rustproofing which covers the subject fully—explains what the Parker Process is, and how easily you can apply it to your own product in your own plant. Your copy will be sent in mediately upon re + quc st. 2 ; Saaihialinis Gana peeeeet ghey EUR RDI) Vane TRH 4 AUTOMOBIL

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at the cliff rail and gaze vast harbor The harbor was filled with ships. o many merchant- enger ships benches out across the Chere were not en and no real pa at all, but there were many f war flying the flags of many lion hese were lying here and there and iter, all under steam : alert I'he nm our way in was an inm American She had the high fighting tops of the Amer an Navy d the low decks of ir monitor type of battleship she wa flying the was our old Missi old to Greece five yer It waa the first time een an expatriatled ship Ameriean Navy and she nside outside the ly 4 iriousi oO ve passed takable Greek flag Ippl made me THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE TRAGEDY OF ODESSA#@ (Continued from Page 13) feel rather sad Lying in behind the breakwater some French cruisers and de- , while fiv British und de against were troyer e oT 1x ind Italian torpedo boat backed in atroyers were toward which we There wa lying at the the long dock made our way fairly large troopship wharf, and anchored here and there were half a dozen dirty and di lapidated tramps. Most of these looked altogether unseaworthy \ small Greek hospital ship was tied up at a pier farther down the shore, and the face of the water was dotted with busy launches and rowboats. So much for scene of the tragedy The American military attaché at Bu kharest, Col. Halsey FE. Yat to Odessa to make tigation, and it was to him that | was indebted for the arrangements that were made for me. He had had a representative in the city from the beginning of the French occupation, but he did not believe he was getting from this another seeming the had gone up an inve man an adequate estimate of the situation This man’s headquarters was on the e: planade, where all the rich Russians con gregated day after day for long-drawn-out luncheons and resolveless conferences. They could get anything to eat that they had money to pay for, and they seemed to have money to pay for everything from caviar to hothouse grapes, with large quan tities of vodka and wine in which to drown their anxieties A Call on a Princess The prices of course were fantastic. For a simple luncheon for three of us—I must idmit there was caviar at seventy rubles the plate— my host paid something more than a thousand rubles with a gesture of the serenest indifference. It was as though it were not more than a dollar and a half, but four years ago it would have been five hun- dred dollars Later in the day he took me to call ona Russian princess who had some historic porcelain to sell, and when he dismissed the cabman at the end of a short half hour he gave him one hundred fifty rubles. And at that the cabman growled and demanded more, Waterfront at Odessa and the French Destroyer in Which Mrs. Egan Was Evacuated > “But how do you do it I exclaimed “The ruble may not be worth more than five cents, but even so you have given the man more than seven good gold dollars. And surely to a Russian a ruble is still a ruble, whatever it may be in foreign exchange.” Money Cheap and Plenty “Oh, no, it is not,”’ he replied. “‘ There is no standard of value left. It’s nothing but wildcat money, turned out as fast as print- ing presses can work. I have an old estate up north of here and the other day I sold horses that ordinarily would have brought me about fourteen thousand rubles. I got two hundred and fifty thousand for them. It will cost that cabman at least a hundred and fifty rubles to feed his horse and he will spend as much on himself in one day as he would have spent in a year before the war.” Needless to say, old porcee lain. The princess, who was living on her treasures, was unable to think in terms of anything but tens of thousands, and when I turned her prices into the only kind of money I had, which was German-wildcat- Rumanian, I had to bethink me of my im- mediate necessities and kiss good-by with a collector’s anguish a piece of rare old Russian blue which bore in faded gold the arms of the Romanoffs. If I could have seen the lady three days later she would have thrust the plate upon me for a British sovereign. But she also was confident, and had in her drawing-room a gay company of men and women who were playing bridge and consuming large quantities of tea from a steaming samovar and still larger quanti- ties of champagne from sweating coolers. some I could not afford the There were tables laden with cakes and fruits and dainty sandwiches, and soft lights were burning everywhere, emphasiz- ing the luxuriousness of the apartment and showing to the best advantage a number of fine old pictures on the satin walls. I had taken a walk through the city with Colonel Yates. We went up the esplanade, past the French headquarters, where Alge- rian soldiers in mustard-brown uniforms were posted as sentries, on into a great plaza in the center of which stands a colos- sal statue of Catharine the Great, across a splendid marble-balustraded viaduct span- ning a wide under street that slopes away down to the bay shore, and so to the Amer- ican consulate, in a fine street of private mansions. The City of Beautiful Doorways I at once named Odessa The City of Beautiful Doorways. Each house of the better class is distinguished by an orna- mental portal which lends to it a special dignity and grace, and I thought a good deal about the Russian love of display and about the ambition, taste and lavish ex- penditure which these proud entrances represent. They are gates rather than doorways, massively carved or delicately iron grilled, and they open into inner courts where fountains played in peacetimes and where flowering vines climb even now round Gothie windows. It really is a charming city. The streets were filled with people, all listless and idle. They were merely wander- ing round. There were a good many French soldiers and some Russians in the uniform of the old army, but the crowd was mostly June 28,1919 civilian. And high and low, rich and poor, they were all mixed up together, regardless, presenting such contrasts of wretchedness and well-being as I had never seen before. Unsightly beggars whined at one’s elbow all the time, while one rubbed shoulders with women in sables and silks and with men turned out in faultless attire. It was the end of March and a raw wind was whipping up from the sparkling sunlit bay. An occa- sional military motor car or glisten- ing private limousine went whirling by, while along the curbs were lines of droshkies with finely kept horses standing under blankets, their drivers swaddled inches deep in great quilted coats asleep on their boxes or pacing up and down look- ing for fares. And one could not fail to ob- serve the women. Aside from the usual element it was a ghastly fact that under the fearful circum- stances hundreds of high class and delicately bred women had dropped literally into the streets in order that they might live. They were the most unmistakable and most tragically abandoned women Ihave ever seen, and they were everywhere all the time, prowling and preying. It was horrible. A coldshiverstarted in theroots of my hair and ran down my back, and it was not due to the penetrating character of the wind. ‘*What do you make of the general at- mosphere?” I asked the colonel. ‘**] wish I knew how to tell you,” he re- plied. ‘It is something impalpable, inde- scribable, yet curiously definite. How does it feel to you?” “It feels to me like hovering fear,’ said I. “This is a city afraid. Everybody is ex- pecting something to happen, but they don’t know what it will be or when it will be. Some of the people are whistling in the dark, but most of them are frankly frightened.” “Dead right!” “‘And they are suffering tense anxiety. For a great majority the conditions of life are impossible. They are thinking mostly of bread and the wherewith simply to live.” “Right you are.” ‘It can’t last. It’s a powder mine due to explode. How longdoyouthinkit willlast?”’ “It’s difficult to say, but certainly not longer than two weeks.” ‘Certainly not longer than three days!’ I exclaimed. Orders From the Tiger This was the merest hazard on my part. It was not even that. It was an unconsid- ered exclamation. What should I know, that the officers in command even refused to think of? But the colonel repeated my prediction and I was credited afterward with discernment that I do not possess. I knew something of the state of affairs. I knew that the Bolsheviks had taken Kherson and Nikolaieff within the fort- night, that they were within thirty miles of Odessa and steadily advancing against an inferior and indifferent force. The French (Continued on Page 74) A Battery of the Russian Volunteer Army Near Odessa

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74 (Continued from Page 72) were announcing to the world that they had a large army round Odessa, but the truth was that they had about two thousand French regulars and some twenty-five hun- dred Algerians who had had only one year’s training. In the last analysis there was a very small force of capable French bay- onets. Toa man the French had announced that they wanted to go home. That was all they desired. They had been through four and a half years of war; they were tired, and they did not care particularly to risk their lives fighting battles for the Russians. Let the Russians fight their own battles. That was their attitude. They had not turned Bolshevist themselves, but they had no heart for fighting the Bol- sheviks. And one could not fail to see the force of their reasoning. The city of Odessa has ordinarily only about six hundred thou- sand inhabitants. More than a million two hundred thousand were crowded into it now, and hundreds of them were young men in civilian clothes who were ope # and ostentatiously living the gay life of pre-war days and doing absolutely nothing for their own defense against the terror that was advancing upon them. Wealthy men from all over Russia had gravitated to Odessa as the last point of safety and were living as though safety had been made permanent. It was from such men as these and from the speculators that one heard the bitterest criticism of the French performance. Critical Days I shal! never forget one young man. And he was a type; there were many like him. On the eve of the crash I was lunching with him and his wife at their beautiful villa on the outskirts of the town. They had sent a luxurious motor car to get me, and the extravagance of the meal they served impressed me as being shockingly immoral under the circumstances. I told them so. They laughed and said: “But we may as well have all we can get to-day, because to- morrow we are likely to die.” They did not believe this. They were living in a fool's paradise and to them catas- trophe was only a vague and remote possibility. But they sensed rather than understood the general weakness and were tormented by an inescapable anxiety. “T can’t believe there is any THE SATURDAY To get back to the situation: In addition to the French forces there was the Russian volunteer army, but in all that vast terri- tory, including the Crimea, this army was only about seven thousand strong, and in the vicinity of Odessa it did not number more than twelve hundred. It was a mag- nificent body of men, being made up largely of ex-officers and their faithful orderlies, but it was poorly equipped and meagerly rationed. Moreover, it was a broken- hearted army fighting in complete despair. Then there were the Greeks. How the Greeks got in on this show I forgot then and have forgotten since to ask. Out of the former association of the Greeks and the French under Franchet d’Esperey at Salo- niki perhaps. In any case they were there, two regiments of them, with two more to the northward holding a railroad and two battalions in the Crimea. I would not be so frank and detailed if it were not that long before this can see the light of day in the United States everything will be different and present facts will have become mere harmless history. The Greeks were the only soldiers on the job who were anxious to fight. When the Bolsheviks took Kherson and Nikolaieff they revenged themselves on the Greeks for coming against them by slaughtering the EVENING POST “Yes, general,” I replied. “I know it is.” “But you cannot know how grave. It is not the advancing Bolshevik Army that we need to fear. It is really true that we can hold the position we have at the Front indefinitely, but we cannot hold Odessa. There are more Bolsheviks in the city than outside and they are organized for revolt.” About that time they brought in a pris- oner. He had been arrested under the win- dow just beneath us with five bombs con- cealed about his person. He was after the general. They took him out—and shot him, I suppose. A mere incident! This is a difficult story to write. General d’Anselme was receiving his orders from Constantinople and Paris, and his orders were to hold Odessa and the Crimea at all costs. All costs! What irony there was in that phrase as it sounded to us then. They had promised him troops and seovidhenss He was to have six fresh French battalions at once and another Greek division, but he had heard that the state of the French troops was such that their arrival would serve rather to embarrass the situation than to better it. And within the city there were some two hundred thousand idle and half-starved workmen completely under the influence of Bolshevik leaders, who were ready at any moment to call for an June 28,1919 It was impossible to understand why the French authorities had taken no measures to evacuate the threatened civilians. They had been in Odessa three months, and by degrees they might have decreased ‘this par- ticular burden of responsibility by a process that would have been hardly noticeable. But quite the contrary, they had erected impassable barriers against all movement out of the city. There were hundreds of Russians who wished to leave in time with their property and their families, but they could get no passports. It was the French regulation that each individual case had to be referred to Paris, and it is not difficult to imagine the amount of attention that would be paid in Paris to any Russian Monsieur So-and-So who wanted to get out from under French are my at Odessa. The fact is that practically nobody was per- the population was hungry and they were dwelling with emphasis on the circumstance dred thousand strong. Catching a glimpse of them through an open door I observed and that they had taken possession of the general’s handsome office without regard to general had greatly strengthened the guard in the immediate vicinity and es! volunteers and Algerian sol- diers stationed everywhere—on and there, in corridors and courts and all up and down the the headquarters building. The mobs in the streets became of the hotel—and other hotels, no doubt — were packed with and with smiling calm- mannered women. It seemed smiled and wore their prettiest clothes. mendously aristocratic. There were sumptuous luncheons go- with plenty of caviar and vodka and with champagne at five mitted to go. The indioputabie fact is that that their organization was some two hun- that they were a villainous-looking crew any niceties of behavior. By that time the there were stalwart Russian | street corners, at entrances here stairways of both the hotel and denser; the lobby and corridors drawn-faced gesticulating men to me that all the women Many of them looked tre- ing forward in the dining room, hundred rubles the bottle. News From Paris News came and was per- mitted to circulate that the French Chamber had refused to pass the estimates because of socialist opposition to this venture in South Russia, and that Clémenceau’ S_govern- ment had fallen. Then we immediate danger,”’ said the youth. “But why don’t the French bring in an army strong enough to take the offensive and drive the Bolsheviki back instead of sitting round like this doing nothing?” ‘There is immediate danger,” 1 replied. ‘This town will have to be given up.” “But that’s impossible! We'd all be killed!" “Yes, I suppose you would.” *“What would you advise me to do?” “Have you a uniform?” Yes, of course.” “Then I advise you to climb into it and get out on the line where you belong. Why should you damn the French or anybody else while you sit round like this doing nothing?’ I think he considered this rather rude. He is dead now. I am quite sure he is. And his pretty wife is either dead with him or has been given up to the nameless terror that is reserved for such as she. The morn- ing after the evacuation began I saw him for a fleeting moment and bade him good-by. I told him to get his wife and hurry on board a ship as fast as he could, “But I have no passport!” he exclaimed, and his face was white to the lips. He had no passport, and like thousands of others of his class he had done nothing to establish a right for himself and his to be evacuated. He had not served in any way. And only those who had served could ex- pect to be considered. This is getting ahead of my story, but I cannot help it. I should tell it day by day, but that is hardly possible. Events tele- scoped events and the confusion was over- whelming. Greek Troops Outside Odessa entire Greek populations—men, women and children. Also they committed unnam- able horrors on Greek wounded, mutilating them in unimaginable ways and leaving them to certain death in long-drawn-out agony. And because of these things the Greeks, who are intensely patriotic, were thirsting for Bolshevik blood. Then too the surrender of Odessa meant more to them than to anybody except the Russians, be- cause there were twenty-six thousand com- patriots of theirs living in the city and they had been warned that these would be mas- sacred to the last babe in arms. It was a frightful outlook for them, and if they had been strong enough they would have launched an offensive and probably have given the enemy the surprise of his life. It is said that Greek troops are poor on the defensive but are superb in attack. On the second day after my arrival I went with Colonel Yates to call on General d’Anselme, the commander of the Allied forces. He had asked to see me. We found him in his sumptuous office pacing up and down the floor. His aide-de- camp was poring over a map spread out on the long council table and his chief of staff was standing at a window with his hands clasped tensely behind him, looking down into the street. Such was the atmosphere that my nerves jumped and I came very near exclaiming: “What on earth has happened?” The old general—a soldierly gentleman from the top of his gray he ad to the pol- ished tips of his military boots took my hand in both of his and said: ‘‘ Madam, the situation is very grave.” uprising that would probably result in the most horrible massacre in the history even of Bolshevism. The average Bolshevik is not really —_ about being Bolshevistic. Men don’t really like murder and pillage, but they get caught in vast numbers in a wave that sweeps them off their feet. As a rule they make themselves hideously drunk to begin with, then they plunge on. That is the pic- ture in outline. If the threatening wave could be arrested there might be time at least to evacuate the city. There might be time quietly to get all the people away who surely would be killed if they were found in the city after a revolt began. In the meantime the American consul, Mr. W. R. Jenkins, had been telegraphing on his own account. It was his fourth flight from the Bolsheviks and he knew the signs. He had asked our admiral to put in appear- ance with some American ships. Mr. Jen- kins had been gratuitously advising the French for some time to get rid of the excess population in Odessa. Within two years he had been evacuated from Petrograd, Mos- cow and Trebizond. He speaks Russian perfectly, can listen to the comments of the people and knows them sufficiently well to be able to gauge their sentiments. He was better prepared than any man in Odessa to meet what he knew was coming, and when it came he met it with a promptness and efficiency that made everybody thankful he was on the spot. He was hurried in his coolness, but his haste was quite different from the hysterical European variety, and I noticed especially that he took time to laugh at all the funny things. heard that following the re- fusal to pass the estimates Clémenceau had received an overwhelming vote of confidence. He had telegraphed that Odessa should be held, and of course Odessa would be held. Every kind of rumor was afloat and the people were intensely nervous. It is quite inde- scribable. As I walked out of the hotel en- trance a motor car standing at the curb back-fired and a number of persons screamed. Then everybody laughed hys- terically. It was awful even then, yet no announcement had been made except that all ships were to be held under military orders. This was Wednesday. That afternoon Mr. Jenkins received word from Constanti- ag that Admiral Bristol was coming on the Nahma. We were thankful enough that he was on the way, but we wondered about the Nahma. She is nothing but a yacht. She belongs to the Goelet family and is rented to the United States for the duration of the war at the rate of a dollar a year. She is a perfect vessel for a midsummer’s dream afloat, and very useful too as a naval auxiliary, but we fervently hoped she would be accompanied by a cruiser or two and a few destroyers. Not that we could take part in any naval action. We are at war with the Bolsheviks in Siberia and North Russia and on general principles everywhere; but shells that rain upon the just and the unjust are not the kind of shells we fire if we can help it. It was only that we who were there were con- vinced that the presence of a few American ships would have a splendid effect on the morale of the crowd. The people would know that America had come for nothing (Continued on Page 77)

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(Continued from Page 74) but a humanitarian purpose and our being there in sufficient force would serve to in- spire some measure of confidence in the hearts of the terror-stricken and would per- haps cause the lawlessly inclined to hesitate. Moreover, when worse came to the worst all the ships we could possibly muster would be needed to help in the work of rescue, At midnight Wednesday night Mr. Jen- kins was informed that the city was to be evacuated. The Tiger in Paris had suc- cumbed to the inevitable and had ordered the French to leave Odessa within three days. It was short notice, following too closely the order to hold Odessa at all costs. Our consul spent the next few hours getting in touch with all Americans and ordering them on board one of the troop- ships on which he had at once secured from the French authorities accommodation for his people. He had only twenty-six Americans to take care of, including a military mission from the Peace Conference that had been sent out to study something or other and make reports about it. I never knew quite what this something or other was. There were fifteen members of it, all told. Its chief was a cheerful and energetic young colonel, and with him were a major medico, a naval radio operator, a couple of clerks and a handful of marines. They had requi- sitioned a mansion on the outskirts of the town and were living far away from the nerve-racking hubbub at the center of things. They had been there three weeks when I arrived; they had brought with them quantities of stores of all kinds; they had acquired an equipage and the necessary servants and were settling down for an in- definite period of concentration upon what- ever problem they were appointed to solve. They had installed a radio outfit and were able to pick up the daily news items that were floating about, but the apparatus was not yet equipped for send- ing purposes, As I say, I have no idea what they were interested in, but it certainly was not the immediate situation. Their colonel had gone off to Sebastopol on Monday and he said good-by to us at the captain’s head- quarters with an assurance that Odessa would hold until a certain well-known hot climate had turned into an arctic region. “Well,” said Colonel Yates, “I hope you're taking along everything you'll need for a while, because it’s a pretty good guess that you'll never come back here.” Odessa Evacuated “I’m glad I’m not so careless about my reputation for accurate diagnosis as you are,”’ laughed the younger man. No public announcement was made with regard to the evacuation, and as my consul had not considered it necessary to disturb me with the information in the middle of the night I was not aware on Thursday morning that the fatal day had arrived. I got the news as I was climbing into a big army motor car shortly after sunrise for a trip out to the Front. I noticed and brutal, while the women and children, barefoot and in rags, were dirty and de- graded beyond words to describe. When we got out on the open road we began to pass one company after another of fresh refugees making their way into Odessa. These were mostly all frightened peasants or bourgeois of the small towns, who were running before the advance of the Bolshevik army, and they were traveling in carts piled high with household goods and curious odds and ends of belongings. They had good horses and oxen and some of them were driving ahead of their outfits considerable herds and flocks. I wanted to shout to them that they were going in the wrong direction, but the truth was that they were hemmed in and that for them there was no way out. I wish I could convey an idea of what the country is like. It is the kind of landscape in which one feels small and inconsequential, it is so vast and so sublime in its measure- less wealth. It rolls away to the horizon on every side in boundless waves of positively arrogant magnificence. And with what broad strokes its colors are laid on! Long rolls of limitless plain striped with mile- wide bands of winter wheat gleaming green in the spring sunlight against bands of fresh-plowed soil as black as night, with brown stubble and soft pastures in thou- sands of acres spread out to the ends of no- where! For thirty kilometers or more this country is bounded on the west by a great salt lake the farther shore of which rises in whitened cliffs to splendid and precipitous heights. It is wonderful. And the curious thing is that for miles upon miles there is not a sign of human habitation, though the signs of human in- dustry are so numerous. There were a good many men at work in the fields—if such reaches of unfenced space can be called fields—and some women who were following along endless furrows two-shared plows behind oxen and horses hitched to- gether. Four animals to the plow as a rule; a curious kind of primitive farming on a limitless scale; and little hooded carts at the roadside, in which babies slept or at which spare horses munched hay and glanced up at us with mild curiosity as we went noisily by. We wondered where on earth the people lived. We traveled twenty miles at least ithout passinga farmhouse or seeing even an in- dication of a village. I thought there must be a village smuggled away be- hind the rolls of the plain, but was assured hy the Rus- ian colonel that the captain, who was going along with Colonel Yates and another colo- nel of the volunteer Russian army, was looking extraordinarily glum. ““What’s the matter, captain?” I asked. “Losing some of your opti- mism?” He had lost it all, and it wasina grumbling murmur that he said: “Jenkins came in at one o’clock this morning to tell me that the evacua- tion is to begin to-day and that all Americans are to go aboard the Im- perator Nicholaieff this afternoon.” It was a helpful little notification with which to begin the day, but we saw no reason why we should not go on with our program. The thought o-- curred to me that we might meet the Bolsheviks coming in, but our Amer- ican colonel predicted a thing more probable when he said we were likely to get back to the city in the afternoon and find hell let loose. As we drove out through the poorer quarters of the city I saw for the first time the mobs round the bread stations; also the terrible little camps on the side- walks and in open spaces here and there where shelterless and penniless refugees had established themselves. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST that there were not. The peasants, he said, came from long distances away to cultivate the soil and spent weeks at their work with nothing but the sky for shelter. Though there seemed to be a great deal of planting in progress I noticed that tremendous areas of stubble lay untouched, and was told that not more than twenty per cent of the usual crop was being put in. “And who are these people who are working the fields?"’ I asked. “Are they Bolsheviks?” “Some of them probably are, but mostly they are creatures of habit going their usual ways. Fortunately there is always a certain percentage of the population that minds its own business and lets the world wag as it will.” We began to hear the occasional boom of big guns and to see clouds of white smoke floating up from the horizon to the north ward. We passed small detachments of troops now and then and a convoy of artil lery and munition wagons in charge of the finest-looking lot of soldiers I ever saw Even in their common blouses they were unmistakable gentlemen. The Russian colonel laughed and said they were nearly all former officers and that if he were only young enough he would be with them in the ranks. We acknowledged their salutes and smiles and hurried on We went down into a cup of the hills, through a small filthy town, the chief features of which were human degradation and a huge vodka distillery that was puffing away at its business as though the Czar had never mentioned prohibition, and so on up aslope about five miles long and into field headquarters at its crest. Field headquarters consisted of a flag on a short staff stuck in the ground and five or six officers lying flat on their stomachs round a map, with telephone receivers clasped to their ears. There were lines of thin black wire stretched along the ground and running off to the south and eastward, and a company of mounted Cossack mes- sengers stood, with their superb shaggy horses, a short distance way. The land sloped gently downward for a space, then rose in a majestic sweep to the northward, and at the top of this sweep were companies of men busily engaged in digging trenches, while half a dozen big guns were being fixed in emplacements behind them. The little army had just fallen back and was taking } up a new position. The sharp firing that we heard was doubt- less the battle of the rear guard just over the rim wave ol that mighty world. “Something doing here in about half an hour!” said Colonel Yates Then, boom! boom! The earth shook beneath my feet and | felt a strong inclina tion to turn and run as fast as I could back toward Odessa. “But that’s nothing,” said one of the officers. “‘Only the Greeks blowing up the railroad.” The railroad paralleled the highway about half a mile distant and as soon as I got the operation located with my field glass | was rather pleased with it than otherwise. It was magnificently pyrotech nic The destruction seemed an awful thing, but it was absolutely necessary The Bolsheviks, they said, were many thou sands strong and were provided with all kinds of fine German equipment, including armored trains They were moving in a leisurely way, but moving inexorably, and the small body of Russians had no expecta tions of being able to do anythir g but con tinue to fall back —that is, unless they re ceived reénforcements, and there was no possibility of that. The main body of Greeks was divided between the East Front and a railroad stilt farther west, which had to be held for the necessities of the inevitable retreat. There were about twelve hundred Russian volunteers on this line and they had eaten bread that day for the first time in forty-eight hours. Beth officers and men were so weary that their faces were white and drawn and their feet lagged as they walked The World's White Hope They declared that the whole Bolshevik military movement was inspired and organ- ized by Germans and that the operations were directed by German officers. When the armistice went into effect the German army of occupation in the Ukraine turned over everything in its possession to the Bol sheviks and wished them godspeed in their fell purpose, the idea being so to disorgan ize the world that the Allies would be hope lessly embarrassed and would have to make a partner of Germany in the end in order to ave civilization from complete destruction, Sounds reasonable And it is hardly to be expected that our brilliant German brothers, who are past masters of intrigue and organization, are doing nothing but sitting round and wait- ing for the will of the Entente to be im- posed upon them If our Russian hosts on the wide-flung hopeless battlefield knew anything about the evacuation of Odessa they kept it to themselves. I was interested in them and got General d’Anselme later in the day to show me their line of retreat. They would move to the westward and join the force out of Odessa on the way to the Dniester Across the Dniester in Bessarabia were sev eral divisions of Rumanians waiting to meet the Bolsheviks, and they would fight like men if soil they regarded as their own should be invaded That was and is the supposition. The tumanians, as yet but little influenced by Bolshevism, have come to be regarded as the world’s white hope. And about 7 now, at the eleventh hour, come in from the Peace Conference with regard to what the Rumanian Army needs. The only possible con clusion is that the Peace Conference mislays its correspondence It ha been bombarded with information on this subject. The Rumanian Army qui 1t* needs everything from shoe ole to tin helmets, to say nothing of railway materials, locomotives, field ¢ quip ment of all kinds and food. It seem to have been forgotten that the Ger mans cleaned Rumania out and that the little country has been isolated for two year Hell had not quite broken loos when we got back to Odessa, but city was in a fearful panic. I wa by a wild-eyed man at whose table | had dined in comparative ser only two evenings befor governments of Lloyd George, Cle I had never seen anywhere en masse such awful specimens of humanity. The men were for the most part burly The Evacuation of Odessa. People Hurrying to the Ships After Passing the Cordon of Troops at the Head of the Wharf menceau and Wilson had ali fa and that the world wa u ! head. It is thus that il calamitie reach out and attach themselves t great issues. It was the] edit apout Wilson's Government it caimed n nerves, and I told the man that we had never de veloped ar y ich interesting phenomenon a 1 tottering govern ment, and would not long as every four years came round steadily enough

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He hoped to be able to evacu- ate all the civil population that would be endangered, and thought there were ships in the harbor for about thirty thousand. He would evacuate all troops overland and would go out with them when he had done everything that could be done. He was the saddest man I ever saw, and it seemed to me he had aged perceptibly in twenty-four hours. He had given orders that passports were to be issued to « veryone without question who had any claim to be evacuated and had appointed officers to take over all ships and get the people aboard. In the mean- time the Bolshevik leaders had taken pos- session of the city and a soviet government had been established. He served notice on them that unless they preserved order and per- mitted his troops and the civilians to depart unmo- lested he would bombard the city from the battle- ships in the har- bor. They agreed to preserve order. But it was not possible Hour by hour the situa- tion grew worse Shootings and street robberies became so fre- quent that people ceased to notice them. Everybody was hurrying frantically about trying to arrange his own affairs. It was not long before the’ streets EVENING POST American marines from the Peace Confer- ence mission. The Bolsheviks were cornered one by one, searched and put off the ship, and after that the Americans mounted guard alongside the French sailors. I watched it all from the upper deck for a while, then went down to the dock and sat on a big gun in the sunlight. But I was not allowed to enjoy this point of vantage very long. They took my gun away from me and swung it, along with two others, up to the deck. There was a whisper going about that they would be needed. The crew of the lightship down at the base of the great mine field had turned Bolshevik and had brought the ship in. The French recaptured it, took the crew off—and shot them, I was told manned it with French sailors and sent it back to its post of important duty. All the ships, overloaded with humanity, would —_ to make their way through that mine field. June 28,1919 frightened and bewildered women. I won- der why American boys are so expert at that particular kind of job. I saw one ear- nest, square-chinned, blue-eyed mother’s boy helping a hysterical Greek family with all its motley duffel into a rowboat, and I put my head down and fairly wept with love for him. There isn’t any way to say how fine our boys are over here. When the ships were moved out into the stream the admiral put all his small boats in commission to carry refugees from the shore, and I can testify that those young- sters of ours in middy blouses worked like veritable sailors from dawn until midnight. Arrangements were made for carrying three hundred and fifty on board the little Nahma, but the admiral decided to preserve this space for the pursued of the last hour, who might or might not have passports. It was said that our boats and those from the British destroyers were the only small boats in the harbor that were not making for- tunes. All others were charging unheard-of fares from the dock to the ships. There is one story I like to re- member. An American sailor rescued an old Jew from a mob of waterside ruffians who had fallen upon him, thrust him along with a lot of others into his own boat and rowed him a good half mile out to the Imperator. As he started to climb onto the gangway of the ship the old fel- low took from his were filled with drunken men. If one saw a man lying prone in the street one could not be sure whether he was dead or only overcome with vodka. Looting began al- most immediately, and was not all done by the Bolsheviks by any means. Along some time Saturday the Bolshe- viks began to sack the city, but it was an organized affair, carried out on systematic principles. Their method was to close cer- tain streets to traffic while they went through them. Then they passed on to other streets, leaving the hapless weeping multitude behind them. The shops for the most part were looted by degrees and by men of various nationalities. The Panic:-Stricken City Everybody who had anything to sell was rushing round looking for buyers, while for- eign money ~ English, French, American or even Rumanian and Turkish-—was at a premium beyond all imagining. On Thurs- day the American dollar was worth twenty rubles. But Saturday it was worth one hun- dred and twenty rubles. Jewel merchants with their por kets full of loose diamonds were doing a terrific business with fleeing Russians who were anxious to exchange for- tunes in rubles for something they could get real money for outside of Russia. Mr. Jenkins was using the power of his office to rescue hundreds whose status he was sure of but who had no claim on any- thing American except American humanity to man. He ordered me to go at once on board the Imperator Nicholaieff. But he weakened and gave me permission to stay on shore until ten o'clock that night. I promised to limit my observations to what seemed to be the safest areas. He was going to keep the American consulate open and stay on his job until the latter half of the last minute. And he did too. I slept on the trooper with the rest of the refugees and stayed aboard next day, April sixth, until my own flag put in an appear- ance, and Admiral Bristol, whom I have known for many years, came and found me and sent me out to the Nahma. He had come with nothing but the Nahma after all, and was anchored outside the break- water where he had a full view of the harbor and the docks There was a mutiny on board the Im- perator that morning, which was held in check largely by the presence of our Russian Volunteers Placing a Gun at the Front The scene on the tremendous wharf was extraordinary. A cordon of troops was drawn across the top of it, but their only business was to see that people had papers, and they let them through by the hundreds with all kinds of unbelievable impedimenta. Men came carrying bedsteads and mirrors and cheap pictures and carpets and couches and even kitchen chairs, while one little cart after another came through loaded with motley household goods that was cer- tainly not worth so much as it cost to haul it. And it would have to be abandoned anyhow. There would not be room on the ships for such things. Everybody who owned a vehicle of any kind was making a fortune. Cabmen were charging five and eight hundred rubles to carry refugees with their baggage down to the dock. The poor who got away were not Russians. A majority of them were Greeks, and they walked. Then came a terrible confusion on all sides. The Bolshevik authorities went to the ge neral and warned him not to evacuate any Russians with property, saying if he did they would start a massacre. “And I will help you by bombarding the city,” the general replied. They asked him if he would take off the ships all the Russians of means who had already gone aboard, and he said he would not. Then a strike was called on all the ships. It was not known before that the crews were in part Bolshevik, but it seems they were. A good many of them were put ashore, a sufficient number of Allied sailors were put in their places to preserve order, and all ships were moved out into the bay beyond the breakwater. I stood on the deck of the Nahma most of the afternoon and watched the perform- ance. Machine guns were rattling and rifles were popping all the time and we received signal messages every little while of fresh outrages and terrors. The first ship that got away was the Greek hospital ship sarrying five hundred odd wounded and sick. The evacuation went on far into the night. As soon as our admiral arrived he posted American sailors on the wharf from which the people were all being embarked, with instructions to see their duty and do it whatever it might happen to be. From my own observation it happened to be mostly carrying babies and comforting pocket a purse that was packed tight with money, opened it flat out in front of the boy and said: ‘Take what you want.” Behind the Veil There was a small Russian note about the size of a postage stamp lying with some other change in one compartment of the purse. Its value was about a te nth of a cent and it caught the American’s eye. “Get out!” he said. ‘I don’t want any of your money! But say, if it ain’t worth too much I would like to have that funny little thing for a souvenir.” Much to his disgust the Jew fell upon his neck and kissed him. When I asked the admiral why he did not bring more ships he said he had none to bring. He was in the Bosporous with noth- ing but the Nahma, the Scorpion and the Noma, all little yachts. The Scorpion was out of commission for the time being and the Noma was out in the Black Sea carry- ing food representatives to Armenia. ‘But if | had had ships I wouldn't have brought them,” he said. ‘‘The very day I sailed, after all your frantic telegrams had been repeated to me, I was assured that the military situation in Odessa was all that could be expected and that there was no immediate prospect of any change.’ General d’Anselme had arranged for a French torpedo boat to pick me up on Sunday morning and take me to Galatz. That is about six hours down the coast of the Black Sea and eight hours up the Dan- ‘ube River, with the kind of speed a torpedo boat can make. It was a wonderful sunlit day and the trip was a memorable one. We were not more than three hours from Odessa when our wireless picked up a mes- sage which said that the city was being bombarded from the battleships. “Then the massacre must have begun i in earnest!" I exclaimed, remembering the general’s promise. I reached Bukharest the following day, to be told that there was a rumor that Odessa was about to be evacuated. They asked me if it was true. Which goes to show how fast and how free communica- tions are these days. Since then Odessa has been withdrawn behind the veil of Bolshe- vist Russia and there is no news, except that a man who got away a day later than I says that when he left at least ten thou- sand had been murdered.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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NIGHTS (Continued from Page 15) r. Holeman became very thoughtful at this. “It could be done!” he replied. “But I hate,” he said—‘“I hate to do it in this way, for I hate to lose the safety which every skilled investor knows should come from the diversification of investment. For you may believe thoroughly and for every reason that a stock will go up in value, but unforeseen events—true acts of God which no man could anticipate—may, tempo- rarily at least, intervene and produce exactly the opposite effects. Whereas if you diversify your investments and buy, say, ten shares apiece of four or five strong standard stocks you will be almost certain, under conditions such as exist to-day, not to lose. You have the great safety factor which comes from averages.” “So to be safe,” said Mr. Adams, grasp- ing his argument and smiling wistfully again, ‘‘ you should have more of an invest- ment than I can really afford.” “You had be tter reconsider,”’ returned Mr. Holeman, “and let me carry at least part of your stock.’ “No,” said Mr. Adams_ positively. “Come, don’t bother,” he said. ‘‘Let us talk of something else.’’ For he could see now what a trivial sum a few hundred dollars must be to a man of affairs accustomed to dealing in great figures. “No,” said Mr. Holeman with equal positiveness. “‘No, I have it!’’ he said then suddenly. “‘I have it! You have Liberty Bonds, I assume,” he said. ‘‘Per- haps several hundred dollars’ worth?” “Yes. Seven hundred and fifty dollars paid for,”’ said Mr. Adams with some pride, “‘and two hundred and fifty dollars more which I am still paying on.” “They are as good as cash anywhere,” stated Mr. Holeman. “Better, I believe,” Mr. patriotically. “Why not do this?” suggested Mr. Holeman. ‘‘Why not use them as collateral for your purchase? It would be merely a transfer of your bonds, for the time being, from your safe-deposit box to ours, to be held temporarily until your partial pay- ments are complete, when = will have your bonds and your stocks and whatever profits you may have made all returned to you at the same time. I should think,” said Mr. Holeman, “that would offer a perfectly feasible solution.” ‘““Why, yes,” returned Mr. Adams after a moment’s hesitation, ‘‘I should think so. That is,” he said, and laughed a slightly embarrassed laugh, “if you wish to burden yourself with the care of so small a sum.” “That is exactly what our plan is for,” answered Mr. Holeman heartily. ‘‘The small investor.”’ So he indicated the stocks that he thought most wise to buy, and Mr. Adams signed the usual nominal contract for buying them. In due time Mr. Adams had from Mr. Holeman the notice of the purchase of the ecurities for his account, forwarded his Liberty Bonds, and received back the formal receipts of Holeman & Barker for these and for the stocks which they held for him on their partial-payment plan. With these, as an entirely unsolicited evidence of good faith, were inclosed printed testimonials in the warmest style concerning the plan and the firm operating it from men and institutions of evident standing—many of' these statements in fact being the same as were printed in the reliable journals in the advertisements which the firm so extensively used. And Mr. Adams could not but feel confidence in the wisdom of his new banker. This confidence was naturally much in- creased when some weeks later he received from Mr. Holeman a personal letter con- yratulating him on his good fortune on the increase of value in his stocks, which was already considerable, and promised to be much more. The profit was in fact so great that Mr. Adams could scarcely credit it, and indeed wrote to Mr. Holeman ques- tioning it. “T fear, Adams replied ” he wrote, “‘that you are doing what I so much objected to, and carrying me on your own credit for a portion at least of these stocks you hold in my name. I must again remind you that I cannot per- mit you to do this, even under the guise of a reward.” But to this Mr. Holeman returned his denial. The stock market, he explained, following the war was in a position never seen in the ordinary man’s lifetime, with corresponding opportunities for profit which Mr. Adams, it seemed, was now securing. But matters were changing very rapidly, and whenever he felt that any turn in the situation was imminent he would at once inform his correspondent. Mr. Adams was naturally elated, and also greatly impressed with the watchful- ness and continued personal interest of Mr. Holeman in his behalf. He recalled with pleasure the evident conservatism of the man, the invaluable information he had given him, and his warning on the gins and pitfalls of finance for the unwary; and he could not but thank his stars for the for- tunate adventure which had interested a man of such discernment and experience in his personal affairs, and had brought to his knowledge a method — absolutely safe which combined saving with the possibility of such great gains. He could not refrain indeed from relating his experience to some of his parishioners and others with whom he was most inti- mate; and though in no way urging or advising them to follow his example, yet he may have spoken quite warmly to persons with whom he was in conversation con- cerning Mr. Holeman and his carefully guarded scheme for saving. “Seeing is believing,” he would say more often, merely stating the profits which had come in his own case, and leaving the matter there. And once or twice he did mention the fact that Mr. Holeman originated in that vicinity— once in particular to a lady whom he knew to have come from the New York- er’s boyhood home. “Oh, I thought that family was all girls,”’ she replied. “No,” said Mr. Adams. ‘He was the Reverend Mr. Holeman’s son. I had it from his own lips.” It was immediately after that that Mr Adams received advice from Mr. Holemat to take the gains he had made on his stoc] and invest them in other stocks which were about to rise. “For we are, in my opinion,”’ wrote Mr Holeman, ‘‘on the eve of the greatest ad vance of the stock market that ever came and it is in the new peace stocks, such as Sterling Agricultural and Chemical, which you will see quoted now at such a moderate price on the New York curb market, that such an advance must come. Mr. Adams naturally took his advice, which had proved so successful in the past. And at Mr. Holeman’s suggestion he added somewhat to his investment— going in fact to the limit of his finance ial powers. “Guard it well for me, * he wrote to Mr Holeman. ‘It is my all.’ He was impressed, in fact, and even excited by the prospect before him. For he seemed in the way of securing a con- siderable fortune, for him at least. And in one or two cases, where parishioners or others inquired of him, he did state exactly the course he had taken. For there were several now who had followed him into this new way of guaranteed saving which offered such additional opportunities for profit. And in one or two cases— probably never more—he did feel that he was in a position through his peculiar personal association to assist others with whon questions of investment came up. In all this time there was no breath of suspicion or distrust— beyond perhaps one, the insistence of the lady, the former resi dent of Mr. Holeman's childhood home, that his father’s family were all girls. “T shall ask him the next. time I write him,” said Mr. Adams, smiling at her “just to satisfy you.” But that very next day he received his first disappointing letter from Mr. Hole- man. “There has been,” you have seen, a distinct setback stock market, and particularly in your principal stock, the Sterling Agricultural and Chemical. It will soon blow over, in my opinion. But I would advise you for safety’s sake, if you have other collateral available, to forward this here to protect your account,” said this letter, ‘‘as in the THE SATURDAY THE INVESTOR’S NEW ARABIAN EVENING V. FARBER, 141-151 South Fifth Street, ALWAYS READY Jor all kinds of PASTING SANFORD LIBRARY PASTE The Office and Home Necessity The Utopian Jar Keeps } +! Kr Perfect Condition, nd Paste in A § ASTE JA , Crary, oe CO, cmcacone 73 The Lamp You C lamp Anywhere JOU have at least a dozen needs in the home ot office for the Adjusto-Lit It taches firmly ay vher to table-edge, post of bed, sewing machine, dresser, shaving murror, or shelf. Gripping clamp felt-faced—prevents scratching. A strong, clear, plea ant light instantly directed anywhere. Compact, wetgh ttl i Y carrie | i t M ! if fh vea ( f t ( ‘ k rd } , p U.S... 5 B N iP ‘ \r ! () A Brooklyn, N. Y. Every w ay inansisinil

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etter was very puzZziing as well as g to Mr. Adan He had ob- indeed that the stock market was ind that his particular stock on that lar day before had fallen in price a lollar a share upon the curb market, or mmewhat than ten per of its This was disquieting “of but he knew Mr. Holeman’s would soon Tise: the guaranty his rise more cent price. course — very erfect assurance that it nd besides he had, of course, of Mr. Holeman’s firm that in any case tock would be held for him until the came For this reason he could not understand the letter at all. It puzzled and discon- certed him, and he fully intended writing at once asking for an explanation. For in any ease he had no more collateral to put up. Mr. Holeman had it all, and should have known so. He was still considering the framing of this letter, when on that afternoon the doorbell rang, and going to the door himself he found upon his doorstep a neatly dressed man with an alert manner. “ Are you the Reverend Mr Adams?” he inquired ‘I am.” ‘May I come in?” a faced stranger waiting for an answer Mr Adam protested mildly, cle manding first to know the stranger’ business, thinking in fact he might be some kind ! None of that!” said the tranger, and he displayed a badge of office showing him to be an officer of the United State ‘In the secret the newcomer. “My Fansmith.”” And he self, Mr. Adams sitting ite ‘Now then,” mith, giving him what about this’ “What & Barker deal?” ‘This what?” exclaimed Mr Adams tunned and aston ished almost beyond peech ‘You're the Reverend Adam aren't you?” demanded this Mr Fansmith in an extremely rough “And this outfit on Bre ‘In with? Outfit?” repeated Mr Adams blankly Come on now,” said the detective still more rshly ‘None of that! Come through now! You will if you know what good for you.” His meaning was not clear to Mr. Adams, but his manner was perilously near to being abusive ked the and did so an agent of “Come said name 18 ervice,”” seated him Oppo Mr. Fan said a hard stare, this Holeman about now you're in with ad Street?” ‘| object aid Mr Adams, his color rising What is this?” ‘You are the Reverend Mr Adams, aren't ’* repeated the intruder, “ You're the aren't you, that they f the wmto you stool pigeon, used to get thi this partial-payment neck woods fake of their And with that naturally the color dropped from Mr. Adams’ face and the life from his voice “Stool tanding only what he did ‘Do you deny it?” said the now clearly determined to stare ‘Do you? If you do I'll prove it to you and early!” ‘lL deny,” said Mr. Adams tated, not knowing just what he was « n for denial. ‘You do, hey! under cold | \ pigeon!” he repeated, partly, but turned detective, him down. quick and hesi- alled * said the otherin a sharp, hard, incisive voice ‘You do? Well, I know better. You're in with a bad bunch. And you're wrong yourself. You're wrong yourself on the face of it.” *Wrong!” repeated Mr ‘That's what I said! may land youin jail before youarethrough ! ‘This,’ said Mr. Adams, now recovering his voice, “is terrible mistake. You ire terribly mistaken in your man.” ‘Lam, hey?” snapped the other sharply. ‘You show me!” ‘I have nothing whatever to conceal,” protested Mr. Adams anxiously. “I do not know what it is you wish. But ask me whatever you desire. I absolutely nothing to conceal.”’ Adams So much so, it some have THE SATURDAY “All right, then,” said the detective, still harshly ‘How did you get in with this man Holeman in the first place?” Mr. Adams then related frankly and in detail his first meeting with Mr. Holeman, and the accident of the stock certificate on the floor. At this he noted that the face of the detective re | and differ- softer ex- ixed somewhat a markedly and ssion came his eyes. But for the moment. ent into only The hardness reappeared. “Whoa!” he cried abruptly while Mr. Adams was still speaking. ‘‘Now I'll tell you what happened—from that on.” He did so, detailing with startling pre- cision everything, all the transactions that had passed between Mr. Holeman and Mr. Adams through the mail—the Liberty Bonds, the and now even the sud- den threatened loss of the past few days. The exactness of his information turned Mr. Adams cold, for now he could not but believe that this might prove his charges concerning Mr. Holeman to be trust- worth y “Do I understand you ch: urge Mr. Hole- man with being a swindler?” he inquired. *You certainly do!" returned the other, flaring up disagreeably again. ‘And more than that, that you were in helping him.” And again he stared that hard hostile stare. pre profits He Was Surprised to See Before Him on the Floor What Seemed to be a Paper of Value EVENING POST Mr. Adams did not answer him, his voice failing him temporarily. “And you a minister of the Gospel!” exclaimed the detective scornfully. At this Mr. Adams roused himself again. “This is all a terrible misapprehension,” he said. “I am guilty of nothing whatever.” “You've got to show me,” reiterated the hard-voiced secret-service tnan. Mr. Adams then gave more details of his relations to Mr. Holeman, in sucha manner that finally to an extent he see emed to be convincing to his visitor. ‘All right,” the latter said then, in a sharp, businesslike tone. ‘All right. I'll take your word for it. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt—for now! But you've certainly got to make good.” “T will do anything—say anything, to ow it. Anything you demand. And I shall do so!” said Mr. Adams, his con- fidence returning with the slight ¢ hange and relaxation in his visitor’s manner toward him. “But first tell me,” said Mr. Adams, for he could wait no longer, “what has hap- pened here?” “Nothing,” said the detec- tive in a cynical voice; “only one more of these partial- payment things blowing. That’s all the style that’s the way they’re trimming them this spring!” It occurred to Mr. Adams incidentally as peculiar—the symbolism used in speaking of securities in terms of styles and trimming. But he per- sisted, keeping to his major theme. ‘I had understood,” he said, “‘that this was an excel- lent device—carried out by many excellent firms.” ‘They all are in the berin- ning. There are good ones in it now. But since the war the fakers have come in on it thick as cooties on a German spy,’ said Mr. Fansmith, who appeared to express himself in somewhat violent similes when he was in a more easy and conversational mood. ‘How?”’ inquire od Adams faintly. ‘‘ How these operate! ag “By advertising first— ‘come-on stuff’ in the news- papers. All in the advertising columns as bankers!” said the detective. ‘Bankers!’’ cried Mr. Adams, echoing the words. “Do you mean to say that there are newspapers that will take advertising that is demonstrab ly false?” Vill they take it? Will mice eat cheese?’’ in- quired the de- tective in a new and cyni- cal simile. ‘And then what?” con- tinued the Reverend Mr. Adams a little more faintly. ‘And then they send out and see them personally, by salesmen. And sometimes when they can they get in a leader of the ‘come-on.’”’ “A leader,”’ repeated Mr. “of the ‘come-ons’!” “A teaser for the geese,”’ replied the de- tective. And Mr. Adams allowed hin to go on, hoping later to catch the exact meaning of his metaphors. ““A teaser for the geese,’ repeated Mr. Fansmith, the detective. ‘‘And they put him in good stock perhaps, and show him a paper profit. Then he starts and leads the rest of them in—the other geese.” “He does?” said Mr. Adams, most in a whisper. ‘And then, when they’re all aboard,” said the detective—again changing his simile— “he switches them.” ““Switches?”” Mr. Adams managed to in- quire concerning this figure, taken evidently from the railroad. Mr. do Adams, now al- June 28,1919 “Into curb stocks. And then, of course, naturally he cleans them.” “Cleans them?” inquired Mr. Adams in a whisper, now evidently not audible to Mr. Fansmith. “For they run these things up and down there—naturally—these crooks and their curb stocks—like an elevator. So they take the suckers’ lines and build them up and spread them out—thin. And all of a sudden—down comes the elevator. Bing! they’re gone!” said the detective to Mr. Adams, evidently now hurrying to close his explanation. ‘“‘And there you are. See?’’ “In a way—yes,” said Mr. Adams, without spirit enough to ask for further translations; seeing in fact the one point of desperate import to himself. ‘You mean—you mean they lose their all? They are ruined?” ““What would I mean?” inquired the de- tective, his manner clearly hardening again. “But their guaranty!”’ objected Mr. Adams with desperate persistence. “* Their guaranty that they would hold these stocks for you.” “Guaranty—sure! For five hundred dol- lars down they’d guarantee the national deb‘ of Russia!” said Mr. Fansmith caus- tically. ‘‘Why wouldn’t they? What have they got to guarantee with—those hand- made craftsman’s stock of theirs?” “In some cases at least,”’ persisted Mr. Adams still, “they must have at least some well-known standard stocks.” “Do they?”’ demanded Mr. curtly. ‘Did you ever see one? ever have a delivery?” “No,” said Mr. Adams dubiously. “T guess you didn’t,” returned the other. “Not a dollar. Not a cent. Nothing. Nothing there. Every dollar of it’s written on the cuff.” “Written on the cuff!’ Mr. Adams re- peated blindly after him, but went no further. He could see clearly now that his visitor was growing momentarily more im- patie nt and intolerant of questioning. ‘What time’s your next train get out of here for New York?” asked Mr. Fansmith abruptly. Mr. Adams told him. ‘I thought so,” replied the other. “* Now then, if you’re going to help me— and clear yourself—we've got to get busy.” He began at once to indicate the let- ters—the trap they were to lay for Mr. Holeman—for misstatements through the mail. There was barely time to do this if Mr. Fansmith was to catch his train for the metropolis. “Remember now,” he said, you—to do just what I tell you. no less. You've got to prove to me yet remember, that you are on the level. And if — trim me—well, never mind!” he said, rolling up his eyes with unpleasant signific ance, “And don’t get wise either,” he tinued further, now putting on his hat and starting for the door, “‘and butt in and think you can pull down something for yourse if on this. For remember this: If you stick to me you may get a dollar or two back yet. But you get funny and break in, and you haven't got a Chinaman’s chance Once you scare off this bird your net will be a hole in the wall and a lot of curb stock orders written on the cuff. Under- stand?” he exclaimed, standing at the door preparatory to leaving. Adams’ throat was almost too dry for answering. “See you do,” said the United States official sternly, and closed the door after him. Gazing from his window Mr. Adams saw him disappear rapidly in the direction of his New York train. Mr. Adams then sud- denly sat down—in a daze. Occasionally he reacned out his hand and grasped the papers of instruction which his visitor had left, to reassure himself of what he had just heard and seen. It seemed incredible, impossible—like a dream. But yesterday Mr. Holeman had been his great friend, his trusted adviser; now, in the twinkling of an eye, Mr. Adams had turned about and at the instance of the United States Government was pursuing him with all his might to prevent his own personal and financial ruin. At once and during that following week Mr. Adams forwarded to Mr. Holeman the letters—transcribed in his own handwrit- ing—which Mr. Fansmith, the detective, had left for him to send. And when an answer was received he would forward it immedi ately by the night mail to Mr. Fansmith, (Continued on Page 84) ! Fansmith Did you “this is up to No more con- assets

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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(Continued from Page 82) who would then at once return the proper answer. And Mr. Adams could now that Mr. Holeman’s correspondence was full of most disturbing evasions and equiv- see ocations It soon seemed to Mr. Adams that this whole method was intolerably slow and clumsy. For the situation in which he now found himself coming almost if not unbearable The matter, in fact, prayed on his mind night and day. It was not his own financial affair though these would be reduced to ruin if nothing could be done— which caused him his chief alarm, affairs of other might be was he quite which in case dis- ame felt to have been if not exac tly by his advice at least by his example. He could not rest for this reflection either night or day; his appetite forsook and finally finding the matter till dragging and seeing that his very health was breaking down he decided on a udden resoly to go himself to New York and spy out the and see with his own whe the r there anything that could to extricate himself. It would at least give him a first-hand judgment of the ituation He recalled of course the detective’s warnings. Yet he was still his own free agent and he felt upon consideration that he could certainly be trusted at least to view the situation without jeopardizing own chances or those of the Gov- ernment. So packing his valise he the morning train for the metropolis and found himself in the office of Mr. Holeman shortly before two o'clock afternoon. Looking about he discovered this to be a room of large dimensions, divided roughly into two parts. In one a multitude of stenographers were busy with their work and the clack of their instruments filled the air. In the other two long blackboards cov- ered one side of the wall touched here and there with the color of irregularly placed green pi bearing figures, which were being changed now and again in a leisurely a“ boy. but the aster ¢ ruined, him, land, eyes was he done either hi took in the itches, manner by In front of these, underneath the blue cloud from their cigars, a company of men evidently the patrons of the place slouched in a long row of chairs. Mr. Adams noted that they were of a far different type from that he had formerly pictured to himself as in this great financial district of New Y ork For though an occa- sional one was well, and perhaps strikingly, dressed the majority seemed rather dingy and careles apparel, One of these a young man in a soft collar and languid clothes, constantly smoked cigarette had risen and started into con- versation with him, when enger from the other part of the establishment came to where Mr. Adams was standing and in- formed him that Mr. Holeman was now in ind would see him Once in the office of Adams could detect yreat in the who a me Mr. Holeman, Mr. a decided change from his former manner. He was still the affable = dressed man of the first meeting tures a@ courteou and his clothes as sepals ly creased—yet he was very clearly in a much less friendly and more distant mood —as a result, no doubt, of the letters which Mr. Adams had recently written him Sensing once to the plan train « his this Mr. Adams proceeded at point, and put in operation the had occurred to him on the ming down. He asked him point blank for the refunding of the money he had invested with him—or of the stock that he had purchased with it. As he had feared, Mr. Holeman refused any satisfaction. Not only that, he soon himself became peremptory. “T was just writing you, as a matter of fact,”’ he returned, “that if you did not vend us more collateral at once we would be compe ‘lled to close out your account.” *And your guaranty,” asked Mr. Adams, “to hold my stock as long as my payments vere paid up--what of that?” “You can read it if you like!” said Mr. Holeman coldly. “There is no house—no reputable house—that can afford to write any guaranty that it will protect falling tocks indefinitely.” “But you did!" charged Mr. Adams. “[ did nothing of the kind,” said Mr. Holeman—“‘as you will see if you read again the contract you signed.” He pushed a pecimen contract of the same kind over toward hii. Mr. Adams at this evidence of effrontery naturally became angry and lost to a cer- tain extent his self-control. But standing which THE SATURDAY up from where he sat, he spoke to Mr. Hole- man with firmness and determination: “T am through,” he said directly, “with temporizing with you. I happen to know some things about you and your business; and I demand now and at once a complete restitution of the funds which not only I but my friends have placed in your hands for your ostensible investment. I demand this at once, and I would advise you to stop equivocation and make immediate pay- ment, for I am in a position,” he said, look- ing at him steadily, “‘to make you a great il of trouble.” And then—though in every way guard- ing the information as to who was follow- ing the man and what was the exact scheme—he showed him clearly that he must make restitution at once or come in conflict at a very early date with the power of the law. He could see, as he proceeded, that his words were making a deep impression upon Mr. Holeman, and at the end he observed an almost complete return on the latter’s part to the manners of their first meeting. “That is my ultimatum,” said Mr. Adams finally. He could see now that Mr. Holeman was much more deferential. “You've got me,” he said finally, “I be- lieve. I guess I must pay you your ac- counts. But I wouldn’t have thought it possible. It is you who should have come down here into Broad Street, and not I.” “That is neither here nor there,” said Mr. Adams in a crisp, businesslike voice. “Will you or will you not make the restitu- tion I demand?” “T will do this,” responded Mr. Hole- man, “‘and I can do no more: I will take it up with my directors at a special meeting called this evening, and let you know to- morrow morning. “T shall be back,” said Mr. Adams in a clear loud voice, now opening the door, “to-morrow morning.” And he started from the office. As Mr. Adams did this and was going down in the elevator he was accosted by someone be- hind him, and looking about he recognized one of the dingy men he had seen before the blackboard—the youth with the soft collar and the clothes that looked as if he had been lying down in them for a nap. “What was he trying to do to you— when you came out of there?”’ the latter inquired of him as they stepped into the downstairs corridor. “Did I hear him tell you you couldn’t come back to-morrow? What's he done—cleaned you out, huh, and started to throw you out? “Because if he has,”’ he observed when Mr. Adams returned no immediate answer, “do as I do. Go right back there and sit down! He don’t pull any of that stuff on me,” he said boastingly. “I’ve got too much on him. I know his game too well!” “Whatishisgame?”’ inquired Mr. Adams, catching now the possibility of adding to his information. **Look here, chief,” said the young man, changing the subject abruptly, “‘could you do this for me? Could you stake me to one iron man overnight?” “One iron man?” repeated Mr. Adams slowly. “That’s all,” the other answered him. ‘St ust a dollar overnight.’ “Why, yes,” said Mr. Adams quickly, seizing his opportunity. “On one condi- tion: that you explain this so-called game to me and some of the terms used in it. “Sure,” said the young man, and at once prepared to do so, the two seeking a corner of the corridor for their conversation. ‘I want you to tell me,” requested Mr. Adams after some hesitation as to where to begin, “how these people go about it to se- cure customers from out of town—from, let us say, tne smaller cities and the semi- rural districts.” ‘In the first place,” said the young man with the soft coliar promptly, “the first thing they do in all these things is to ad- vertise,”’ “In reputable papers?” “TInany kind. Plenty of them will fall for it,”” explained the youth with the languid clothes, going on. ‘And the answers they get back are prospects for their suckers. Then they write or send out a personal- service man to get in these prospects these suckers.” — see,”’ said Mr. Ac dams reflectively. “Sometimes if they're real good—these salesmen —like this fellow that calls himself Holeman now—-they’ll go out into the birches and pick their suckers up on some slick game or other they get up themselves. EVENING POST “Did you say anything?” he stopped to ask—for at this Mr. Adams had given a sudden exclamation. “No,” said Mr. Adams. ‘Goon, please.” “And they always try and get a leader if they can—a leader of the ‘come-ons,’ that for some reason the rest will follow in.” “The ‘come-ons’?” “The customers—you might say,’ the young man, eying him curiously. “And then?” asked Mr. Adams in a much diminished voice. ‘Then when they’re all in they show them a paper profit—for a minute. Then they build up their lines one by one.” “Build up?”” Mr. Adams once checked him to inquire. “‘T mean they make them take on all the stock they can make them buy, so they can spread them out thinner and thinner.” “Spread them?”’ Mr. Adams once again interrupted him. “On their margins—thinner and thinner, till one day when their stocks go down they can wipe them out.’ “But he said,” said Mr. Adams impul- sively, “he claims — “Who claims?” inquired the other. “This Mr. Holeman claimed,” went on Mr. Adams, “that it is not a margin busi- ness—this partial-payment plan. That the firm always stands ready to hold your stocks at their expense.”’ “Did you ever read that contract that you signed?” inquired the young man in the soft collar. “Only casually,” said Mr. Adams. “No. I guess you didn’t,” said the other laconically. ‘But then,” he went on, “‘no doubt they’d do it—when it was safe—in conversation. They’d guarantee anything once—by word of mouth. Guarantee—to hold them! Hold them is good!” he said, and laughed the thin, mirthless laugh of the old confirmed cigarette smoker. “Nine times out of ten they never ow ned them i in their life. Unless they made them up them- selves. “They're all written—nine-tenths of all their orders are written on their cuff.” “Now, what is that?” returned Mr. Adams with such quickness that the other stared. ‘‘What is the precise meaning of that term?” “Written on their cuff? Behind the clock! Outside the rail!” said the other, repeating evidently several synonyms—with a quite obvious purpose of perplexing Mr. Adams. “In other words, they bucket their orders which you probably know,” he said, finally straightening up from where he had been lounging against the marble corner, “is against the law! “And now then, that comes back again,” he said, straightening his languid coat col- lar out, evidently preparing for departure, “to wha. I started to tell you in the first place. He’s bucketing, this Holeman taking a chance against the law. And if they ever get him right on that—good night!” he said, and rolled up his eyes. “*Now I don’t know anything about you or what your business is,”” he continued, “but if he’s cleaned you the way he did me and starts to shut you out of the place you do as I do: walk right in and sit down. He won't touch you any more than he does me. For he knows—and he knows I know— he’s bucketing! And when he starts anything all you've got to do is to sit right there and look him in the eye and say to him: *“*Aw, go on—you! Write it on your euff!’”’ Mr. Adams made no answer, but stood entirely silent. “And now,” said the young man with the languid clothes, again jerking up his coat collar, “I'll trouble you for the price.” “The price?” repeated Mr. Adams, starting, for he was still reflecting and fixing his new-found knowledge—the terms of the curb market —in his memory. “The dollar,”’ explained his new friend more definitely. So Mr. Adams handed it to him and he went along, still smoking. Mr. Adams then went on himself, looking for some modest hotel—for the funds he had brought with him were limited. He finally selected one in a somewhat dingy side street, where be- tween the noise and his reflections on his situation he passed a sleepless and appre- hensive night. He was up and dressed again at an un- seasonable hour—when the city in fact seemed quieter than at any time through the night. He had breakfasted lightly at a chair restaurant and had had time to walk about and observe the Battery and the bay and the Statue of Liberty in the distance, said June 28,1919 before it finally came time for the opening of Broad Street and Mr. Holeman’s offices for the business of another day. Mr. Adams had arrived at the office building and was just about stepping upon the elevator to go into the rooms of Hole- man & Barker when suddenly he felt a heavy hand fall upon his shoulder, and a heavy voice, which he recognized with a start, accosting him roughly from the rear. ““What’s this all about? What’s this?” inquired Mr. Fansmith, the detective, whom he had recognized before seeing him. “So you thought you’d come butting in, huh? And see what you could do on your own account?” And drawing Mr. Adams back he compelled him to inform him just what he had done—to the last detail. “So that’s it?” he said harshly with something perilously near an oath. ‘Clean work!” He then gave what was evidently a sig- nal, and another grim-faced man joined him in the back of the corridor, where they two were now standing. “You want to know why he didn’t come yet this morning? I'll tell you why!” he informed the other. ‘“This!’’ he said, now indicating Mr. Adams. “This! This has been in—and kicked it all over!” And the other joined him in his low- voiced cursing. **Well,”” Mr. Fansmith continued, “we might as well go up anyhow and take a look. And you,” he said to Mr. Adams, whom he had compelled to stand close be- side him, ‘‘you’ll come with us!” With cold hands and a heavy heart Mr. Adams accompanied them up in the ele- vator. “You'll stay here,” said Mr. Fansmith to his companion, “and hold him.” And Mr. Adams perceived with a sense of dull terror that he was now practically under arrest. The two then stood there in the corridor for what seemed an interminable time, neither speaking, until Mr. Fansmith finally reappeared, uttering but one word. “Blown!” said Mr. Fansmith. And the other cursed again. “‘ Just when we had our fingers on him!”’ he exclaimed. Then the two talked together for some time. “‘We might as well,” said Mr. Fan- smith finally, “take charge now as later. They all know it there inside. He's blown now—for good. He'd have to—wouldn’t he—after this,” he said, indicating Mr. Adi ums again by that contemptuous expres- sion, “‘came in and tipped him off? He’s blown naturally—and taken everything with him!” At these words Mr. Adams could not re- frain from speaking. “Gone!” he cried. “ Taken everything!” Mr. Fansmith turned again with deep distaste in his direction. ‘‘Gone—yes!”’ he said harshly. “But is there nothing left? whatever—in anything? cried Mr. at ha angry voice. “No! How many times must I tell you? There never were any stocks in the first place—except what he manufac- tured on the place. Didn’t I tell you,” he said louder and louder, “that every dollar went into his pocket? Haven't I told you now, a hundred times more or less, he never bought a stock; that every order that he took was written on his cuff?” At the sound of that detestable but now understandable expression Mr. Adams again turned cold and speechless. And that only to become colder and more speechless still. For now he had impressed upon him a new and still more distressing aspect of the case. “Yes,” said Mr. Fansmith, addressing him with a tone of deep disgust; “and if it hadn’t been for you we'd have had him right to-day. And we'd have had a chance to get you some of your money back. If you,” he said, “had not jumped in and tipped him off.” It seemed to Mr. Adams that he had now reached the most depressing point, the last depths of his life’s experience. But it was only a moment later that he sank still deeper. For now he recognized that they were discussing him personally and his possible detention under arrest. “We might as well go in and charge,” said Mr. Fansmith once again. “What will we do with this?”’ inquired the other. “Shall we lock him up?” And Mr. Fansmith, instead of answering directly, gazed at Mr. Adams with a still deepening expression of disgust. (Concluded on Page 89) ” No equity In any stocks?” Adams desperately. said Mr. Fansmith in a loud and take

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST REMEO THE CREAM OF OLIVE OIL SOAPS A Keal Conforl The American woman of today, with her broader activities—he1 busine: S interests and strenuous outdoor sports, finds it increasingly difficult to retain that charm of feminine beauty —a fair skin—so important in social affairs. cAfter the trip, or exposure to sun and wind, the modern woman finds real pleasure and comfort in the use of CREMEOIL. This pure, mild Olive Oil Soap soothes and refreshes the skin while cleansing, thoroughly. PEET BROS. MFG. CO. Kansas City San Francisco.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 i J HY have the home-keeping women of Ame ” Because we have made practical, economica in de words. Because, also, of their beautiful With the result that several million women have’ over the house, transforming home-keeping into Summer-time Comfort The sheer relief of being able to prepare summer- time meals in the most comfortable spot in the house will add measurably to your hot-weather satisfaction. And there is real joy in the doing of it— no one needs to jump up and run to the kitchen: the entire meal can be prepared right on the table it adds zest and interest to see the coffee perking and the toast browning Moreover, the food really is better— because electric heat is odorless, gasless, sootless because maximum food values and flavor are retained because electric cooking is scientifically accurate and uniform results are secured. Interesting Details Hotpoint Percolators, whatever the design, begin opera- tion in half a minute after cold water is put in and the amber clear coffee, piping hot and with the full aroma is ready to pour in ten minutes or less. They are equipped with safety device so that if left connected no damage will result and the device can easily be reset by removing the base plate and pushing the lever from “‘off”’ to “on.” At the left we show our 6-cup paneled pot in highly polished nickel at $13.50. Same shape without panels 5-cup size $11.50. Straight-sided nickel pot 6-cup $11.50. $10.00. Same design in aluminum Grecian Urn 9-cup $18.50; same design but with paneled sides $21.50. Shefheld Plate CoffeeSet inChippendale design |2 cup size $122.50. The Radiant Grill shown at the left enables you tocarry on two operations at the same time-——you cook both above and below the glowing coils in the special dishes which are provided. , And for a more elaborate meal the Radiant Grill may be augmented by the Chafing Dish shown on the tea wagon. Round Grill with heat control which enables you to run at any desired temperature, complete with dishes $10.00. Rectangular Grill similar but slightly smaller $8.00. The Mission Chafing Dish as illustrated is $18.50; another style at $16.00. Crispy brown toast made just as wanted and eaten while hot will add much to many a meal. Hotpoint Toaster as illustrated with rack $6.50. Colonial Toaster slightly larger and without rack $7.00. It is so simple t You attach the Hotpoint Clean The long cord enables youtor Press a button in the handled guide the cleaner over the flo What happens? The accumulated the dust proof bag. Later this r In this way the air is dust free, the fact there is no more call for cleani We also furnish a complete set of att under bookcases, stairs, automobild reach places. Price of cleaner $42 We also make the lighter Model “L Nearly 10,000 dealers are ready to strate the appliances. If you have please write our nearest office. HOTPOI Edison Electric Ap ¢ New York Ont Manufacturers of the four well Hotpoint General Electrii

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST rica so readily adopted the Hotpoint Appliances ? lly-operated appliances and told you about them design and finish. set their electric light wiring to work for them all a pleasantly scientific occupation. fo guide it around. *r to any convenient lamp socket. each far corners or the next room. - and the motor starts—simply r and rugs. Hust, dirt and germs are sucked up into bbish is deposited outside the house. P floors and rugs are always clean—in ming day. fachments for cleaning draperies, walls, upholstery and many other hard-to- 0. Price of attachments $10.00. Price $37.50. Attachments $10.00. explain these advantages and demon- » trouble in locating a Hotpoint store IT DIVISION tpliance Company, Inc. icago rio, Calif. Atlanta nown lines of h hold appliances Type Edison Hughes Is it Revolutionary ? Your household work will be revolutionized if you do it the Hotpoint way, using your electric wiring more freely instead of allowing it to lie dormant most of the time. By “‘revolutionized’’ we mean— — you will quite likely be able to dispense with a servant —you can do the work the Hotpoint way more quickly than servants can without the appliances —they banish the drudgery and place you in the vanguard of progress — all things considered, you will save money and, finally, there is added comfort for the entire family. Hard Working Servants A Hotpoint Range in the kitchen means a clean, cool room, free from all the clutter and muss of other fuels. It means that the cooking for a large family can be done with maximum comfort. Hotpoint Ranges are furnished in several sizes and styles. Above is a glimpse of Model D with baking and broiling oven, warming oven and four cooking elements. The Hotpoint Portable Sewing Machine with motor drive is the newest addition to our household conven- iences. Set it on a table or stand anywhere; no treadle to pump—just a little foot control with which to start and stop the machine. The Rotary shown above works with unusual smoothness. Beau- tifully finished, full set attachments and cover. Price $55.00. West of Rockies $57.00. Vibrator (Full Size). This is the type of machine with which most women are familiar. Complete attachments and cover. Price $50.00. West of Rockies $52.00. Vibrator (Three-Quarter Size). Slightly smaller and lighter than the other Vibrator but will handle the work of the average family. Full set of attachments and cover. Price $45.00. West of Rockies $47.00. The Hotpoint Immersion Heater makes hot water avail- able day or night—and for warming the baby’s milk and similar purposes it is ideal. Small size Immersion Heater as illustrated $5.50. Large size for kitchen use, etc. $6.50. Crookneck style used for sterilizing dental instruments, etc. $7.50. The most widely used electrically heated appliance in the world is the Hotpoint Iron. , It has many important features, such as — \ —the point is always hot enough to iron with—attached stand does away with lifting —the cool handle makes a holder un- necessary —the hinged plug spring prevents cord breakage — the thumb rest rests the wrist. 6 lb. or 5 lb. size $6.50. 3 lb. or traveler's iron $5.50.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 “The Nation's Breakfast Food” — s Copyright—1919 1as. / rause Milling Co., Milwaukee a “Hurry-Up” Breakfast HILDREN “want what they want — when they want it’’ and they simply can’t wait for Amerikorn. For the whole family, the year ’round, there’s nothing so satisfying as this popular Breakfast Food. Light, dainty and easily digested, it is just the food for hot weather; delicious, nourishing, economical. Cooks in —There’s no overheated kitchen; no a trouble; no failure. Serve with milk, 3 Minutes cream or a lump of butter. Amerikorn Strawberry Shortcake Cook Amerikorn as you would for Breakfast Food and pour into a shallow pan to a depth of about 1!» inches. When thoroughly chilled cut into squares and serve in two layers with crushed strawberries between and on top. At grocery stores and delicatessens in the 14-lb. blue-and-orange sealed carton Prepared by Chas. A. Krause Milling Co., Milwaukee, Wis.

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a Sen Concluded from Page 84) “Can you beat it?” he exclaimed as if in half soliloquy. “‘Can you beat it? You get a blacksmith and rivet them—in chains to keep them out! “They'll fly in from two hundred miles and spill the beans and pay their own car- fare to do it,” he said in one last mixed metaphor of disgust. “What’ll we do with him?” insisted the other officer again. “Lock him up?” “No,” said Mr. Fansmith finally. “Let him go. We know where we can always lay our hands on him.” Austin was silent. His self-confidence, which soared in the face of opposition, sank before praise. Why in thunder should this little girl respect him, and was he wise, was he even honest in the advice he was giving her? In his hesitation, almost uncon- sciously he drew toward him the vase hold- ing the gardenia and slowly breathed in its intoxicating perfume. This was too much for the little princess. She drew back, grew slowly, conspicuously, splendidly crimson, and then evidently feeling that the situa- tion had passed far beyond her powers, she retreated hastily to the door. But there, with her hand actually on the knob, she made a last stand. “It isn’t,” she said gently, “as if you and grandfather could really change anything, you know. You just make it harder for me.” This was obviously rebellion; with how- ever gentle a motion the red flag was waved. Austin sprang to his feet and approached her almost menacingly. ““What do you mean by that?” he asked. ““T mean—I mean she began; but at this moment the door, against which she was lightly leaning the tip of her shoulder, was quickly opened from without, and she was precipitated into Austin’s arms; or rather she was completely thrown off her balance, and he standing near her could do no less than keep her on her feet. As a mat- ter of cold fact, he did a little more; there was a second—an unnecessary second— when his hand remained about her shoulder. It seemed a very long second to the new- comer, who turned out to be Mr. Johris’ accountant, The new accountant was George Boyd. Vv T WOULD have been a great surprise to George, who had so long secretly loved Elise, to know that Mr. Johns approved of his suit. Yet such was the case. No one has ever explained why it is that parents and guardians consider dull people such safe matrimonial investments for their young charges. Even granting the unsound assumption that dull people are more apt to be con- tent with their own matrimonial fetters, they are certainly more apt to be the cause of discontent in others. Mr. Johns, who was bored to death by five minutes of George’s society, believed that his grand- daughter—not fond of being bored either— would be happy to spend the rest of her life with him. But of all this George was completely ignorant —indeed, he supposed that he was the last person Mr. Johns would tolerate as grandson-in-law; and so he believed that in coming to protect Elise in the immediate danger in which he feared she stood, he was sacrificing his future relation both with her and his employer. It had been easily enough arranged. George happe med to be in the room when Mr. Johns told the head bookkeeper to choose *‘a sensible young fellar and send him out tothe Bevans School on Saturdays The daring, the adventurous, the chival- rous scheme of being that young fellar was born instantly in George’s mind, and as he was on very good terms with the head bookkeeper he was able to persuade him that no one in the bank was steadier than himself. He had taken his sister Sally into his confidence, and she had, of course, told the little princess, who was, therefore, at no loss to explain his sudden appearance in Mr. Bevans’ study. But she cannot be said to have expected it, because at the moment she had totally forgotten that such a person as George Boyd existed. ‘*‘ Look here,” said Austin angrily, “that’s no way to come into a room. You nearly knocked this young lady down.” THE SATURDAY Mr. Adams now felt the heavy hand of the other officer reluctantly loosening upon his shoulder. The two turned and passed inside, leaving him alone in the empty cold- ness of the marble corridor. Stumbling forward Mr. Adams pressed the button of the elevator, passed down and out into the street, and looking at his watch found that he had just time to take the train for his home. He sat, when he had taken it, gazing straight ahead, listening to the monotony of the car wheels clacking on the rails; and as he listened this gradually resolved itself EVENING POST into rhythmic form and the semblance of reiterated human speech: Gone! Gone! Gone entirely! Written on the cuff! He moved and passed his hand across his brow as if to wipe away the insistent and distasteful thing from his weary memory. It all seemed unreal to him—his whole situation. By what untoward stages had he progressed into it, and to that place he had just fled—that strange vulgar and impossi- ble world, where the very language was sin- ister and outlandish—the jargon, the ugly THE CHARM SCHOOL (Continued from Page 23) “Oh, it’s no matter. I didn’t mind what happened,” said Elise with a brilliant smile. “I’m sorry,” said the accountant stiffly; “but, of course, I supposed that you were alone.’ The note of reproof was so clear in his tone that Austin, who had already felt himself antagonistic to the new bookkeeper, now found himself dec idedly irritated. “And may I ask,”’ he said, “why you assumed that I was alone?” “T assumed it,”’ began George, with the wild rush of a balky horse at a fence it doesn’t mean to jump—“‘I assumed it, be- cause ’ He stopped and began all over again. “T cannot associate myself with any institution without taking an interest in its welfare, and I must tell you “Will you be so awfully good as to mind your own business,”’ said Austin. ‘* There seems to be some misunderstanding. I hire you to run the books, not the school. If you don’t like the way it’s being done you can always leave.” But the accountant had not so much liberty in this respect as Austin imagined. Seeing the two men engaged in what for lack of a better word she called conversa- tion, the little princess decided to escape before a worse thing happened to her, for she feared a second explosion on the part of George might involve her too. She was softly opening the study door when Bevans stopped her. *‘No, wait a moment,” he said; “‘I want to speak to you. I've had a complaint of you this morning. No, not of you”’—as the accountant raised his head angrily—‘‘I was speaking to this young lady. The writ- ing master says your hand is not satisfac- tory.” “My hand, sir?” said Elise, fluttering the two white trifles that served her in that capacity. “Your handwriting,’ answered Austin. “T understand that it isn’t even legible. Now w hat in the world is the use of writing a le tter if no one can read what you say? There’s no excuse for that. I don’t intend any girl to graduate from this school who cannot write a creditable note. So from now until spring vacation I want you to write a sample letter every day.” To whom, sir?”’ “To Miss Curtis, who will go over it with Mr. Browning and return it corrected.” Elise bowed, as one who never questioned authority. “Only,” she said, “I often do write to Miss Curtis and she has never criticized my writing, or even my spelling, though I remember that in one of my last I spelled actress ‘actrice,’ which I found out for my- self afterward was wrong, but Miss Curtis never said anything about it at all.” “ Miss Curtis is almost too kind-hearted,’ said Austin. “But you wouldn't be, would you, sir, if I wrote letters to you?” “To me?” said Austin. The idea had its points certainly. He caught the account- ant’s eye fixed upon him with a menacing glare. ‘“‘My time is very much occupied. And yet,” headded, asif yielding graciously, “a note a day would not take much time. Very well, write to me then.” The little princess beamed upon him. “Oh, thank you, sir,”’ she said. “And what shall I write about?” “Anything that has caught your atten- tion during the day —it doesn’t matter.” “Such funny things catch my attention sometimes,” she replied thoughtfully. ‘But I'm afraid that our talking disturbs your bookkeeper.” “No, no,” said Bevans, looking as if he didn’t much care if he were disturbed or not. “These fellows are accustomed to working in all sorts of noises. However, that’s all I had to say to you—-a note every morning, 9 and I'll return it to you corrected.” He opened the door with a gesture of dismissal. Just as she went out her glance crossed for an instant the eyes of the accountant, and at once the sound of an erasure was heard from the desk. It seemed to Austin that the young man was peculiarly lacking in concentration, “Would you prefer to work in another room?” he said. “No,” replied the other in a strangled tone. “I would much rather be here, where I can consult you if necessary.” “All right,” said Austin, “‘only we are very apt to be interrupted.” They were interrupted within a few minutes; this time by Miss Hayes. A defi- nite situation had developed between Aus- tin and Miss Hayes even in these few days. It was perfectly recognized between them that they were opponents. They wanted different things for women, for the school and for Elise Benedotti. Yet he and she could ¢ ooperate in minor matters in a way that he and Miss Curtis, who admired him so much as to be absolutely inhibited from understanding what he meant, couldn't manage at all. Miss Hayes, like many mathematicians, was a great believer in the power of the spoken word. She always felt that if she could state her case she could convince. She had been looking for her moment. “Ts this a good time for me to talk to you?” she asked, considerate as always of other people’s leisure. “Excellent,” answeredAustin. “ Except,” he added with a disarming smile, “I don’t suppose I’m going to like what you have to s: ay. ‘All the more reason for hearing it,”’ she returned. “Mr. Bevans, the intellectual standards of this school are going down, really they are, and that’s hard on those of us who have given the best part of our lives to building them up. I know you think the girls are going to get something to compensate them, but isn’t it really something that compensates you? —men, I mean. I feel as if there were something pro- foundly wrong and unjust in a young man having control of the destinies of these girls. One knows what men have always thought women ought to be educated for.” “You think it’s like letting the butcher decide on the happiest destiny for lambs? She brushed his frivolity aside: ‘But I didn’t really come to speak about the general theory. I want to speak of one girl—of Elise. I have known her since she was a child, and you don’t know her at all. I want you to make an exception in her case. I want you to let her go on with her college preparation, She doesn't need to be taught charm; she has too much already. After a good deal of indecision she has finally formed a determination to go to college, in spite of her grandfather's dis- approval. Don’t prevent her carrying out that resolve.” “If she has formed a rez determination, I couldn’t prevent her,” said Austin. Miss Hayes looked him straight in the eyes. ‘‘Yes, you could,” she answered. “You have done exactly what you in- tended to do; you have gained a decisive influence over all these girls, particularly over Elise, who is extremely impression- able. In the end she will do exactly what you tell her to do.” The words intoxicated Austin a little. “You don’t think I'd tell her anything but what I thought best for her, do you?” “Oh, no, no,” said Miss Hayes desper- ately, “‘but I think you don’t know. Mr. Bevans, I think you are a very ignorant boy, and you think me an unhuman old maid; and we may both be right. It doesn’t matter. The point is Elise. You must con- sider what you offer her in place of college 8Y patter—it seemed to him in his nervous state—of thieves. He shuddered, hearing always and cor- tinuously that obsessing and ridiculous jingle that he could not banish from his brain. And so with set face and tightened lips the Reverend Amos Adams passed on staring—each clacking of the car wheels, each repetition of that abominable and now terrible rhythm on the rails carrying him nearer to his home and his old associates, and to the congregation which for the pres- ent he could still call his own for the next four years. She isn’t to stay here with us. She isto go back and live with her grandfather, where no young person would be particularly happy, and where Elise will be incredibly lonely. You, per haps, don’t understand how much that child craves affection, intimate daily affec- tion. She has one of the warmest, tenderest hearts I ever knew. If you send her to live alone in that great lonely house with that selfish, busy old man, she will simply marry the first commonplace boy who presents himself. I hear there’s one hanging about her now. But I’m afraid we are disturbing the bookkeeper. He doesn't seem to be able to work while we talk.” “Oh, no, he doesn’t even hear us,” said Austin, impatient gf this interruption to the train of thought. ‘* Who's hanging about her?” **Noone of importance—her room-mate’s brother, I hear.” “‘ Elise seems to me a little young for that sort of thing,”” Austin began in a manner thoroughly pedagogic, but Miss Hayes in- terrupted him: “Too young? Why, half the girls are engaged and all of them in love. As for Elise, I could tell you things about her love affairs for the last two years. Too young! Why, that just shows that you really are not fit to have the education of girls. When Elise was sixteen there was a Frenchman but that wouldn’t interest you, I suppose.” She stopped suddenly, aware that both men were hanging upon her next word, In fact, the accountant had risen, and now, to ex- plain his action, he said faintly: ‘That's all 1 can do on the books now. I must go.” “You must go?” said Austin. “I thought you were here for the rest of the morning ” “Oh, no,” said Miss Hayes; “‘the books are only half hiswork. Mrs. Bevans always laid great stress on the importance of the girls’ understanding simple bookkeeping He has a class with the seniors—ten minutes individual instruction with each. I'll show him thé way.” The principle that girls should know how to balance their own checkbooks was one with which Austin was in thorough accord, and yet when Miss Hayes had hurried the accountant away he found himself with a vague sense of discomfort. He had taken a swift and unaccountable dislike to George Boyd. It seemed to him also that the bookkeeper’s attention had been peculiarly alert while Elise was in the room. The idea of her receiving individual instruction from that young man was disagreeable to Austin Of course he supposed that Miss Curtis would arrange for such lessons to be prop erly chaperonéd; but had a man in his position any right to menses Didn't he owe it to the girls’ parents to be absolutely sure? He closed his roll-top desk and went over to the main building to satisfy himself, The individual lessons in bookkeeping open to seniors only —took place in Miss Curtis’ study, and she, devoted soul, had just as keen a desire that they should be properly chaperoned as Austin himself had She greeted George civilly and asked his name, “Boyd,” said George. “Ah!”’ said Miss Curtis, “‘we have a student of that name.” ‘The name is not uncommon, I find.” “Shall we call the young ladies alpha betically?”’ she asked. Observing that the name of Benedott stood first on the list, George replied that this seemed to him by far the wisest course to follow. It was rather disappointing, therefore, to see Mi Curtis return with his own sister, who was very red in the face and howed a dangerous tendency to giggle (Continued on Page 92)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Why This Motor Express Line Is Changing to Pneumatics % OR rural motor expressing and general country hauling, we are convinced it is more eco- nomical and profitable to use Goodyear Pneumatic Cord Truck Tires —instead of solid tires. On solids, we have lost time, paid out losses in breakages and had to refuse business. Our Goodyear Cords paid for themselves in three months in business increases alone. The rest has been sheer velvet. *— Mr. Jack Ginocchio, part owner of the Gardnerville Freight Line, Reno, Nev. Nevada farmers, ranchers and storekeepers located along the route of the Gardnerville Freight Line now find that local motor ex- press shipments are hauled on a much better schedule than heretofore. The marked improvement is explained readily by the owners of the transportation enterprise who recently made a careful comparison be- tween their solid truck tires and Goodyear Pneumatic Cord Truck Tires. They point to a motor truck on the tractive Goodyear Cords which hauls regularly over the 104 mountain miles, separating Reno and Gardnerville, in less than 9 hours. They also point to another truck of the identi- cal make and size, but shod with solid tires, which has always required at least 1] hours to negotiate the same trail. This, however, is only the beginning of the story of why the two proprietors of the G. F. Line are preparing to have the four re- maining solid-tired trucks in their fleet re- equipped with the Goodyear Cords. It should be noted that the above figures actu- ally mean that the truck on pneumatics com- pletes the Gardnerville trip in a day, while a solid-tired unit must take three days to make two trips. Consequently the truck on the big Goodyear Cords does considerably more work and earns a correspondingly larger revenue for the motor express concern. Formerly the partnership was obliged either to refuse a sizable business in egg shipments or to pay heavy losses due to breakages caused by the jarring on solid tires. During the time that eggs have been cushioned by the pneumatics, not.a penny has been paid out on this account. The fuel record shows that a gallon of gasoline lasts 11 miles on the pneumatics and 6'» miles on the solids. The oil record shows that a quart of oil is consumed in 21 miles on the pneumatics and in 17% miles on the solids. On top of these reductions in operating costs and the improvements in earnings, the rugged Goodyear Cords are demonstrating a highly satisfactory tire-mile economy. After running over several thousand miles of the rocky trails under full burdens they still are new-looking, promising to rival or even surpass the mileage of the powerful solid tires. They paid for themselves out of the business increases they made possible in the first three months of their use. All other increases and savings represent sheer profits on the investment made in them. Even under unfavorable conditions, then, the prime advantages of the pioneer Goodyear Pneumatic Cord Truck Tires stand out in a very striking manner. THE GOODYEAR TIRE & RUBBER COMPANY, AKRON, OHIO.

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(Continued frem Page 89 “Miss Benedotti was not quite ready, and so I brought the next name on the list. My dear Sally,”” she added, as Sally was suddenly shaken by a suspicious cough, ‘I hope you haven't taken cold.” No, Sally assured her, she hadn't took her place at the desk. “Do you have any special difficulty with your accounts?” inquired the bookkeeper. Yes,” said Sally, ‘the difficulty of keep- ing any money in the bank”’; and she gig- yled irrepre bly Miss Curtis reproved such levity with a kindly word, but the accountant seizing a | wrote down this less polite admoni- ‘Behave , you idiot i. cheme of a monthly bal- bank,” he went on, “and, balance monthly, is having recourse to Get this old girl out Elise is here.” I can’t do it,” said Sally aloud ‘Oh, yes, you can, if you try,”” answered the accountant, and Miss Curtis thought he gave the dear girl an unnecessarily se vere look Exactly at the end of ten minutes Sally was dismissed and Elise entered. She did not glance at her new instructor, but said unsmilingly to Miss Curtis: “I can't see any point in my taking this course, Miss Curtis. My grandfather would always have some young man from his bank take care of my check book for me.” ‘Perhaps,” said the ac eountant haughtily, “you mightn’t always be able to get a young man from the bank 7 ‘I’ve never found any trou ble about that,” said the little princess. But she down at desk, and George opened her check and turned overt the pages "To self, to self, to self why, Miss Bene dotti,”” he said reprovingly, “this is no way to keep a book You don’t you draw the amounts.” “Sometimes I do,” she returned, pointed to item which read: George’s birthday present, $20.” The accountant colored deeply. “It was a wonderful present,” he said. “I mean it must have x It was answered the princess, “but not too nice for George.”” And then turning to Miss Curtis she asked inno- cently: “Is it part of this gentleman's duty tocomment onthe way I spend my money?” ‘No, certainly,” Miss Curtis, who had been thinking the same thing, but lacked the courage to initiate the remark. And at this moment Sally appeared at the door “Please, Miss the long-distance ‘And the operator the switch in the have to disconnect other.’ Miss , and pens tior rhe general e with the ourse, you must And wrote again il he e room while pene sat the titi et : Lee | book say for what and “For one been ” nice, said you're wanted on telephone,” she said. says to be sure to use pantry, as she would you if you used any Curtis, looked wistfully at the tele- conveniently on her she sald. cordially, Curtis phone standing so desk. “ How very strange,” ‘Isn't it!” said Sally managed to carry her point “Elise,” said the accountant passion- ately, they were alone, “you must never go to that man’s office alone like that never! Youdon’t know how it looked when | found you therein his arms.” “George,” said Elise, “how dare you say such a thing, when it was the way you opened the door that nearly knocked me down Mr. Be Vans was on ly trying to ‘Nonsense,”” cried George; “that had nothing to do with his liking it. My point is he liked having you in his arms. Who wouldn't!” Elise looked down, and as soon as and then in a voice hardly audible said: “* How could you pos- ibly tell that, George—that Mr. Bevans liked it?) How could you know?” ‘How did I know?” said George, who innocently supposed that his veracity was THE SATURDAY being impugned. ‘‘ Why, by his expression, by hiseyes. Do you think I don’t know the world? And those letters, Elise—ordering you to write to him every day under the pretense of improving your handwriting. Oh, if I could only order you to write to me every month how happy I should be! You're too innocent to understand, dear, but that man is in love with you— insanely, passionately in love with you.” Elise did not immediately answer this for the simple reason that she couldn’t, but she drew back a little to get a better look at George, and her eyes seemed to have in- creased to twice their usual size and bril- liance. It was at this moment that Austin entered. Exactly what he had feared had happened. “What's this?”’ he said. ‘‘Where’s Miss Curtis?” And before anyone had got round to answering him, Miss Curtis her- self hurried into the room talking “The funniest thing,” she was saying “Central kept on repeating ‘Number please, number please,’ when it was they who specially told me 9 ‘Miss Curtis,” said Austin with a sort of cold violence, “I consider it essential that a teacher remain in the room during these lessons. If you do not feel able to EVENING POST you were not missing such a very lovely sight. “Yours, ELISE.” Now it struck Austin as a strange co- incidence that he had observed the moon the very lovely sight—and had felt, as he could not help suspecting the writer of that letter had felt, that it was a pity to view so much beauty without a sympathetic com- panion. This, however, was not the com- ment he wrote upon the letter, which after deliberation he did not submit to the writ- ing master’s criticism. He did his own criticizing. He was extremely conscientious about it: “This is much better as to writing than I was led to suppose,”’ he wrote, ‘though your capital I’s and Y’s are too much alike. a note of this kind it is better to sign your full name, with some more formal ex- pression than ‘yours.’ Also, avoid the ex- cessive use of the word ‘very.’ Lu dae be ita. “Please, Miss Curtis, You're Wanted on the Long: Distance Telephone" obey this rule, must make other ar- rangements.”’ The soundest and best explanation al- ways sounded like a flimsy excuse in Miss Curtis’ mouth, but no one could have made the story of the pantry switch sound any- thing but nonsensical. Austin received it in a glowering silence, and remained during the rest of the lesson. When it was over he took whatever satisfaction was to be de- rived from making Miss Curtis cry bitterly. After which he suddenly recovered his temper and felt very much ashamed of himself “Oh, “but “Oh, I know,” she answered. “ You feel your great responsibility to the parents.” “Yes, of course,”’ said Austin. “And I don't like this young man. He seems to take a personal interest in the girls.” “Oh, no,” said Miss Curtis, shocked at the idea that a bookkeeper should so far forget himself. “I think you do him in- justice. I watched him closely while he was giving Sally her lesson,.and there was nothing of the kind—nvthing, although poor Sally was quite silly and giggled and made foolish answers.” “There was nothing of that kind with Elise?” “Oh, no; ent.” That was the way it seemed to Austin. The next day the first of her notes ar- rived. It was written in a careful, clear hand, and no one could have missed a word: we he said, I'm sorry I was cross,” but then Elise is very differ- “Dear Mr. Bevans: You told me to write about anything that struck me—did you see the moon last night? It came up sud- denly out of a black cloud with silver edges. I watched it a very long time as it shone down upon your cottage, and I hoped He had some misgivings lest he had been too severe, but the next day’s note be- trayed no hurt feelings: ** Dear Mr. Bevans: We are reading Shelley in English literature, but some of the most beautiful things we have not read in class. I find my enjoyment of poetry increases as I grow older. Some of these lines ring in my head day and night, like ‘I never thought before my death to see youth’s vision thus made perfect’—and all that part that follows which doubtless you know. “Very respectfully yours, “ELISE BENEDOTTI.’’ Now it happened that Austin’s education had been somewhat neglected in the matter of poets. He did not know either the line or its context. But he found out before he went to bed that night. He spent a de- lightful evening, only, he wondered, was Epipsychidion the best reading for school- girls? He began to look forward to the notes almost as much as to the checks for the last semester; and this was saying a good deal, for, as he constantly reminded hirnself, he had gone intoschool-teaching strictly on the commercial basis. One of her letters ran: * Dear Mr. Bevans: What do you think about moods? I know what you will say that we should conquer them. I think so too. But how? All to-day I have been so dreadfully depressed—so that my heart really aches like a tooth, and anything beautiful makes me want to ery. Yet I have no reason for being unhappy — quite the contrary. I keep telling myself how fortunate | am—one of the luckiest girls. Only the world seems so large and danger- ous and I so small and inexperienced. “Respectfully yours, “ELISE BENEDOTTI.” June 28,1919 The subject of punctuation was one to which Austin had never given even a pass- ing thought, but now the idea that Elise used too many dashes haunted him like a nightmare. It was hard on him to feel obliged to get up the whole subject, be- cause, ever since the Latin teacher had quoted something to him which he couldn’t understand, he was spending all his eve- nings trying to reacquire a reading knowl- edge of Vergil. But now, nothing daunted, he borrowed a book on punctuation from the English teacher, and after he had done his Vergil—that is to say, from eleven to midnight —he gave his whole attention to the use of stops. As usual his active mind was rewarded by a new interest. “*There’s more in punctuation than | thought,” he said to himself Whoever else the school was instructing, it was certainly giving its head-master a liberal education. vi HE first of his Mon- day evening lectures was given by a popular young actor, caught be- tween engagements. It was on the subject of voice placing. He showed them how it was possible to make a whisper heard at agreat dis- tance. “I wish grand- father were here to learn that,” Elise whispered to Sally. The second lec- ture was by Lady Peale, better known under her Fifth Avenue name of Lueline, who spoke on the His- tory and Philos- ophy of Fashion in Dress. Austin hoped that as the girls giggled over pictures of crino- lines and bustles they got the idea of how comic some of their own exag- gerations would be to future genera- tions. And through all of his plan and arrangements dur- ing those first weeks the hope of Susy’s ultimate presence moved like a be- neficent ghost. He had not seen her, though he had been twice to the house. He was prepared, however, for Mrs. Rolles’ arrangements to be too good to break down under a hap- hazard visit. He had written and had no answer. He had telephoned and found it impossible to get Susy to come to the tele- phone. Austin, who was one of those people who have the strange combination of sensi- tiveness and persistence which causes them to go on running their breasts against the lance of circumstance and to feel deeply the resulting wound, was wounded now, but not as deeply wounded as he would have been if he had not been so terribly busy. But on the afternoon that the girls went away for the brief spring vacation he had the inspiration of calling up Mrs. Rolles herself. After all, she would be better than no one. He could at least talk to her about Susy, and find out if David were making more of a success than he had— David with that “very aristocratic kind of ugliness” that Austin envied so much. Mrs. Rolles was all graciousness, and asked him, or rather permitted him, to come to tea that very afternoon. Nothing was said about Susy, but, of course, he knew she would be out, or he would not have been allowed to come. As he entered, the ugliness of the brocaded drawing-room struc k him for the first time. oo ou’ ve changed this room, haven’t you?” he said, not at once appreciating where the change had really taken place. “‘Changed,” said Mrs. Rolles proudly. “No, not in twenty-five years. And so,” she went on presently, when tea had been brought, in, “so you have become a school- mi aster? “Yes, and a darn successful one too,” said Austin, surprised to note another change had come over his spirit. In old times he had pretended not to be afraid of (Continued on Page 95)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ae TRA OEE a ane Ju ly : umbers Oo Columbia Rec Happy Music L of the Moment hy 1 { The newest new old pieces, too by artists sung — well known to you Columbia Saxophone Sextette es t Inspiring Marseillaise” Fox-trots through ‘Chong | sung in English Cpby Graveure Sey) | Graveure tsoneofthe a \Y/ few living artists great enough to give all the glory of the world’s song of victory, th song that saved Franc: the greatest yet. “se. and civilization, clear This iS the first saxophone record that brings out the real saxophone tones and the result is a whirlwind medley fox-trot to dance to. Coupled with , ““Waiting’’ from they're thirty-six—five singers great—two novel tricks—songs up-to-date —two marches grand a violin—twelve dances and ‘twould be a sin—if it were missed this one best bet—our July list ‘ ‘ 99 } 78138 : pie ‘ i : ‘Listen Lester”’ an- Orientale Foscha Sebel | 10-in, to its tremendous cli- other fox-trot that ; max “for Victory or . ‘ . Frenchy Come to Yankee Land A-2727 1) } ” . l . | will make you step Arthur Fields | leath. Coupled with liy ‘ ly , Heart-Breaking Baby Doll . we 85c . | oy rumpet« r, also , . sung bv Graveure. A-2730—85c Fires of Faith Peerless Quartett ong ing eB VCUSE Ileart of Humanity Charles Harr 85c A-6106—$1.50 Anything is Nice if it Comes from | Dixieland Harry f A-2732 You Can't Blame the Girlies at All . They All Want to Marry a } 85¢ Arthur F 4 “Longing — a Love Song Wi } l : | H = . a Before | Grew Up to Love You A2729 Ith LOV ely armon.les peti. Henry furr | A2 ale LD: Somebody's Waiting for Someone | g5¢ Maurels Fine A song of lov S Song of the Volga Boatmen E-2860 Record of ee ae : Russian Balalaika Orchestra | “7 “ore SS. fom 2 wl and longing ; exqui Longing for Our Country | 85c Lhe Rosary Ca , ; sitely harmonized by Russian Balalaika Orchest a the Ste rling Trio. A Good Man is Hard to Find — Fox | 4 274 “Like a string of ( oupled with Lulla Oe a, a | ‘Se pearls” indeed come by Blues,” the first emereint iaiiatinien Maurel’s divine notes Columbia number cite in this song that has by the American Mummy Mine—\1 Fox-trot | B85 touched a million (uartette. -%6 i) tor N t Orchestra hearts. On the re- The Royal Vagabond—Mevicy box . pad A A-6107 — f } - = x | j A-2725—85c Anice at’ verse oO this recor¢ / The Repel Vegshend—Me. 'y One-ttep | $1.25 Maurel sings ‘‘At } ) i Mary Ann—: A-2720 Dawning. / War Astra Dance Orchestra | Te A-2724—$1.00 Bevo Blues—: I 85c y k Javar a Orchestra How 'Ya Gonna Keep ’Em Down on the Farm ?—M tep. Incident Chorus by Billy Murra “| A6108 1 Sacnansy OF Uteaenth my pe “ong $1.25 Kaufman Brothers Sing -Eyes = a’ Stracciari Sings Sublime That Say I Love You" bi Love Song “Core’Ngrato” ‘Eyes That Say 1 MM ys King Cotton March © Columbia Ran | A-6105 All the pain | Love You” pice pth eum | $1.25 passion which kind that appeal to Irv- ing and Jack Kaufman . “The Lure of Music” } in this tenor duet, which bibs sien’ POR ee vey, are in this v i will appeal mightily to 8 ee ee ee derful outpouring you. Coupled with their #1 at all Columbia Dealer of love. This Nea i ’ mi , re made in a languages | a) ’ cri \ | When the Bees Make umbia Records a d ua politan song gives Honey Down in Sunny New Columbia Records on Sale the you Stracciari at \labam’,” by the same s00h and 30h of Eee See his most inspired Sie : , at all Columbia Dealers Saints ely singers. A-2726—85c COLUMBIA GRAPHOPHONE CO New York 2 Clerkenwell Road, EB. ¢ 49522—$1.50

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 TRADE LIFT te DOT MARK _ Fasteners aeoree wea body and top makers are con- stantly finding new ways in which Lift-the- Dot Fasteners add to the beauty and convenience of a car. On some fine cars, a strip of material is attached to the front of the top and buttons over the frame of the windshield with Lift-the-Dot Fasteners. This prevents rain from splashing in over the top of slanting windshields. Lift-the-Dot Fasteners are most practical because they are flat, compact and secure. They will not pull loose accidentally under any conditions. They are locked on three sides; yet they may be un- fastened instantly by lifting on the fourth side—the side with the DOT. Despite their higher cost, Lift-the-Dot Fasteners are now used almost universally on automobiles and carriages because of their demonstrated superiority over ordinary fasteners. They are also coming into general use on lug- gage, sporting goods, musical instrument cases and articles of leather and canvas of many kinds. The United States Government uses Lift-the-Dot Fast- eners exclusively on the more important articles of military equipment requiring fasteners. The Lift-the-Dot Fastener is one of a complete line, known as TRADE Tre DOV Line of Hasteners The *‘Lift-the-Dot’’ Fastener TRADE MARK The ‘*Durable Dot’ Fastener The ‘‘Veltex Dot*’ Fastener € The “‘*Anze Dot’’ Fastener The **Segma Dot*’ Fastener REG. U. S. PAT. OFF. The DOT Line includes a fastener for every fastening purpose. These fasteners embody many new ideas and improvements, invented and_per- fected by the Carr Fastener Company. Their out- standing features are superior design and _ finer quality throughout. Manufacturers of goods requiring fasteners of any kind should investigate The DOT Line. A catalog will be sent upon request. Lifi-the-Dot Fasteners are carried by the leading dealers in auto trimmings and motor supplies. If you cannot obtain them in your locality, order direct. CARR FASTENER COMPANY, Boston, Mass. Makers of ‘‘The Dot Line’’ of Fasteners

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(Continued from Page 92) Mrs. Rolles. Now, incredible as it seemed, he actually wasn’t. He found that he re- garded her simply as a parent, and parents were now to him as seals to Hagenbeck. Mrs. Rollessmiled. ‘‘ And I suppose your idea is that you can get Susy to come and darn socks and be a mother to the pupils?” “A model, not a mother,”’ answered Aus- tin. “I want to be able to point to her as an example of my method of education.” “But it was I educated Susy, not you, Mr. Bevans.” “Ah, but my system of education is founded on your ideas; though, as a matter of fact, on a showdown I believe it would be found that I had had a lot to do with educating Susy too. That’s what parents never can appreciate—the amount of in- fluence young men have on the philosophy of young girls. That’s part of my system too.’ “Indeed,” replied Mrs. Rolles, settling back in her chair. “And so you have a prine iple of education?” “You bet I have,” said Austin. “It’s this—that because I’m young and a man, I can put over ideas that they wouldn't listen tofromany woman. And, asa matter of fact, I can. For instance, I’m like you; I’m opposed to my girls’ going to college. When I took the school seventy-five per cent of the seniors were booked for college, and now only one girl even talks of going. You see you can’t take away one ideal without substituting another, and I sub- stituted the ideal of their being charming, gracious, helpful women of the world. Well, that went very well with all but this one— she knows she’s going to be charming any- how, and she thinks she might as well have a college education as well. What am I going to do with her, Mrs. Rolles?” ‘Describe her to me.” ‘“‘Oh,” said Austin, falling into the trap, ‘she’s the prettiest little creature you ever saw. Not so small, and yet you think of her as being hardly as big as a minute, because she has a little bit of a face, and ridiculous hands and feet, and eyes as big as all outdoors. She’s one of these creatures who behave like a wounded bird and has the determination of an elephant. She trembles when you speak to her, cries if you raise your voice, and, by heaven, inside she’s absolutely unchanged by anything you may say. What do you think of that, Mrs. Rolles?”’ ‘I think you're in love with her,” said Mrs. Rolles calmly, and yet, such strange mixed beings are mothers, she felt a dis- tinct pang that her Susy should be so quickly supplanted. “You of all people,” he answered re- proachfully, “ought to know that that isn’t true. My interest is purely paternal or whatever you callit. But of course I am interested. You don’t know how much I want to do the right thing by these girls. I know I’m right about the others—not let- ting them go; but this one is such a sweet little thing, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt her to know a little something. What do you think?” “T think it ruins every girl to go to col- lege.” “Have you known many collegewomen? ““None,”’ said Mrs. Rolles, drawing her- self up. “Then it’s just a theory with you?” ““My dear Mr. Bevans, it isn’t a theory that there are certain experiences that rub off the b loom.’ Austin simply couldn’t bear the thought of Elise losing any of her bloom. And yet, on the other hand, there was that terrible commonplace boy lurking for her if she re- turned to her grandfather’s. Lt really was a dreadful problem, and‘he found it a com- fort to talk it over with an expert like Mrs. Rolles—-such a comfort that he almost missed his train. He had an appointment with Miss Curtis to go over and sign the re- ports for the term. As he stepped on the moving train he realized with a start that he had made prac- tically no effort to see Susy at all. But, he consoled himself by reflecting, it wouldn’t have done any good if he had. On his desk he found a fresh gardenia and a last letter from the little princess. He told himself that he hadn’t expected it, yet his eyes had sought it in the accustomed place as soon as he entered the room. ” * Dear Mr. Bevans: Weareall going home. I asked Miss Hayes what made a home, and she laughed and said it was where you had your washing done. It seems to me it is Wherever you can find the one person who THE SATURDAY makes life beautiful and interesting to you. We have to learn a piece of poetry for the English class during the vacation. Do you know one that begins: ‘What shall I do with all the days and hours that must elapse before I see thy face’? I am thinking of learning that. ““Good-by, dear Mr. Bevans. I hope you will be well and happy through these long, long holidays. Yours, E. B.’ The long, long helidays were four days Austin put the little piece of paper in his pocket, without any penciled criticism, though he was aware of the defective para- graphing of the letter. He thought it odd how a line of verse, particularly not very good verse, would get ringing in your head. “What shall I do with all the days and hours ” They ought to teach the girls better stuff than that. He'd speak to Miss Curtis about it when she came over with the reports. But, as a matter of fact, he never did speak to her about it. About half past nine that evening he heard hurried footsteps on his pore h, Miss ‘urtis’ voice demanding entrance, and his Aunt Mary’s replying that she had no in- tention of keepi ng her out. The next moment Miss Curtis entered, and sinking into a chair burst into tears, while Miss Hayes, retaining her habitual calm, smiled at Austin over her colle ~ague’s head and said simply: “It’s not quite as bad as that.” “Tt is, it is!’ sobbed Miss Curtis. ‘‘The little princess 2 “Has anything happened to Elise? “No,” said Miss Hayes. “Yes,” said Miss Curtis. Austin looked from one to the other, and Miss Hayes, seeing that Miss Curtis was quite beyond explanations, said dryly: “It appears, Mr. Bevans, that charm is like rain and falls upon the just and the unjust. Elise has been charming the new bookkeeper.” “The bookkeeper!” exclaimed Austin, and a sort of physical nausea swept over him. “They’ve been carrying on a correspond- encethroughtheaccounts,”’ said Miss Hayes. “Such letters!”’ wailed Miss Curtis. “The cleaning woman found them in her desk. She asked me if they were any good, and I was just about to say no, for they seemed to be just the accounts in the senior course, when my eye happened to fal] Oh, Mr. Bevans, every one of them.has a message onit. E lise se , of all people! Do you want to see them? “T can’t say I'm partieuiealy keen to,’ replied Austin, holding out his hand for them, but it is doubtful if anyone who had attempted to take them from him would have left the room alive. Strictly speaking they were not letters, but scribbled sentences on the bottom of ” GOOD LUCK, AND KEEP YOUR NOSE DOWN anger of the last two days leaped into glowing flame. Almost with one motion he ripped loose his belt, cut the gun, released the controls and stood up, leaning with me nacing visage over his cow! toward the unconscious Ganes. With the motor off no tube was needed for words. “Did you call me a liar? Bustard in a queer low voice. Ganes flashed a blank face round, then shot on the throttle and seized the controls, Bustard closed the throttle again. “T asked you a question.” The throttle went on. “You fool! Wait till we get on the ground,” said Ganes through the tube. Choked breathing that sounded suspi- ciously like laughter came back to Bustard. He sat down and fumed. Ganes landed the ship. Climbing out on the wing he faced Bustard. “Well, son, you’ve got guts. I'll say that for you. I think I'll take a smoke.” He jumped to the ground. Bustard half rose, looking at him in pe ~ page | and anger o ahead and take her round,” said oun answering the look. ‘“‘You watch for me and land where I stand. I'll wave my handkerchief.’’ He pulled out a ciga- rette and lighted it. His hands trembled. “Good luck, and keep your nose down!”’ Bustard was scarcely able to grasp the idea. He was to solo! He—why And then in a thrill of excitement he realized * demanded EVENING POST the accounts she turned in each week and W hich the accountant gave back corrected. ~~ hy wouldn’ t you look at me this morn- ing?” ‘‘Why was your tone socold?” “ You treat me like a dog, and yet I love you so.” For the first time in his life Austin had some idea of what Mrs. Rolles meant when she said things were vulgar. The idea of a red-faced accountant making love to the little princess seemed to him ‘the vulgarest think that had ever happened since the world was made. ‘The damned beefy bounder!” he said. ‘I'd like to wring his neck!” “Oh, no, no,”” murmured Miss Curtis; “that would make such a scandal!” ‘Il don’t think you've read the worst one,” said Miss Hayes, and he was grateful to her for retaining her habitual calm. “There’s one there that seems to imply she’s writing regularly to someone else.” Austin found it at once: “‘ Dearest, can’t you see that fellow is in love with you? What would I give if you would write me a note every day—how I would treasure them! And the thought that every day, every day of your life, you write to him drives me mad.” Miss Hayes regarded him thoughtfully. “Now who can that be?” she said. “It's unlike Elise to be a good correspondent.” “Oh, what do we know about them when they can deceive usso! Elise! I shall never get over it!”’ wailed Miss Curtis. “Tl am inclined to regard this other man as the more serious of the two,” said Miss Hayes, her eyes still fixed on Austin “Two!” cried Miss Curtis. ‘‘Oh, it’s disgusting, degrading! I feel as if I should have to give up my work. When you think what must have taken place already, what must have been said between them, in order that he should « lare to write her such lette rs It was just along these lines that Austin did not want to think. He sprang to his feet. ‘I'll go straight to her grandfather,” he said. “Oh, no, no!” shrieked Miss Curtis. “Oh, Mr. Bevans, it will ruin the school if any parent got a hint of such a thing They'd think we had been careless.” “And so we have been,” said Austin. ‘Damned careless! And if we are ruined we're ruined; but at least I’m going to nave the satisfaction of saying what I think.” He jammed his hat on his head and made his way rapidly toward the garage. “What's he going to do? If he’d only listen to reason,”’ said Miss Curtis fee bly. ‘He'll ruin the school.” “But what can you expect of a jealous boy?" said Miss Hayes “Jealous?” said Miss Curtis. “I don’t understand. Who do you think is jealous? What do you mean?” “Nothing,” answered Miss Hayes. Miss Curtis was the kind of person who allowed herself to be put off with an answer Conctuded from Page 60) it —visualized himself going round thecourse alone. A calmness possessed him, hiding all signs of trepidation. Ganes waved him to go. He pulled down his goggles like a veteran, looked about, shot home the throttle and was off! The ship seemed lighter, more unstable. And how it wanted to climb! He would have to watch that nose. Good luck, and keep your nose down!" He heard that last bit of advice again. And now he was off, away, alone! Could he land? Doubts and fears invaded his mind. ~ He made his first turn. How he missed that calm, ever-assuring figure from the front cockpit! He made his second turn. Could he land? Doubt grew. He must! He was stern. It must be a good landing. He must make Ganes feel proud. Ganes was a prince. Ganes had shown confidence in him. He must prove that confidence. He took back all the hard things he had thought of him. Bustard was more tense than he had ever been; but now, thrown on his own at last, he felt endowed with a new quicknes of eye, a new alertness equal to the emer gency. He already saw Ganes with his handkerchief over there in an open space He made a last wide turn, Could he land He cut his gun and nosed the plane down toward Ganes. With straining eyes he essayed to judge his distance. He had struck a good gliding angle. Closer to the , 95 like that. It really interested her more to go on weeping As Austin drove the geranium-colored car south toward the wide pink glare in the southern sky, which indicated, not an im mense conflagration, but simply that New York was going on as usual, a conflict was taking place within’ him. He intended to go straight to Mr. Johns. He was aware that this was his duty, and his idea was that during his drive to town he would think out terms in which he would expose the situation to the culprit’s grandfather But the deeper and stronger part of his nature intended something quite different, and he was continually discovering that the telling sentences he invented were all addressed to Elise. As he drew up before Mr. Johns’ door he saw that a party was going on. There was a striped awning, a red carpet, a policeman, and all the various signs of gayety. But Austin was in no mood to be stopped by a mere party. He ran the cur a few feet beyond the door, leaped out and was half way up the steps when the policeman stopped him, and said with that reason ableness which of late years has become so much the fashion of the force: “Look here, do you think you showed good judgment leaving that car next the hydrant?” “Officer,” said Austin, “if you knew all I had on my mind you'd be surprised that I have any judgment at all.” ‘I don’t think you have,” answered the officer. On which Austin moved his car and went into the house. The appearance of a young man in morn- ing clothes at half past ten at night in the midst of a party would have been repellent to Mr. Johns’ butler, who liked entertain- ments and liked them well done. He, how ever, was busy in the dining room, and the footman, who let Austin in, not only re membered him from his former visit, but, like Portia, remembered him worthy of praise. “Il wonder,” said Austin, who had the American distaste to giving a direct order particularly to other people's servants ‘Il wonder if I could see Mr. Johns for a few minutes?” Even the footman knew better than to bring him attired as he was directly into the ballroom. “I'll inquire, sir,” he said, and ushered him into a little waiting room near the stairs, shutting the door behind him. The footman had no idea how much was accomplished by this simple action, for this little room, unknown to most of the guests, was at that time occupied by Elise and George. They were sitting on either side of a nice open fire, engaged in a conversation which came to an abrupt halt~-as perhaps any conversation would— on the entrance of Austin. (TO BE CONCLUDED) ground he came. Was it time to level off? He waited a bit Ganes was standing there, his back to him. Why? Slowly he eased back on the stick, watching the ground and those rocker arms. The plane leveled out and skimmed over the field. Back, back came the stic The speed died down; there was a settling motion of the plane. He jerked the to his stomach. A slight shock — he was or the ground! The thrill of it! He had soloed ! Ganes came running to him now “| think I made it on three point Bustard’s voice trembled with prid Ganes stuck out his hand. He seemed terribly unstrung **Good boy! I didn’t see it! Glad to se« you alive!”” He wrung Bustard’'s | ‘Glad to see you alive,” he repeated | couldn't bear to look. My fault, my fault! All right now though. Do you know wha you've done? Soloed in two hours and fifty-two minutes! ‘The least time ar cadet on this field ever soloed! And I thought you had near! even hours! I didn’t find out till you’d left and I was looking over your card Ippose you'd killed yourself! Good boy! You've got the guts!”’ Again he wrung Bustard’s hand Into Bustard’s eyes as he gazed at Gane came that look yu seein a dog’ ind with tt big tears of emotion that did not fa I now he earth was Bustard and thel ne thereof

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Oj THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Might of Inner Forces L pe skyscraper presents a bold front of brick or stone. Very strong and sturdy it seems—to the eye! Yet—beneath the surface is the real source of strength. Were it not for its great steel inner structure, your brave pile would collapse like a house of cards. Your tire is ‘‘surfaced’’ with rubber, a very brave ex- terior. It seems tough and strong and rugged—it should resist the gruelling grind. But, you should get the ‘*inside story’’. You should know that surface indications mean little, because all tires are covered with the same substance — rubber. Look to the “‘innards’’ for superiority. So—the ‘Royal Cord’ conserves power by the force of “‘inner’’ methods. By steeling the ‘‘sinews’’—by hardening the ‘“‘heart’’—by strengthening the ‘‘core’’. , This ‘‘inside’’ work makes for ruggedness and resist- ance. This is why the ‘Royal Cord’ wears and wears, why it defies shocks and strains. Therein also is the reason for its liveliness and resiliency — why it makes smoother riding and easier steering. The ‘Royal Cord’ doesn’t “fight the road!’’ And—four big brothers! There are four other good tires in the United States Tire family —four ‘‘huskies”’ of similar rough and rugged type. Ready for any task—adapted to any car—a size and style for every use. Whatever your need —ask for a United States Tire and be assured of long wear and good service. For passenger and light delivery cars—‘Royal Cord’, ‘Nobby’, ‘Chain’, *Usco' and‘ Plain’, Also tires for motor trucks, cycles and airplanes. ‘Royal Cord’ one of the five June 28,1919

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ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST er ee eee et United States Tires are Good Tires ae | CE j / ‘ ./ 1 / ‘Nobby’ /. ‘Chain’ ‘Usco’ 7

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We had to wait longer than we had expected and Metford, slightly nervous, be- gan to grow angry. The elaborate decora- tions; the heavy scent of the flowers; the rambling pulsations poured forth by a ro- mantic musician; the bustle and whispers; the rustle and flutter of skirts and wraps; the calm solemnity of the clergyman; the nervous ebullitions of the brothers; the forced philosophy of the chief mourner, Gilbert Maurice; the stilted poise of the groomed men; the fluttering curiosity of the women and the suave serv- ice of the ushers—-all diverted but irritatec him, while my remarks, flung over my houlder to him as | peeped through the vestry door, shocked the curate out of hearing distance and kept Metford from osing his head. Finally the consciously clas ic chords rolled forth The shadowy church filled with harmony. Necks craned stiffly; eyes slid sidewise glistening or filling with shadows; people and the procession entered the door- wa) It was a charming picture; and Peggy, looking demure and lovely, wafted forward in radiance with little dad, fierce and desperate, drifting shadow- like by her side ‘They're off!’ I said firmly to Bruce and shook hands with him. He licked his lips, jerked at his waistcoat, patted his ti hand swiftly over his hair, gulped sallied forth looking pe rfectly self-possessed, with myself in close escort. We all met at the altar rail and knelt. The ceremony proceeded With my mind fixed immovably on the ring nestling in my pocket I allowed my mind to enter a trance under the combined effects of the droning voices, the soft shad ows and the overpowering scent of flower and perfume From this trance I was roused by the call for the ring, which I pro duced reluctantly. The subsequent pro ceedings were swift rhe ring was poised, the significant word were being pronounced, when Peggy, very quietly but with cool assurance, said to the minister “Not the word ‘obey,’ please.’ The minister was a conventional man, unaccustomed to alarms and emergencie He glared at Peggy. He hesitated, stam a lost his place. Perspiration sud denly beaded on his forehead. He bent his head to one side and thrust his ear forward, murmuring inanely, “What? Eh? What? Eh?” “Please don’t use the words ‘to obey,’”’ repeated Peggy with demure insistence. The minister jerked his head about and stared at Metford, who in turn was looking at a stained-glass window in a very queer and thoughtful manner, like a small boy who has been spanked and is thinking it He seemed to be trying to grasp with- mistake all the points of though promised —inter- rose cOnSCIOUS wept his and cool and once over out making any this unexpected ruption rhe minister, rudely shaken from his graceful equilibrium, said hurriedly: ‘Oh, very well, then!’ and was fumbling nerv- ously for the lost place, when Bruce seemed suddenly to make up his mind and turned his head to look at the bride elect with a piercing glance. She met it calmly and brightly, her eyes glittering with pleasur- able excitement. She had scored a point! It seemed as though she had concentrated all her thoughts on this one point of the ceremony. The minister found his place at last and resumed the ceremony before anyone quite realized that anything unusual had hap- pened; but he was immediately inter- rupted again-—-this time by Metford ‘There is something wrong here,” he aid firmly. “The word must be included!" “No! I simp sly won't have it!" insisted Peggy in a whisper, not regardless of the fact that she was a cynosure of many eyes, but confident in her perfect self-possession that Metford, rather than offend her or causes embarrassment, would do as she wished “Bruce, it is stupid—and—and old-fashioned.”’ “Do you mean that, “Yes, Bruce, “Peggy!” They looked at each other steadily The virl’s lips were firmly together. Stimulated by the excitement she had her- elf created, rendered stubborn by resist- ance, almost forgetting the nature of the ceremony in her determination to have her will, nothing would have induced her to Peggy?" certainly!” pressed THE SATURDAY EVENING POST DISOBEDIENTLY MARRIED (Centinued from Page 11) Metford realized this. His gaze faltered. His head dropped. For an instant he looked crushed. To a casual observer his attitude would have seemed foolishly tragic. “My dearly—my dearly ——” tered the minister desperately. A trickle of perspiration began to course down my spine. caught a glimpse of Mrs. Jumel, hypnotized, mouth agape, livid, trembling with chagrin, yet seeming poised ready to spring forward. There was yield. All at once splut- no use proceeding under a misunderstand- ing. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing to be done.” “Bruce!” said the girl sharply, catching her breath. “T’m sorry,” he repeated coldly. ‘But I repeat, there has been a complete mis- understanding. I will not go on. He turned away abruptly and walked into the vestry. I only had time to see the wave of con- sternation and joyous curiosity that swept Te Metford Peggy Was the Fairest of Sprites a flutter and stir in the congregation, an impression of a general surge forward—an impression that was purely psychic. My roving eye saw Gilbert Maurice, hair up,’eyebrows elevated, mustache stiff with nervous tension, an expression of anxiety, dismay, curiosity, hope agitating his long countenance. Then I heard a strange noise as of someone suffocating and saw little dad, utterly forgetting the con- gregation, glaring at Metford with such ferocious intensity that I was startled. All of a sudden Metford’s figure stif- fened. He stood up and deliberately brushed his knees. His countenance was pale and taut; but his eyes burned. “A mistake has been made,” crisply, addressing the minister he said ‘There’s the congregation; the black dismay that floored the minister; the empurpled hue that rose to Mrs. Jumel’s eyes—eyes that shifted like mechanical instruments from Metford’s receding back to me, her speech- le "ss lips forming the words: “You! You! Knowing that I could never hope to acquit myself of complicity in the matter I too turned and rushed after Metford, leav- ing Peggy’s attendants to flutter about her; and caught him as he was struggling into his coat. “Good heavens, man!” I cried. “You can't act this way—wait! We must fix this up. You'll make a terrible scandal of it.” His cold calm had been swept away. He was furious. June 28,1919 “Damn the scandal,” he said thickly. “Tt’s a sell!” The minister came rushing in, mopping his face‘and waving his hands. “My good fellow,” he exclaimed, is an utterly impossible situation! must be reasonable.” Arthur and Fitz Herbert appeared on the scene, very much perturbed. “I say, Metford, old boy, you mustn’t get ratty over a thing like that! Peggy’s always doing some foolish stunt. You must make allowances,” pleaded Arthur. ‘*‘ Don’t make a silly farce of the thing. Be reason- able.” “*She’ll change her mind,”’ said the min- ister hopefully. “Even if she doesn’t,” urged Arthur, who had his doubts, “‘ what difference does it make? After all it’s only a form.” “Certainly. It’s a minor point,” sisted the minister soothingly. “It’s not a minor point!’’ Metford sud- denly shouted at the minister, nearly fright- ening the soul out of him. “It’s very vital—more vital than you can understand; more vital than you fellows could ever realize.” Some ladies, old intimate friends of the family, were now trickling into the vestry, bursting with curiosity and mortified—as proxies—-for the interested females, feeling it incumbent to do what they could for poor dear Marguerite. Their chatter and shrill little yelps only increased Metford’s vehemence, ** And you wouldn’t understand it either,” he cried, his eyes flashing from one to an- other. “But it simply amounts to this: We don’t love each other.” This outburst brought forth a chorus of shocked protest, as though he had shouted something indecent. ses Metford, ” said Arthur with unexpected sternness, “ you know Peggy’s feelings. And if you are going to call into question any improper motive we ‘ll have to discuss this in a different manner A look of admiration flashed across Met- ford’s face. He promptly lowered his voice and con- tinued calmly and rationally: “T understand, Arthur; but you're off the point. Peggy decided it for herself. I thought she loved me and I certainly loved her until a minute ago. She showed me then that she does not love me, and that is sufficient to wipe out the love I may have felt. Lf it had been merely a question of injured feelings I'd go on with it. But I will not become involved in a loveless mar- riage simply to save face. Doctor Mc- Carthy, the minister here, says it’s only a form. Well, I regard it as more than that. I'm not exactly a schoolboy to be panicked into a marriage. I have certain definite ideals on the subject and I hope to see those ideals realized. I have seen enough of the world and women to know the value of sincerity and genuine emotions.” “My goodness,” expostulated one of the ladies indignantly, “it is only the word ‘obey’ she objects to. And that’s very reasonable. A woman certainly has a right to her own will!” *‘And you don’t understand either,”’ con- tinued Metford suavely, now that his anger had passed. ‘‘A wife’s will should be the will of her husband; a husband’s will should be to insure the happiness of his wife and home. How is a bride to be assured of that? She isn’t assured of it! But if she truly loves her husband—in whom her destiny and the destiny of her children and the perpetuation of her blood and bone rest—if she truly loves him she does not resist him. She does not think it possible that she should want to resist him. She believes in him! She trusts him! In a word, she loves him! Do you understand? That is all there is to it.” When he went to the door there was another outburst, but this time weak and querulous: “*Mr. Metford, you know there must be some way of compromising. This is pre- posterous! The husband ought to concede something.” “On that point, madam, if it is a mar- riage of love the husband should not be called upon at the time of marriage to concede anything. If I wanted a wife simply for the sake of her body I shouldn’t want a wife at all. I should require a harem. There the question of obeying is (Concluded on Page 101) “this You in-

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 ‘% If Your Iron or Toaster | Is a Modern One —you will never have to yank at the plug to control the current. The cord will be equipped with a neat little on-and-off push button switch. re ae wile oats «in me Sg eg ETN egy ng Rr Cin More than a convenience—it saves current—prevents socket troubles—makes the appliance last longer. Tells at a glance whether the current is on or off. No wonder so many manufacturers are factory-equipping their latest appliances with the C-H 7. ft e yerly 4 a This compact switch gives you the handiest possible control of the current—you don’t have to touch either plug or socket to turn the appliance on or off. Just press the white or black button. How It Saves Electricity On an iron, it tells you instantly whether the current is on or off—no danger of leaving it on by mistake and scorching the clothes. You use current only as you need it. Jed On a toaster, it enables you to turn off the current between slices . f —without yanking at the plug, without burning the fingers, and a 4 without spilling the toast. Current saved, too. a x 45 How It Prevents Troubles Most sockets now in use were designed primarily for lamp bulbs, which require but little current. The C-H Switch protects these sockets against the ten-fold strain of electrical appliances—by doing most of the on-and-off work itself. Saves cords, too—they j usually give way at the plug, you know. err) Modernize Your Appliances! You can have this switch-convenience on the older-model toaster or iron you have. Take one of your cords to your dealer and he will put a C-H Seventy-Fifty Switch on it for 75 cents. Use it a while and you will see why all the more modern electrical appliances come C-H Switch- equipped. When you buy a new appliance, look for the C-H Seventy-Fifty Switch. ‘ If your dealer can’t supply you, we will mail switch What Is a Switch? . on receipt of 75 cents. A switch turns the elec- wie current on of of "The Cutler-Hammer Mfg. Co. controls the flow of water. Milwaukee, Wisconsin

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AT Uy gy a Te nee (Concluded from Page 98) not raised because obedience is enforced. If you only gave the matter a little thought you’d understand that the Christian cere- mony is not made up simply of idle phrases!” Without another word he left the church and I after him. Though speechless and depressed becomingly as to my mien, my heart was jubilant and my soul tranquil. It took Metford about an hour, fortified with suitable potations, to run through the gamut of his emotions, while I sat solemnly listening, saying not a word and refrain- ing with heroic fortitude from any com- ment about prophecies coming true. His rage by degrees turned to cynicism; his cynicism to a petulant uncertainty. At this point, by means of various hints and subtle innuendoes; by fumbling over my kit, for I too had been planning to get away as soon as the wedding was over; by ostentatiously consulting pertinent memo- randa; and above all by pointedly ignoring every opportunity for debate I finally drew his attention to future considerations. “What are you going to do?” he de- manded. I looked at him blandly. “You know dashed well what I’m going to do! I’ve got a seagoing sharpie at Miami. “And on Thursday—four days from to- day— we shake out the sheet and sail for Colombia. I’ve always had a hankering to look up the Magdalena River.” On the evening of the day of the holdup the wind had died for a space as dusk fell; and in the still airs a column of this black dust rose like a pillar of cloud above the road, a mile south of the house, and steadily approached that homestead Jim Hardy was putting his mules and his horse in the stable, ar d wate —_ them, and pulling down alfalfa from the loft. The horse was a bay, with a splash of white upon its rump. Hardy had been working the mules that day; he had brought the horse up from the fenced pasture half an hour before. He was accustomed to keep his stock indoors at night. There were sometimes thieves about. Hardy was a large man, with graying hair and a firm jaw, and a mouth as tender as a woman’s, without losing its strength and fineness. His nostrils were delicate and fine, his eyes gentle and at the same time steady and searching. He was taciturn by nature, and he worked quietly, speaking to the beasts in low, brief monosyllables as he tended to their comfort. The horse nickered at him; the mules, their long ears nodding lazily, paid no slightest attention to his presence. They drank the water he provided, then plunged at the fodder he dropped before them, with an air of busy preoccupation, like hungry men after a day of labor. When Hardy finished tending them he looked thoughtfully round the stable to see if anything was forgotten, then laid a hand on one of the mules as ry in farewell, and the animal kicked at him in a half- hearted, absent-minded bl quite without malice. Hardy smiled a little; then he stepped to the stable door, and before starting after the two cows that grazed by the river, and that were waiting now at the pasture gate, he glanced toward the house. He saw his daughter Rose standing at the nearer end of the low porch, and he understood that something had awakened her concern. She beckoned to him; and as she beckoned she looked behind her, toward the road that came along the river from Muskoka Rose Hardy was very like her father; so much like that the resemblance was in- stantly apparent. Her eyes had the gentle- ness and also the strength of his. She had the same nose of a patrician and the same wide tender mouth. Even the soft oval of her face did not disguise the fact that her jaw was level and strong. Her hair was luxuriant; nevertheless, it did not cloud her high broad brow. It was parted and drawn back in smooth waves*to: unite inva rich braid that hung between ; her’shoul- ders. She was erect and round and firm and strong; vigor in every line of her, and beauty, and the unstudied grace of a wild thing. She wore a khaki waist, open at the throat; a khaki skirt that buttoned up the front and reached only a little below her knees. Her feet were clad in stout high I knew that he too had the After several! gutturals, lapses and struggles with his conscienc Metford finally blurted: me?" “Well,” I said with assumed indifferen« ‘what about you?” “This! I’m going too!” An hour later we were ready. We might have made our departure earlier; but I was restrained by a sense of guilt, a feeling that we should not leave until we had given every opportunity to all interested persons to appear and present their claims. Asa matter of fact 1 was rather astonished and secretly perturbed that no one had ap- peared. It seemed unnatural. Metford had reached the point where he felt a sort of sullen satisfaction—angry because what he had hoped would be the happiest moment of his life had been changed in an instant into the silliest—through the whim of a shallow girl; angry and yet happy because the fortunate contretemps left him free again to rove where fancy willed. I believe he was secretly agitated at his narrow escape and a trifle apprehensive lest something should occur at the last moment to threaten a readjustment —and that is precisely what happened. We were about to depart when the bell rang loudly and the door opened. Little dad stood before us. He was not the little dad to whom we were accustomed. His spare figure was stiff with energetic ¢ mination; his mustache projected like quill hankering. into silence e and pride, “What about fer- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST and in his pale eyes there glowed the light of a dangerous and goaded animal. Ignor- ing me completely he fixed his gaze on Metford with a speechless intensity that was ominous. For the moment I felt that there would be interesting action. Metford arriving at the same conclusion and having no grievance against little dad took control of the situation instantly and offered c neil iating attitude. “Well, sir,” he said promptly, “I'm sorry to have cand you any embarrassment in this affair; but there was nothing else to be ne ne, = Little dad rid nothing A but grunted, rocking on his heels. He looked as though he had just come through a bad half hour with his wife and had concluded that he would stand no further insolence. “If there are any apologies due you,” continued Metford doubtfully, “you have them most sincerely. But I will not go through the at ceremony again! I'll not talk marriage!" ‘Marriage be blowed!”’ roared dad in an astonishing voice. ‘‘ The girl’s married !"’ ‘Married!"’ we exclaimed weakly. “Yes, married!’’ continued little dad in a loud, blustering tone. “Married! She said she’d hev her own way, and she did. ‘Think I'm goin’ to be made a fool?’ she says. ‘A dem fool?’ ‘Peggy!’ says her ma. ‘I don’t care,’ says the girl. ‘I'll marry Gilbert first. He'll let me have my own way!’ And I'm blowed if she didn’t trot him out and marry him right there, as JUBILO (Continued from Page 4) boots, built for service. The boot tops reached to the hem of her skirt. She looked as efficient as she was be autiful: and she was as efficient as she looked. She knew how to do things, and did them When she beckoned, Jim Hardy came up from the stable to where she stood: and thus he saw what she had seen. “Someone is coming,” she said softly, and pointed to where that dark dust cloud rose against the mellow beauty of the southwestern sky. Then she looked up to see what he would do. The man’s face was golden in the dying light of the day, golden over its bronze; and when she looked at him she saw that the gentleness was gone from his eyes and from his wide mouth. He looked very weary and tired. His lips had set hard, and their pressure, each against each, had left them all but bloodless, so th it they gleamed as a lighter line across his darl face, like asecar. He nodded. “T see,” he said; and he stepped past her and entered the house After a moment he emerged. He had put on his coat over his blue shirt and over- alls; and Rose knew that beneath the coat under his left arm he had slung a holster. There was a deadly resolution about the man. She touched his arm soothingly, comforting him with the touch, and he looked down at her and smiled a wistful smile. They crossed together to the end of the porch that was nearest the road; and they stood there, watching the slow-moving column of dust that came so steadily nearer. They said nothing; their ears were tuned to the faintest sound, and after a time she heard something. There was about it that unmistakable quality that marks the human voter; and there was mirth in it, and gayety. Rose said softly: “Tt $s aman, laughing, For a moment Jim Hardy listened in- tently; then his countenance magically cleared, and he smiled at the girl. “Not laughing,” he said. ‘Not laugh- ing. Singing. It’s all right. It isn’t him. He would not sing.” “Singing?”’ she repeated; and in the hush that followed her word both heard more plainly. ‘Oh, yes,”’ she said. “I hear now.” “He’s afoot,”” Hardy remarked. “He's coming so slowly. He’s afoot. What's a man afoot doing out here?” “Perhaps he’s coming here,’’ she said. ut—no one we know sings like that.” They could hear more plainly now, the tones of a somewhat husky tenor voice, surprisingly accurate as to key, surpris- ingly pleasing as to quality. The singer was approaching steadily enough, even though his progress was slow. They caught a glimpse of him as the road turned to follow the last curve of the river below the house. Then, while he was hidden from them by a low roll of the land between, the y began to catch the words of his song. pe key Crown in de well Tk vhip is los’, de mncuff broken, But de massa'll hab his pay; He's ole enough, big enough, ought to know better Dan to went an’ run away. And then the singer’s voice rose in the rollicking, laughing refrain: De massa run? Ha, ha! De darky stay? Ho, ho! It mus’ be now de Kingdom comin’ An’ de year ob Jubilo! That last line came loud and clear as Jubilo swung into sight below the house and turned from the road toward where they stood. Jim Hardy and his daughter stood quietly upon the porch, and Jubilo came up the knoll to within ten yards of them before he stopped and stripped off his hat and called smilingly: ‘‘Good evening!” Hardy’s grim mouth relaxed a little. ‘Good evening,” he rej »ined evenly. He was studying the singer; and Rose, beside him, was watching the young man with all her eyes. She could see that he was young, in spite of the stubble and the dust upon his countenance. The hat in his hand had been a decent straw once. His coat was torn on the left side, as though someone had gripped it by the pocket and ripped it half away; his trousers were black to the thigh with the clinging dust. As he stood bareheaded before them she saw that his hair was red as fire. Also, he was young. He was almost as young as she; and he came forward after that first greeting with the smiling confidence of youth. He did not look at her, save for a first glance. He was watching her father. “I’m a candidate for something to eat,” he told Jim Hardy pleasantly. ‘ Have you finished suppe r?” Hardy's eyes had become keen and steady as he scrutinized the young man. Wiser in his generation he saw some things that his daughter had missed, and he asked with a brutal abruptness: ‘ When did you sober off?” The young man threw up both hands laughingly, as though to ward off a blow “This morning,” he confessed. “1 woke cold sober—and thirsty.” Ilardy seemed to meditate; then he asked: “*Where did you work last?”’ “Did I ever work?” Jubilo asked with frank interest. “If I did I don’t remember it." Hardy stepped toward him and caught up the young man’s hand and looked at the palm. It was grimy, but innocent of any trace of toil. He flung it down so that it 101 soon as they could get a new license. Sure! He'll let her have her ownway. That eel! Suddenly while we were yet struggling to grasp this startling news the little man went off into a burst of wild high laughter We looked at him in astonishment. The strange spectacle of little dad disheveled and convulsed with mirth touched our risi bilities. We commenced to chuckle; dad gasped and spluttered. We laughed aloud; dad wheezed. Then we all rocked and roared together. Presently when we had become sober little dad, shame-faced and abashed, wiped his eyes nervously and looked about the room apologetically. His roving eye was not too dull to take in the details of our hunting kit bags, run and rod cases. “Whar you goin’?” he blurted I told him my full plans and as I pro ceeded an expression of dawning eagerness came into his face “Just what I want to talk about,” he exclaimed. ‘‘ Mahogany’sdown thar. Boys I’m through. I quit. I made my intentions known just shortly after friend Metford here hit the trail. I guess I can be inde pendent too No more bosses for me You understand?” His voice rose again to a shout. “I been fooled too many times No more boss for me, boys,” he added gently and persuasively ‘Hey you g t an extra bunk in that boat o’ yours? Can’: you make room for me?” I assured him happily that I could always find room for an independent man of spirit slapped loosely against Jubilo’s hip. Then ie =considered He was short-handed. That was a chronic condition in this coun- try. As a matter of fact he had no hands at all. He and Rose did all the work that was done; and there was work for two or three other men if he could find them. He studied Jubilo An upstanding chap, strong enough if the spirit was there “You're a plain hobo,” he said ‘Plain and fancy,” Jubilo agreed. “ All kinds of hoboing done on a moment's notice. Loafing a specialty. Eating a fine art.”’ ‘Do you want to go to work for me?” Hardy asked, his eyes burning the other ‘I don’t want to work for anybody,” said Jubilo honestly. ‘I want to eat.” ‘If you want to eat here you'll have to work,” Hardy told him. “I need a man It’s up to you.’ ‘I don’t want to get into the habit of working,” Jubilo explained. “ But I don’t want to get out of the habit of eating. I might try it for a while. Say, till meal time.”’ ‘What's your name?’ Jubilo grinned. “John Lawrence Alfred Tade oma.” ‘That sounds like a lie.’ “Itisalie. Isn't ita good one? Anyway, I've always wanted to be named Tadema And the other names are good enough for trimming.” “What's your name?” Hardy insisted “My friends call me Year ob Jubilo, or Jubilo for short—for reasons which you may have heard. Take your choice, sir." Hardy’s eyes lighted wit? amusement in spite of himself “Answers to the name of Jubilo, “Quite so.” “Wait a minute,” said Hardy; and he turned into the house with a nod to Rose She followed him. Jubilo sat down on the stoop. He was dog-tired and wolf-hungry He had found no food that day Inside Hardy took off his coat and hung eh?” it upon a nail, and he removed his shoulder holster. The weapon he held in his hand for a moment, hesitating; then he thru it inside the flap of hi verails and hung the holster beside the coat The girl watching him asked uneasily “Do you think he i “T think he’s plain tramp,” Hardy told her softly, so that Jubilo could not hear ‘You don't think he was sent by Hardy shook his head. “ He wouldn't send anyone. But if he did, 1 want the man he sends where I can watch him.” She went to light the lamp; he followed her and asked in a whisper: “ How does he look to you, Rose?”’ She hesitated; then she said: “I think I like him. I like the way he smiles Continued on Page 105

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 ‘The Woman in Business —how big is her Future? What first projected women into business? The Typewriter. Who built the first practical typewriter and employed the first typist to run it? Remington |! Since 1874 Remington has introduced more than 2,000,000 women to paying positions and the means to a bigger life. Each year this number is increased by about 75,000. Thanks to Remington, who threw open the doors of opportunity, women have advanced to high achievement in the business world. Today :— A woman who started as a typist is the private.secretary and real advisor to one of America’s greatest financiers. Another is advertising manager of America’s greatest premium business. A salary of about $8000 a year is paid to a woman con- cerned with the promotion of a highly esteemed propri- etary remedy. She started as a typist. Another woman who not so long ago was written of as the ‘highest salaried woman in America’’ thanks the typewriter for her start. And these few instances but typify many others. How to Start How big is the future of the woman today who con- templates business as a career? Business tells us that it cannot find enough of the kind of women it wants. Business fairly clamors for girls of high intelligence and good educa- tion. Executives say that an efficient private secretary is invaluable. -, Loree” i a a aS NS a TREMIN +”, ay oe oy "¢’ Crs - Oe arog > ai oye se ae ‘oY ur @ Fy pe ot

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And how can women hope to achieve in business the greatest immediate gain and the largest ultimate opportunity ? Experience answers, ‘‘ The Typewriter.’’ It is the surest ladder to your business success. To women who intend to enter business the Remington Typewriter Company will be glad to give the benefit of its helpful experience. In over 100 American cities you will find Remington employment offices. Be sure to talk with the nearest office. That will assure you helpful advice on the qualifications for the work and your introduction to the best school in the neighborhood. And it will guarantee that the Remington ofthce will do what it has always done—help you when qualified to get the kind of position you want. But just one word of warning The kind of woman Remington hopes to attract will realize that she cannot jump to the higher rungs of the ladder. She realizes that the larger success will come as the result of application and actual experience. How Remington Service helps Business Men In these 100 American cities a call to the Remington employment office will start the search for the girl you want at the salary you want to pay. The Remington office will not be satisfied till you are. And in 177 American cities and all the surrounding towns your ’phone or your letter will call to your desk the Remington Salesman. He will bring to your business the forward thought in typing. He will explain machines to fit your every typing need. He will demonstrate to you sur- prising savings of business time and business money. You will probably agree that your business deserves all the help it can get. Won’t you then give the Remington Salesman a chance to prove the dollars and cents value of the business help given by the Remington machines? For example, the Remington Self-Starter, which helps your operator to get more work out of her machine. REMINGTON TYPEWRITER COMPANY 374 BROADWAY, NEW YORK BRANCHES EVERYWHERI THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 103 We have openings in our sales force for men returning from overseas who have been ‘‘over the top’ and have the qualifications to make Remington salesmen. 4

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WEVERY time a PALM BEACH Suit comes fm M@ back from the laundry, it brings with it that same novelty and freshness that distinguished it the day you told the Clothier he might send it home. And— when it’s on its trip to the tub, it’s nice to know there’s Number Two waiting to be slipped on. For two PALM BEACH Suits cost no more than one good worsted, and they bring you variety in dress, as well as the maximum in style and comfort. The Genuine, bearing the trade- marked PALM BEACH Label, is shown in a wonderful exhibit of smart patterns—in every conceivable shade. At your Clothier’s. THE PALM BEACH MILLS GOODALL WORSTED CO., SANFORD, ME. A. ROHAUT, AGENT, 229 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK fn aay S PATENT OFFice REGISTERED uv THE GENUINE CLOTH MPD. BY GOODALL WORSTED CO. Look for this Label — your safeguard against imitations June 28,1919

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ee a a ee eee (Continued from Page 101) He nodded. “He's a tramp and a liar; but he may be all right. I’m going to try to keep him.” ““We need somebody,” she agreed. Hardy stepped out into the clotting dusk, and she heard him say: “All right, Jubilo, my friend. If you want to eat you can help me milk the cows.’ When she heard Jubilo’s answer she smiled gayly to herself. For what he said was: “All right, sir. But—heaven help the cows!” They went to the stable together—he and Hardy. Hardy lighted a lantern and brought the cows to the tie-up. As Jubilo passed through the stable he saw the bay horse with the splash of white upon its rump. It was unmistakable. And after that Jubilo watched Hardy with a keen and curi- ous attention. ar F JUBILO had not witnessed the holdup that morning, and if he had not seen the strangely marked bay horse, and if he had not now discovered that same bay in Jim Hardy’s stable—he would have earned his supper, eaten it and drifted on. Hardy had offered him regular work and he had accepted it, but his word lay lightly on this young man. And work did not appeal to him. But he had an acute and lively curiosity; and the chance that Hardy had been one of the train robbers interested him. He had no intention of betraying Hardy if matters turned out as he suspected. Jubilo was not in alliance with the law. But—he wanted to know; he was pleasantly excited at the prospect of living under the same roof with a train robber. The situation appealed to him. Hardy showed him how to milk a cow— that is, he showed Jubilo the motions, and Jubilo tried. But the cow did not know him. The creature stepped on his foot, switched him with her tail and held up her milk. Hardy finished the other beast be- fore Jubilo had made a beginning; he stood above the other for a little, watching him. Jubilo looked up and said cheerfully: ““She’s dry. Not a drop of the milk of human kindness in her.” Hardy’s face flickered into a smile, then was serious again. “You'll never learn younger,” he said. “You've got her excited. Quiet her down. Go up and talk to her and let her see you. Then try again. You've got to get that pail half full before you eat, my friend.” Jubilo chuckled. “Work, before eat. That’s the ticket?” “Yes.” “That's the only thing I don’t like about eating,” said Jubilo. He got up from the stool to go and intro- duce himself to the cow. Hardy had set down his almost-filled pail from the other cow not four feet from Jubilo’s nose, and the dizzying fragrance of the fresh milk had been tormenting the young man. When he tried to stand up his world swayed and he tottered back against the W all of the tie-up. Hardy gripped his arm. ““What’s the matter?”’ he asked sharply. Jubilo was still smiling. “T stumbled,” he said. But when Hardy held the lantern higher he saw the young man’s face was gray, and he understood. “When did you eat last? “T don’t remember,” said Jubilo. Hardy lifted the pail of milk. “‘ Drink,” he said. And in a moment more the warm milk was pouring down Jubilo’s throat. It ran through him in rivers of strength. “Now,” said Hardy, ‘let me try that cow. Jubilo shook his head stubbornly. “I'll do my work before I eat,” he said; and Hardy nodded his approbation. In the contr: iry fashion of cows the beast now became complaisant. She yielded as readily as she had been stubborn before. Hardy stood by, watching, while Jubilo labored. For it was hard work, hard on the unaccustomed muscles of the forearms, and hard on the bent back. Jubilo had not yet learned to pillow his forehead against the cow’s flank while he worked. Nevertheless, in the end the thing was done. They started for the house. Half- way there they passed the pump, and Hardy took Jubilo’s pail. “‘ Might clean up a bit there,”’ he said. He had made Jubilo wash his hands before milking; now the young man doused his face and head and scrubbed them and ” he asked. THE SATURDAY wiped them on the harsh towel Hardy brought out on the porch. When he got through and went to the house, supper was on the table, with Rose in a gingham dress and apron prettily presiding. Jubilo ate until he hurt. He was very tired, and his eyes were heavy for sleep. When they had finished, he and Hardy went out on the porch and sat on the steps while Rose washed dishes. Hardy said: “We've no extra room in the house. You'll have to sleep in the mow. Don’t smoke there.” Jubilo said cheerfully: “If a puff of tobacco would roll a hundred cigare ttes, I couldn’t manufacture one, right now. Hardy looked at him. He was himself smoking a pipe, but he asked: “Could you use the makings “T could,” said Jubilo. And Hardy went in and fetched a wrinkled packet of papers, and gave Jubilo his own tobacco can. After a little both men were puffing in sweet contentment. Jubilo had not known how tired he was till then. With the cigarette half smoked his head fell back against the porch pillar, and he slept. Hardy did not discover this till Rose came out a little later. Then he said to Rose softly: very tired.” “Did you see him eat?’ Rose asked tenderly. ‘‘The poor kid!” Hardy looked at her quizzically. ‘He must be some years older than you.” “T don’t care,”’ said Rose. ‘He's just a kid.” Jubilo stirred in his sleep then. Hardy said to him: ‘You'd best turn in. You'll need sleep.” And Jubilo woke and assented, and bade them good night and went down to the stable. Inside he hesitated, considering. His instinct of a tramp was to move on, move on. But his curiosity as to Jim Hardy made him want to stay. “T'd like to get acquainted with a train robber if he’s one,”” he told himself. So he climbed the ladder to the mow and burrowed in the hay near the open window, and was swiftly asleep. Below him the cows chewed themselves to sleep, the mules swore at each other with good-natured malice in mule sniffs and snorts and kicks, and the bay horse with the white-splashed rump lay down on his bed of straw and settled himself for the night. Up on the porch in the warm winds of the evening Hardy and Rose talked about Jubilo and decided there was in him the makings of a man. Jubilo slept so soundly that he did not hear Hardy tend the beasts at dawn next morning; he did not even wake when Hardy came up to toss down hay. Hardy looked at him and decided to let him sleep. It was a clatter of hoofs up the knoll behind the house that woke Jubilo at last. He looked out of the window and saw a group of horsemen, Tee recognized some of them. The sheriff, Nate Punt, was leading them, and the marshal was there—his old enemy. Jubilo was not afraid of the marshal now, since he was a workingman with a job. He slid down the ladder and went up to where Sheriff Punt was questioning Hardy. Punt was a fat, amiable man, and a keen one. He liked Hardy. Hardy had just come out of the house when Jubilo got there. Punt was saying: “Jim, see anything of a bunch of men up this way yest’day morning?” Hardy said no, he had seen no one. “Except Jubilo, there. Came along toward night,” he explained. The marshal grinned at sheriff looked at him. “Where'd you light from, young fellow?” he asked. “Marshal told me to get out of Muskoka and I got out. This was the first house I struck,”’ Jubilo told him. “That was day before yest'day,” marshal. And the sheriff asked: sleep last night?” Jubilo would have lied anyway. That had become an instinct with him in his dealings with officers of the law. In the present case he had no idea of becoming involved in this case, even as a witness. Witnesses without a local habitation and a name were apt to be held in jail, pending the trial. Jubilo shunned jails. He said: “Slept right outside of Mus- koka, under a stack.” “See the morning train stop by the bridge?” “The lad’s Jubilo. The said the “Where'd you EVENING POST “No. It woke me, coming into Muskoka. I struck out this way.” Sheriff Punt seemed satisfied with that. “They worked it slick,” he said, turning back to Hardy. ‘*They wuz on the train. Started in about ten miles before they come to the bridge. One of ‘em stuck up the last car and told everybody to shell out. Everybody did, except one fellow. He beat it up front through the train, yelling to everybody they wuz holdup men aboard, and for them to hide their stuff. So they did. When they'd got it all hid a man in each car got up with a gun and collected f'om where he'd seen ’em hide it. They dropped the cars—uncoupled them—when they finished with each one. Then just short o’ the bridge they crawled over the express and held up the engineer. Made him stop. Dynamited the express car and the safe. Killed the messenger. Got just short of thirty thousand, besides odds andends. And a fellow with six horses wuz waiting for them at the bridge. They hopped aboard and beat it.’ Hardy nodded; and he asked quietly: “Did they come up this way?’ “Yeah. Right up to the ford, yonder.” The sheriff flung a hand up the river beyond the house. “Looks to me you'd have been here yes- terday,” Hardy suggested. ‘What held you up?” “We got a tip they’d been seen at Squanto, and ran up there on the train, Turned out there wasn't nothing in that, so we came back to take a fresh start on their trail.” “That Squanto story was to delay you, of course. Did you run it down?” “Couldn’t find out who started it. It was done a-purpose, all right. Somebuddy up there knew about the holdup.” Hardy looked across the river. ‘‘ How'd they come up this way?” he asked. “Along that gully over there,” said Sheriff Punt. “Out of sight behind the ridge till they come to the ford. You can see the ford f'om here. Funny you didn’t see them. Six of ’em.” “IT was down in the lower field, culti- vating,”’ said Hardy, and pointed. ‘* Down there early, by six. What time would they get here? “Might have been round eight o'clock. Hardy turned to Rose, on the porch. “Where were you, about eight?” he asked. “Tinkering the flivver,”’ she told them. “In the shed behind the house.” “You didn’t see ‘em, ma'am?” the sheriff asked courteously. Rose shook her head. ‘No, I didn't see them.” “Could you see yore paw, where he was working?” “Oh, yes.” Hardy asked: the ford?” “Trail ends there,” said Punt. “ Reckon they rode their horses in the water a ways, and then scattered. Maybe had a boat there. You got a boat, Jim?” Hardy pointed to the skiff stranded high above the river below the house, and Punt walked down and looked at it. The thing had obviously been there for days; the mud was plastered round it by the retreat- ing water. He came back up the hill, and he and another man went into the stable. Hardy began to look troubled, Jubilo saw. Sheriff Punt came out of the stable and rejoined them. Hardy asked: for, sheriff?” Punt said amiably: “Just taking a look at your horse, Jim.” “What about my horse?” Hardy asked. “Where was he yest’day morning?” “He was in the stable all night. I turned him into the pasture with the cows after I'd fed them.” “Which is the pasture? Hardy pointed to the gate at the foot of the knoll. Punt looked that way and asked: up to the ford, don’t it?’ “Not that far. But it runs that way.” “Sure he was in the stable all night?” “Sure.” “What time d’you turn him out?” ‘Little before six, maybe.” “Was he in the pasture f’om then on?” Rose said from the porch: “I saw him there after I'd washed dishes, about seven o'clock.” Hardy asked, a hint of impatience in his voice: ‘*What’s in your mind, sheriff?” Punt spat on the ground. ‘“’Member I told you there was a fellow waiting at the bridge with six horses?"’ he asked. ” “Where did they go from “What are you looking ” “Runs 105 “Yes.” “He rid your horse,”’ said Punt “My horse!" Hardy echoed; and Jubilo thought there was a false note in his sur prise. “Yeah. That rump.” “No, he didn’t,” said Hardy. ‘That horse was here.” “He was saw by half the passengers,”’ said Punt positively. “What did the man look like?” “Looked like a good-sized man, in blue overalls and shirt, with a bandanna tied across his mouth and his nose.” Hardy as he stood before them was a good-sized man in blue overalls and. shirt; and he caught the implication, and his voice hardened. “Well?” he challenged. “T'm asking you, Jim,” said Punt un comfortably, “what do you make of it?” “Nothing,” said Hardy. “ Either it just happened or they painted a bay to fool you.” “They'd know they you. No sense in that fooling “They'd figure it would delay the hunt.” ““Mebbe.” Punt was noncommittal. He spat again. ‘If I'd been in it,” said Hardy, “I'd have covered that white rump. Painted it out. Do you think I'd have left my card like that?” “You might figure we'd figure you wouldn't, so you would,” said Punt erypti cally; and Jubilo laughed and offered his contribution. ‘That sounds like ‘Peter Piper picked a peck of pickle d peppers,’ sheriff,"’ he said Punt looked at Jubilo bleakly “Does it?" he asked, and Jubilo thought of the Muskoka jail, and kept still. Punt turned back to Jim Hardy. Hardy asked again: ‘“‘ Well?” “Jim,” said Sheriff Punt, “don’t you go takinganytripsforaspell. I might want to talk to you.” “You can talk now, sheriff,” said Hardy “T ain't gota word to say not now,” said Punt. ‘‘But—you stay round home.” He climbed on his horse, with the dif ficulty a fat man must experience in such a maneuver, and nodded to his men. Some of them grinned at Hardy. Then they all wheeled and rode down the knoll to the river, and up the river bank toward the ford. Hardy and Rose and Jubilo watched them go. When they were out of sight Rose came and touched her father’s arm. “ Breakfast's ready,” she said. Hardy nodded to Jubilo. ‘Come along,” he told the young man. They went into the house and sat down at the table and ate. horse with the white r couldn't lay it on iv UBILO was interested, during the follow- ing days, in studying Jim Hardy. Train robber or not, Hardy was a strange i. :n and an interesting one. That there was a mystery about him Jubilo made sure on the afternoon of that first day, when he had been at Hardy’s place less than twenty four hours. He and Hardy were at the stable. There was a promise of rain in the skies and they had driven in from the field. Hardy heard the hoofbeats of a horse approaching along the river road. He listened for a moment, then went into the house. When he came out Jubilo saw a hard bulge beneath the flap of his overalls. He maneuvered to get on that side of Hardy and saw the butt of a revolver, where it was tucked between over alls and shirt. That interested Jubilo immensely. Train robber or not, Hardy lived with fear. He expected the coming of a man to meet whom a revolver might be required. Jubilo let his conjectures play with that idea But he was too tired for much thought that first evening. He had been worked like a mule that day. Planting was over and don with before he came, but cultivating time was beginning, and there was work fo half a dozen men. Hardy’s last man had departed toward Muskoka two days before Jubilo’s advent, on bibulous pleasures bent, and his return was not anticipated. Jubilo had to fill his place Farming is not skilled labor in the sense of requiring a long apprenticeship that is to say, farm work is not skilled labor Jubilo found that he only needed a new set of back muscles, and of leg muscles, and of arm muscles, and a new skin for the palm of his hands, to be reasonably well equipped Continued on Page 108

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Making It Work for You CREED is strong in proportion to the strength of those who believe in it. And the Firestone creed, most miles per dollar, is a power in transportation today because of the Organization which caught the spirit and works by it, honestly and well. Every Firestone man appreciates his own im- portance as a link in the chain of most miles per dollar service and the whole institution responds to the idea and is devoted to seeing it through. FIRESTONE TIRE Firestone Park And as a belief is always stronger when it has the practical backing of a financial interest, so it was arranged that Firestone workers should be shareholders in the Company. Now most miles per dollar is a personal re- sponsibility to thousands of Firestone people. You are their customer. Most miles per dollar is their personal obligation to you. ~— Over 90% of Firestone workers are share- holders in the Company. & RUBBER COMPANY Akron, Ohio Branches and Dealers Everywhere June 28,1919

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SATURDAY EVENING POST {ctual size illustrahon of a 5-inch Firestone Cord Tire with the new Non-Skid Tread, built to the largest standard f this size established hy the industry.

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(Continued from Page 105) rr is tasks He acquired these tools of e cond in the only possible way. Hardy had gone in for corn that year, ind the green blades were six inches high when Jubilo arrived. Along with the corn, owever, vast quantities of weeds, all extra tough, had thrust up their heads. On the day after his arrival Hardy took Jubilo and to the of the nearest cornfield, dentified the corn for him so that he need not mistake it for a weed, and gave him brief instructions. Then he hitched one of the mules to the cultivator and drove to } of the field and started own account, and once or where Jubilo was smiled to him- fo ! a hoe edge e opposite side to work on his te ie looked over to y chopping away, tw weed!) and f with a cer- n love with ibilo started in at his task zest. He had never fallen rk he had never even become ac- juainted with it. To drive his sharp hoe through the base of a flourishing weed and ee it topple and fall was exhilarating. Also, he was surprised to find how easy it was. The weeds cut like cheese, the hoe weighed no more than e, and the sun was only comfortably warm his was during the first five minutes or o. At the end of that time he became con- a faint pain low down in his back 1 that came from stooping over tried to stand up straighter as +t tt a cigare cious of He decides too far he worked o he pain did not go away in increased Iso, he fou h a traight as he wished becoming heavier; it wa ward. It required a distinct effort to lift it for each stroke. This effort increased. After fifteen minutes Jubilo stood the hoe up on end and inspected it, turning it from side to sice “You don't look any he told it. “But weight fast.” Then he weat off his forehead and started in again, and the sun began to burn through his shirt upon his shoulders. Also that ache in his back was spreading to his shoulders. And the thighs of his legs, in the back, were developing an ache of their own. And his shoulder muscles were lagging. When he stopped to straighten up now his back felt stiff, and he half- expected to hear it creak The hoe was so heavy by this time that it was all he could do to lift it, and there was no force whatever in its downward swing. Also, his strokes were becoming inaccurate, and once he sliced off a spear of corn When he did that he looked across the field to Hardy, and wondered guiltily whether Hardy could see. But Hardy was a quarter of mile away. However, he might come over this way and discover the cut stalk. So Jubilo knelt down and buried it in the soft earth out of sight. Then he moved on along the It was a few minutes discovered the weeds toughening. The hoe came down on the stalk of one that was only medium size, and it did not cut through. Jubilo could hardly believe his eye He swung the hoe again and cut the weed, and Five minutes later rhe fact, it ard to stand I he was pulling him for hoe bigger, darn you,” you surely are acquiring wiped the row. after that that he were went on Within Ten Minutes After the THE SATURDAY the thing happened again; and five minutes after that it was happening regularly. Ju- bilo wondered if the sun climbing higher was baking the weed stems to this new steel-like consistency. The thing seemed probable. He knew that the sun was bak- ing him. His shoulders felt hot, scorching. An hour after he started to work he was one ache from head to toe; half an hour after that he was dead tired. He felt angrily that Hardy had given himself all the best of it. Nothing to do but trail along after a mule, while he, Jubilo, broke his back over this gigantic and ponderous hoe. He was about ready to quit in disgust when he saw Rose come out of the house and down to the field. She carried a jug and something done up in a napkin. He decided he would not quit so long as she was in sight. Besides, she might be bring- ing him something to eat. Jubilo enjoyed eating. Rose came to the edge of the field at the other side, and waited there for Hardy to finish a row. When he stopped beside her she handed him the jug and he tilted it. It was full of buttermilk, cooled in the well; and there were cookies in the napkin. Hardy wiped his lips after his drink and took two or three of the cookies. Rose looked the field to where Jubilo toiled. “Why do you make him do that?” she asked. ‘‘ You could do in five minutes with the cultivator as much as he will doin a day.” “He needs the work,” her father said. “T expect he’s awfully tired.” Hardy nodded. “I remember my first day hoeing corn,” he said. “I quit at eleven o’clock—dead-beat. Let’s see how he holds out.” “I'm going to take him some butter- milk,’ Rose said. “Yes,” Hardy agreed. “But keep him from his work, Rose.” Rose smiled her assent as she started off across the field. Jubilo saw her coming but he pretended not to see until she called to him: ‘Do you like buttermilk?” He looked toward her at that; and it rested him just to look at her. She was so clean ‘I don’t know the meaning of the word,’ he said; “but I'll try anything once.” She gave him the jug and held out the cookies. He ate all there were, drank till he could drink no more. “T expect you're pretty tired,” sh gested. “Shucks, no! bragged. “I like Her eyes twink «i as she watched him pick up the hoe and make an awkward swipe at tl he nearest weed. ‘Here,’ she said. “ Let me show you an easier way.”’ And she took the hoe from him. “Give it a sort of sidewise, slicing cut,”’ she said. ‘“And—you don’t need to lift your hoe so high. Not more than a foot or two above the ground.” He had a faint and sneaking hope that she would keep the hoe and keep on demonstrating. While she worked he could not. That was certain. But he was disap- pointed. She handed the back to him. “Do you see?” she asked. acToss don’t > Sug- is just play,” he on hoe Train Had Stopped He EVENING POST “You mean to say you've done this?” he demanded. “Oh, yes, I often put in a day at it when we—when the weeds get ahead of us.” He took the hoe. If she could do it so could he. She said good-by and started away, and he went at the work again. His hands were blistered by this time. Before long the blisters would break. His arms and shoulders burned and throbbed, and he felt sure his back was permanently bent and baked into a fish-hook curve. But—if she could do it so could he. He was still at it when Rose blew the horn that called them to dinner; and Hardy nodded approvingly when they met on the way to the house. He inspected Jubilo’s hands, and put adhesive over the blisters. ‘They'll toughen up in a day or two,” he said. “Sure,” Jubilo agreed. He ate so much that he felt like apologiz- ing, and did so. Rose laughed at him. “That's because you’ ve worked so hard,” she told him. “They didn’t know what work was till I invented it,” he arreed cheerfully. ‘‘ And I'll take that piece of pie.” A razor, a needle and thread clumsily manipulated, soap and water, and a week of hard work made a difference in the out- ward aspect of Year ob Jubilo. He had given up thinking of slipping away. He was still interested in Hardy and in the dread that lay upon the man; but more than that, he was beginning to take a very distinct pleasure in being near Rose. Nevertheless, the young man’s shifty and evasive habits were still strong upon him. When he could shirk the work without detection he did so. There was no shame . him; there was only a wariness lest he » found out. He made an impression on Haniy. Hardy was a just man; justice was his preéminent quality. He acknowl- edged to himself that Jubilo had done better than he expected, and his first mis- trust of the young man was slowly dissi- pated. Once or twice he questioned Jubilo as to affairs in Muskoka, seventeen miles across the fat prairie. Had st rangers ap- peared there? What were they like? What did they seek? Whence had they come? Did they remain or had they departed? These questions, and many others, in the all-too-short evenings upon the porch while they watched the lights of Muskoka flicker so dimly through the night. Jubilo could not answer Hardy’s questions. He had been in Muskoka only two days. But—he sensed the anxiety behind the man’s inqui- ries, and wondered over it. During that week Jubilo learned the joys of waking at dawn, of tumbling out for the long day of steady, healihy toil with its pleasant intervals for eating, and of the quiet smokes upon the porch in the night, before sheer drowsiness and fatigue sent him off to the mow to sleep. The soul of the man was quickening. But—there re- mained dross which must be purged by fire. The beginning of this purging came about at the end of the week. Hardy had given Jubilo the task of feeding and water- ing the beasts in the morning. Jubilo did June 28,1919 this before coming to breakfast. For the most part he did it well enough; but on the seventh day of his stay he slept late, and seanted the task. He fed the cows and the mules and th* white-rumped horse; and he watered the cows; but he left the mules and the horse thirsty, and hurried up for his breakfast. Hardy said nothing while they were eating. But afterward, when they came out of the house, he asked casually: “ Did you water the stock?” Jubilo had meant to go back and do it after breakfast, but he knew Hardy would not approve of that arrangement, so he lied easily and naturally. “Sure,”’ he said. Hardy did not at once look at him. He was gazing off across the prairie; but after a minute he turned toward Jubilo. “T’ve made some allowances for you,”’ he said quietly. “I know you’re not used to work. I’ve seen that you shirked now and then. That’s to be expected. But—there are two things I cannot stand for: I won't let the animals be abused; and I won't be lied to.” In the old days Jubilo would have taken an impudent delight in the situation. Now he was faintly ashamed of himself, and so he was sullen. * All right,” he said. the way I do things [’ll quit. Right now!”’ “You have that right,” said Hardy. “‘But—first I’m going to teach you to care for your beasts, and to tell the truth.” “How will you teach me all tha Jubilo asked, something of the old impu- dent challenge in his tones. “I’m going to give you the thrashing you need,” said Hardy slowly. And he stepped off the porch to the ground. ‘‘Come down here,”’ he said. Jubilo’s face flamed with the first rush of honest anger he had felt for a good many days; then he grinned wickedly. There had been a time when he knew something of boxing. And—Hardy was an old a. as such things go. Must be near fifty <¢ least. He himself had been hardened i his week of work; he was in fair condition. He stepped lightly down and faced Hardy, and Hardy came toward him siowly and struck out. Jubilo moved blow, and his Hardy’s body. “Tf you don’t like t?” his head, dodging the counter went home in That was where Hardy must be weak; that was where the punish- ment would tell. As he _ side-stepped Hardy’s rush he saw Rose come to the door and watch them. Her hand was at her throat, but there was no revulsion in her eyes. There was only interest. After that first glimpse Jubilo found himself too busy to watch Rose. Hardy showed a surprising, an appalling ability to take care of himself. Jubilo had landed the first blow, but he did not land another Hardy began to break down his guard, and his stiff jolting punches went home on Jubilo’s body and mouth and nose with per- sistent regularity. Jubilo’s nose began to bleed—he could taste the blood in his mouth—one of his eyes ached and swelled till he could not see from it, and his breath began to sob in his throat. (Continued on Page 111)

Saw These Men Gatlop Away From the Train and Strike Due North

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST IM, you and I have been friends ever since you came to town, about 18 years, I think. In fact, you and I and CINCO cigars get the palm for friendship on this corner, with a shade the best of it in favor of CINCO. Have you ever stopped to think how fortunate, how lucky, we Americans are to have a cigar of such wonderful uni- formity and such excellent qual- ity as CINCO, for seven cents! You’d know if you’d ever traveled abroad—youd know | too, how valuable it is to the smoker to be able to lay seven cents on a show case, say | ‘CINCO’, and get a cigar that beats anything you ever found STICK VO OTTO EISENLOHR & BROS., INCORPORATED in Europe for less than fifteen cents. Even in this country, it’s pretty fine when you are traveling, to know that any place you go you can meet our old friend CINCO for the small sum of seven cents. Many a time, Jim, far away from home, out in the oil fields of the southwest, or in visiting my mines in Colorado, I have returned to the hotel, bought a pocket full of CINCOS, tilted back my chair, cocked my feet above my head and completed the day’s success in a cloud of cheerful CINCO smoke thet circled o'er my head. COMFORT! Yes, regular CINCO comfort that makes you tell the world,— PHILADELPHIA Established 1850

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i i : (Continued from Page 108) Nevertheless, he was quite cool under the punishment. He saw that he could not reach Hardy by sparring. Hardy was the better boxer, for all his years. And Jubilo was game enough in such matters to take punishment and watch his chance. When that chance came he would rush. Presently Hardy stepped back a little, breathing dee ply. And Jubilo saw the open- ing he had waited for. While Hardy was still off balance with that backward step Jubilo went in, his guard down, his left driving for Hardy’s body, and his right ready for the finisher if Hardy should lower his hands. But—Hardy did not lower his hands. Jubilo saw the iron fist coming, immensely big and dangerous; and for the life of him in that infinitely long instant of time he could not move or block. He watched that big fist come till it slapped home against his chin; and then he whirled dizzily and went down and lay quite still. His senses came back under a deluge of water. Hardy had poured a bucketful of it over his head. Jubilo mumbled something, and sat up and opened his eyes. Hardy was standing watching him; and Rose was still in the door. Hardy said evenly: “Now go water the stock; then you can get out. Jubilo got to his feet; and abruptly through his battered countenance there broke a smile. ‘I'll water the stock,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry I lied. But as for getting = - I'm not much od haven’t been—but I may be some day. If you're willing to keep me I'd like to stick round.” Hardy studied Jubilo for a moment, then he looked at Rose, then back at Jubilo again. “Allright,” he said. ‘‘ You’ve taken this very well. I need you. And—it takes a good man to take a licking. I'll be glad to have you stay Jubilo nodded. Then he went to the pump for the water, and Rose and her father saw him disappear into the stable. After a moment they he ar rd him singing there. Rose said softly: ‘“ You—hurt him badly.” “T thought it would bring out—whatever was in him,”’ said Hardy. “I was right. He is a man.” ‘Yes,”’ said Rose, and she smiled. “ Yes, I think so too.” Vv UBILO’S second week at Hardy's place went quietly. No more was said of the thrashing Hardy had administered; there was no rancor and no taunting. Hardy was pleased with Jubilo, and Jubilo was more interested in the business of living than he had ever been before. He liked Rose, liked to be near her; but it was really Hardy who held him. Jubilo was trying to fathom the man and understand him. Hardy was not at all his idea of a train robber. Yet Hardy might have been anything. He was calm and strong and steady and quiet. Strength was the dominant feature in the man. Jubilo thought that if Hardy was a train robber he was certainly a good one. He would be good anything. He was that sort of man Jubilo was enjoying himself. He was even beginning to get a distinct pleasure out of the steady work that Hardy laid upon him. Every night saw him throbbing with weariness; and each morning he woke ach- ing and stiff. But after the first few min- utes of waking, strength and suppleness flowed into him, and life had never been so sweet. He ate ravenously, lived whole- somely, and little by little the dross of idle- ness fell away from him. Once or twice he laughed at himself for his new habits of industry, and once or twice he wondered why the old restlessness did not drive him away again upon the open road. In the middle of the second week a man he knew tramped past Hardy’s place—a hobo. The man remembered Jubilo, and they talked together, the other jeering. Jubilo grinned good-naturedly and bade the man get along. “Else Hardy will put you to work and make you like it too,”’ he threatened. And the other tramp departed with fur- tive backward glances as though he sus- pected Jubilo’s sanity. Hardy asked Jubilo about this man that night; and Jubilo sensed the familiar alert suspicion in Hardy’s voice. There was no doubt that Hardy expected and feared the coming of an enemy. Jubilo was able to reassure him. THE SATURDAY “His name's Side- Door Red, or Red for short,”’ he said. ‘I ran into him in Ohio last summer, and he was in Mississippi last winter. Plain ’bo.”’ ‘‘He’s a traveler, to cover that ground,” Hardy remarked; and Jubilo nodded. “Sure, in side-door Pullmans,” he agreed. ‘‘That’s the way he got his name.” Rose was inside washing dishes and sing- ing softly to herself. She sang well, and this was a certain bond between her and Jubilo. She had a piano, and once or twice she played while they sang together, Hardy in tilted chair against the wall listening and watching them with veiled eyes. Jubilo taught her the song that had given him his name. The tune took possession of her, as a catchy tune will, and she hummed it con- stantly about her work: He six foot one way, two foot tudder, An’ he weigh t’ree hundred pound. His coat so big he couldn't pay de tailor, An’ it won't go halfway round. He drill so much dey call him Cap'an, An’ he get so drefful tann'd, I spect he try an’ fool dem Yankees For to tink he contraband. Then the laughing chorus, with that tri- umphant couplet: It mus’ be now de Kingdom comin’ A n’ de year ob Jubilo! Even Hardy took up the song, until it got on all their nerves and they cried out in protest when anyone started it up. Only Jubilo w “4 loyal “T like it,” he insisted. ‘‘When a song's as good as ths it one I don’t care how often I sing it. Well, I do,” it out of my hearing, young man He was good-natured about it. Hardy was an even-tempered man, and he was habitually good-natured. He and Rose and Jubilo got along very well together. They had the gift of harmony. They were good friends. Thus far Rose and Jubilo were nothing more. Hardy had an ancient and eee automobile, which lived in a shed behind the house. Theoretically it was for use on trips to town, too long for a horse to com- pass easily ina day. Actually it was much out of order. Rose and Hardy both knew how to run it, but neither of them had the mechanical gift that would have enabled them to keep it + order. It was balky when Jubilo came to the place; so balky that Hardy did at dare use it for fear it would stall and leave him stranded miles from home. They joked about this antiquated car, and Jubilo told Hardy he could tinker it into shape. But in the steady flow of daily toil there was no time till one day in the second week when it rained, a steady and torrential rain that made even the few paces from house to stable as wet as transatlantic voyage. After the stock ha been cared for there ‘ as nothing more that could be done. Hard y at breakfast asked Jubilo whether he played cribbage. Jubilo did. Hardy got out the board; but Jubilo said: “‘Suppose I go over the flivver.” Hardy said: “It’s not worth it. The thing is too old to work.” “They’re never too old,” Jubilo told him. ‘The older the better. I'll take a look at it.” Hardy went out with him to the shed and lighted his pipe and sat just inside the door on an upturned box, the rain pelting down outside, and watched Jubilo set about his task. There is a charm about a rainy day when one can idle indoors and let it rain. The shed, this day, was a pleasant place. It was small; and the rain outside the door was so near them that they had that pleasant sensation of imminently escaping peril or discomfort. There’s no fun in being warm unless the day is cold; there’s no fun in being cool unless the day Hardy told him. ‘Keep y EVENING POST is hot; and there’s no fun in being dry unless the day is wet. This day was very wet indeed. So Jubilo and Hardy had a cheerful time of it in the shed, and made more progress in their mutual acquaintance than they had ever made before. Jubilo found any number of things the matter with the car. spark plug was cracked, and Hardy thought he had a new one somewhere, and found it, and Jubilo put it in place. Then he suspected carbon, and took off the cylinder head, while Hardy laughed at the contortions That were neces- sary to reach the bolts hidden under the dash. He found carbon a quarter of an inch thick on piston and cylinder walls; and he took a screw driver and laboriously scraped it away. The valves were pitted, but he had no grinding tool. The best he could do was to clean them thoroughly before he replaced the cylinder head. Then he cleaned the contact post in the crank case, which picks current from the magneto; and while he was about it he tightened up the gears. For good measure he jacked up the wheels in turn and ad- justed them. One front wheel was so tight it would scarcely turn at all; the other was so loose it wabbled an inch each way in his hands. Grease and oil, plentifully applied to the car and his own face and hands, completed the job, and kept him busy through the morning and into the after- noon. At last he stood back and rubbed his black hands together and said cheerfully: ‘There. If she don’t go now I'll eat an inner tube.” ‘Don’t do it,” Hardy warned him. “I've only got one spare.” When they went back into the house Rose protested that Jubilo was too dirty to come in, and that he would never be clean again. But he made her pour kerosene on his hands to cut the grease; and when he was a white man again he and Hardy took up their game of cribbage. Cribbage is an amiable game, and one meant for good fellowship; for there are only two kinds of cribbage players beginners, and others. There is probabls less skill in this game than in any other th at pretends to be a game of skill. Take the shrewdest old master and a player who knows the rudiments and let 7 so play a hundred-game match—there will not be three games to choose between them at the end. Hardy and Jubilo were to play many games of cribbage; and they kept an account from the beginning. At the end of their first hundred games Hardy had won fifty-one, Jubilo forty-nine. And Jubilo won the next two. A gentle anda leisurely occupation. And these days, for all the steady work from dawn till dusk, were gentle and leisurely days. Jubilo continued to wonder whether Hardy was a train robber, and once or twice he was half minded to ask point blank. But he did not. He contented him self with waiting and with wondering Sheriff Punt had not ridden their way again; they had no news of the chase Jubilo thought the robbers would be lying low just now, and waiting for the excite ment to blow over. He decided it was not unlikely, if Hardy was one of them, that the loot was hidden about the place some where. He wondered where it was hidden, and even poked into a corner or two to see what he might see. He found nothing, but he had not really expected to fi nd anything. He could wait. If Hardy was in it, sooner or later some of the gang would be dropping in on them here, to pass a word and fill a pocket with dollars, and ride away again. ry won- dered if’ it was the coming of the gang- sters that Hardy dreaded. He thought not, Hardy was not a man to fear his associates in such an enterprise. He was not, in fact, a man to fear anything. But he did fear something—that is to say, he expected someone, for whom he waited with a pistol ready to his hand. Not many came along the river road in those days. Few had business that way. But when anyone did come Hardy made ready for them. Jubilo was taking pride by this time in his ability to work. Rose laughed at him for it one night; and he told her cheerfully: “Laugh if you like, but you can’t tell me there ever was a man who picked up the trick of it so smartly.” ‘In a year or so,"’ she teased, “ you'll be able to really accomplish mo when you work.’ “You talk like these old-timers who begin every story they tell with: ‘Now when [ was a boy.’”’ “Oh, but you really don’t know what work is—yet,”’ she assured him. ‘I’m satisfied,” he declared. “If I don't know then ignorance is bliss. Don’t teach me.” ‘Dad will teach you, when corn-cutting time comes.” “Corn-cutting!"” he exclaimed. ‘ You mean to say just when I’ve got that corn trained to stand alone and lick the weeds without help I've got to cut it all down?” ‘Not yet,” she said. “* Not till it’s taller. He alf again as tall as you.” ‘Does it get that big, honestly?” “Of course.”’ “T didn’t know corn grew on trees. She laughed; and he thought her laugh very musical and charming. A fine girl. A girl who could do things too. No namby- pamby, sitting round with her hands in her lap. He thought she was what stage directions would call a “practicable girl,” and the idea amused him. He would tell her that —-some day. He did not quite dare tell her now, and tt was a new experience for Jubilo to hold his tongue. A very quiet, peaceful sort of existence, there on Hardy's place. But over them day by day hung that shadow of dread. One night he and Hardy were on the porch as usual, and Rose, her work done, came out to join them, No one spoke for a moment and then Hardy said softly: ‘Someone's coming.” They listened, and Jubilo heard the soft thud of a horse’s hoofs in the dusty road down the river, and the creak of a buggy's wheels That's right,” he agreed. Hardy got up and went into the house, and when he came out Jubilo knew he was armed. He and Jubilo had been sitting on the steps just in front of the lighted door He moved to one side now, and sat down in the shadow on the edge of the porch. Ros stood near him, with a way she had of rallying to him at such times. Jubilo did not move and Rose “Come out of the light eg Jubilo shook his head laughingly. “I'm comfortable.” They heard the horse and buggy come nearer, slowly. The horse was walking After a long time they caught a glimpse of the lighted lantern which hung between the wheels at the right-hand side, to light the road under the horse’s feet. The lantern disappeared behind a rise of ground came in sight again, approached the house It did not turn up toward them, how ever; it went past, on up the river road The light disappeared, and slowly the faint sounds of its progress receded till they died in the distance. After a little time Hardy stirred. He went into the house and came out agair and sat down beside Jubilo. He filled hi pipe and smoked it in silence; and Rose went to the piano inside and began to play and sing softly. The hush and the glory of the night wrapped them warmly round said softly The stars shone high above. The smoke from Hardy's pipe and Jubilo’s cigarette drifted upward and was lost, as it seemed among those stooping star Jubilo. looking up, th ought he might almost have reached up and plucked one of the largest, they seemed so near He wondered whose coming Hardy was awaiting. He wanted perhaps, he would do so When the pipe was done Har ly rose “Good night, young man,” he said gently Jubilo said “Good night r,”” quietly He had never 1 to Hardy before, and he wa lite unconscious of 1t now Hard vent indoor and Jubitlo went down to the barn and slapped the bay horse on that white-splashed rump and climbed to } bed in the n n

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 SES RUMEN es aa Ay) e “Sy ree &

if

; INS BS Ay B\ NARS ‘ Nt > AQ Verithin and Wrist WATCHES The Gruen Watchmakers Guild makes watches for those who want something a little finer than just ‘‘a good watch.”’ Read how they have standardized fine watches for America NG TDG IS SS Pde cA Y. America had the best watchmaking machinery— This Guild Workshop is not an ordinary Trade Switzerland the best watch craftsmen. How get Repair Shop where regular repairs are sent—that the two together? is a function your local jeweler can perform. It is a real Service Workshop where very badly damaged watches can be restored, and, what is more impor SAY The Gruen Watchmakers Guild, instead of bring ing, as is frequently done, a few Swiss watchmakers to America to train American workmen in that part of watchmaking which machines can't do, took American machines to the Swiss craftsmen tant, where standardized duplicate repair parts are always on hand for prompt delivery to any jeweler in America. Su ING NG. mS . a = » < S Re y, Sa A rf Sy ve A In America at Time Hill, Cincinnati, is the quaint Guild workshop where the hand-wrought cases ire made, the movements inserted and given final adjustments. From here the Gruen Guild products Gruen Verithins $ 40.00 to $250.00 ire sold through 1,200 jeweler agencies, the best in ia 200.00 = 400.00 each locality. Dietrich Gruens 275.00 “ 785.00 a aANG ofa ING < Ss GRUEN WATCHMAKERS GUILD, Time Hill, McMillan & Bennington Sts., Cincinnati, Ohio Makers of the famous Gruen Watche nee 1874 a -i Canadian branch, Toronto, Canada A—The Gruen Verithin. Plain or deco *—No. Z&41 Rectangular shape. All rated case Solid gold, $70 to $250 jlatinum, se with AAI diamonds Gold filled, $40 and up BK — The new Louis XIV style. Solid gold $100 to $250. Gold filled (ultra qual 4 The odish Plain or decorated. ty), $65 and up = Solid gold, $65 and up Exact reproduction of the Gruen W atchmakers Guid Servic Workshops m Time Hi Cincinnati, where duplicate standardized part are always on hand fai Sn NS 24) BD amie oo Gi GR IGT RG LE IG LEI DNG SR DGGE RGD) MM Lak SAMA KOs MO ow, Sa IW Se oF PA Se oN Sn ‘ING Yp

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ee ee co om ea

“No, I hardly think I could do that. I shall go back to London to-morrow and stay at the Carlton for a few days. Then I shall sail for America. There are a couple of pieces I’ve got to do for the fall. I ought to be starting on them.” Maud looked away. “You've got your work,” inaudibly. George understood her. “Yes, I’ve got my work.” “T’m glad.” She held out her hand. “You’ve been very wonderful. Right from the beginning you’ ve been—oh, what’s the use of my saying anything!” “T’ve had my reward—I’ve known you. We’ re friends, aren’t we?” “My best friend.” “Pals?” el They shook hands. she said almost xxv WAS never so upset in my life!”’ said Lady Caroline. She had been saying the same thing and many other things for the past five minutes. Until the departure of the last guest she had kept an icy com- mand of herself and shown an unruffled front to the world. She had even contrived to smile. But now, with the final automo- bile whirring its way homeward, she had thrown off the mask. The very furniture of Lord Marshmoreton’s study seemed to shrink, seared by the flame of her wrath. As for Lord Marshmoreton himself he looked quite shriveled. It had not been an easy matter to bring her erring brother to bay. The hunt had been in progress fully ten minutes before she and Lord Belpher finally cornered the poor wretch. His plea, through the key- hole of the locked door, that he was work- ing on the family history and could not be disturbed was ignored; and now he was face to face with the avengers. “I cannot understand it,’”’ continued Lady Caroline. ‘‘ You know that for months we have all been straining every nerve to break off this horrible entanglement and, just as we had begun to hope that some- thing might be done, you announce the engagement in the most public manner. I think you must be out of your mind. I can hardly believe even now that this appalling thing has happened. I am hoping that I shall wake up and find it is all a nightmare. How you can have done such a thing, I cannot understand.” “Quite!” said Lord Belpher. If Lady Caroline was upset, there are no words in the language that will adequately describe the emotions of Percy. From the very start of this lamentable episode in high life Percy had been in the forefront of the battle. It was Percy who had had his best hat smitten from his head in the full view of all Piccadilly. It was Percy who had suf- fered arrest and imprisonment in the cause. It was Percy who had been crippled for days owing to his zeal in tracking Maud across country. And now all his sufferings were in vain. He had been betrayed by his own father. There was, so historians of the Middle West tell us, a man of Chicago named Young, who once, when his nerves were unstrung, put his mother—unseen—in the chopping machine, and canned her and labeled her ‘‘Tongue.”’ It is enough to say that the glance of disapproval which Percy cast upon his father at this juncture would have been unduly severe if cast by the Young effspring upon their parent at the moment of confession. Lord Marshmoreton had rallied from his initial panic. The spirit of revolt began to burn again in his bosom. Once the die is east for revolution there can be no looking heal k. One must defy, not apologize. Per- haps the inherited tendencies of a line of ancestors who, whatever theirshortcomings, had at least known how to treat their womenfolk, came to his aid. Possibly there stood by his side in this crisis ghosts of dead and buried Marshmoretons, whisper- ing spectral encouragement in his ear—the ghost, let us suppose, of that earl who, in the days of the seventh Henry, had stabbed his wife with a dagger to cure her of a tendency to lecture him at night; or of that other earl who, at a previous date in the annals of the family, had caused two aunts and a sister to be poisoned appar- ently from a mere whim. At any rate, Lord Marshmoreton produced from some source suffic sient courage to talk back. “Silly nonsense!’”’ he grunted. ‘Don’t see what you’re making all this fuss about. Maud loves the fellow. I like the fellow. Perfectly decent fellow. Nothing to make a fuss about. Why shouldn’t I announce the engagement?” “You must be mad!” cried Lady Caro- line. “Your only daughter and a man no- body knows anything about!” “Quite!” said Percy, Lord Marshmoreton seized his advantage with the skill of an adroit debater. “‘That’s where you're wrong. I know all about him. He’s a very rich man. You heard the way all those people at dinner behaved when they heard his name. Very celebrated man! Makes thousands of pounds a year. Perfectly suitable match in every way. “Tt is not a suitable match,” said Lady Caroline vehemently. ‘I don’t care whether this Mr. Bevan makes thousands of pounds a year or twopence-ha’penny. The match is not suitable. Money is not everything.” She broke off. A knock had come to the door. The door opened and Billie Dore came in. A kind-hearted girl, she had fore- seen that Lord Marshmoreton might be glad of a change of subject at about this time. “Would you like me to help you to- night?” she asked brightly. ‘I thought I would ask if there was anything you wanted me to do.” Lady Caroline snatched hurriedly at her aristocratic calm. She resented the inter- ruption acutely, but her manner, when she spoke, was bland. “Lord Marshmoreton will not re- quire your help to-night,” she said. “He will not be working.” “Good night,” said Billie. “Good night,” said Lady Caro- line. Percy scowled a valediction. “*Money,” resumed Lady Caroline, “is immaterial. Maud is in no posi- tion to be obliged to marry a rich man. What makes the thing impos- sible is that this Mr. Bevan is nobody. He comes from nowhere. He has no social standing whatsoever.” “‘Don’t see it,’’ said Lord Marsh- moreton. ‘ The fellow’s a thoroughly decent fellow; that’s all that matters.” “How can you be so pig-headed! You are talking like an imbecile. Your secretary, Miss Dore, is a nice girl; but how would you feel if Percy were to come to you and say that he was engaged to be married to her?” “Exactly!” said Percy. “Quite!” Lord Marshmoreton rose and moved tothe door. He did it witha certain dignity, but there was a strange, hunted expression in his eyes. “That would be impossible,” he said. “Precisely,” said his sister. ‘I am glad that you admit it.” Lord Marshmoreton had reached the door and was standing holding the handle. He seemed to gather strength from its support. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about that,” he said. “About what?” “About Miss Dore. I married her my- self last Wednesday,”’ said Lord Marsh- moreton, and disappeared like a diving duck. xxvi XxX A QUARTER past four ‘n the after- noon, two days after the memorable dinner party at which Lord Marshmoreton had behaved with so notable a lack of judgment, Maud sat in Ye Cosy Nooke, waiting for Geoffrey Raymond. He had said in his telegram that he would meet her there at four-thirty; but eagerness had brought Maud to the tryst a quarter of an hour ahead of time; and already the sad- ness of her surroundings was causing her to regret this impulsiveness. Depression had settled upon her spirit. She was aware of something that resembled foreboding. Ye Cosy Nooke, as its name will immed- iately suggest to those who know their London, is a tea shop in Bond Street, con- ducted by distressed gentlewomen. In London, when a gentlewoman becomes dis- tressed—which she seems to do on the slightest provocation—she collects about her two or three other distressed gentle- women, forming a quorum, and starts a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AA DAMSEL IN DISTRESS (Continued from Page 25) tea shop in the West End, which she calls Ye Oak-Leaf, Ye Olde Willow-Pattern, Ye Linden-Tree, or Ye Snug Harbor, according to personal taste. There, dressed in Tyro- lese, Japanese, Norwegian or some other exotic costume, she and her associates ad- minister refreshments of an afternoon with a proud languor calculated to knock the nonsense out of the cheeriest customer. Here you will find none of the bustle and efficiency of the

“This Mr. Bevan is Nobody. He Has Neo Social Standing Whatsoever"’ rival establishments of Lyons and Co., nor the glitter and gayety of Rumpelmayer’s. These places have an atmosphere of their own. They rely for their effect on an in- sufficiency of light, an almost total lack of ventilation, a property chocolate cake which you are not supposed to cut, and the sad aloofness of their ministering angels. It is to be doubted whether there is anything in the world more damping to the spirit than a London tea shop of this kind, unless it be another London tea shop of the same kind. Maud sat and waited. Somewhere out of sight a kettle bubbled in an undertone, like a whispering pessimist. Across the room two distressed gentlewomen in fancy dress leaned against the wall. They, too, were whispering. Their expressions sug- gested that they looked on life as low and wished they were well out of it, like the body upstairs. One assumed that there was a body upstairs. One cannot help it at these places. One’s first thought on enter- ing is that the lady assistant will approach one and ask ‘‘ Tea or chocolate? And would you care to view the remains?” Maud looked at her watch. It was twenty past four. She could scarcely believe that

she had been there only five minutes, but the ticking of the watch assured her that it had not stopped. Her depression deepened Why had Geoffrey told her to meet him in a cavern of gloom like this instead of at the Savoy? She would have enjoyed the Savoy. But here she seemed to have lost beyond recovery the first gay eagerness with which she had set out to meet the man she loved Suddenly she began to feel frightened. Some evil spirit, possibly the kettle, seemed to whisper to her that she had been foolish in coming here, to cast doubts on what she had hitherto regarded as the one rock-solid fact in the world, her love for Geoffrey. Could she have changed since those days in Wales? Life had been so confusing of late. In the vividness of recent happen- ings those days in Wales seemed a long way off, and she herself different from the girl of a year ago. She found herself thinking about George Bevan. It was a curious fact that the moment she began to think of George Bevan she felt better. It was as if she had lost her way ina wilderness and had met a friend There was something so capable so soothing about George. And how well he had behaved at that last interview. George seemed somehow to be part of her life She could not imagine a life in which he had no share. And he was at this moment probably packing to return to America, and she would never see him again. Some thing stabbed at her heart. It wa as if she were realizing now for the first time that he was really going She tried to rid herself of the ache at her heart by thinking of Walk She closed her eyes and found that that helped her to remember. With her eyes shut, she could bring it all back—that rainy day, the graceful, supple figure that had come to her out of the mist, those walks over the hills. If only Geoffrey would come! It was the sight of him that she needed. “There you are! Maud opened her eyes with a start The voice had sounded like Geof frey’s, but it was a stranger who stood by the table, and not a particularly prepossessing stranger. In the dim light of Ye Cosy Nooke, to which her opening eyes had not yet grown accustomed, all she could see of the man was that he was remarkably stout She stiffened defensively. This was what a girl who sat about in tea rooms alone had to expect. “Hope I'm not late,” said the : stranger, sitting down and bre athing heavily. ‘ thought a little exercise would do me good, so I walked.” Every nerve in Maud’s body seemed to come to life simultaneously. She ——- <d from head to foot. It was Geof- Tie was looking over his shoulder and endeavoring, by snapping his fingers, to attract the attention of the nearest distressed gentlewoman; and this gave Maud time to recover from the frightful shock she had received. Her dizziness left her, and, leay ing, was succeeded by a panic dismay. Thi couldn't be Geoffrey! It was outrageou that it should be Geoffrey! And yet it un deniably was Geoffrey. For a year she had prayed that Geoffrey might be given back to her, and the gods had heard her prayer They had given her back td ind with a careless generosity they had gi her twice as much of him as she had « xe cted She had asked for the slim Apollo whom she had loved in Wales, and thi colon il changeling had arrived in his stead We all of us have our prejudice Maud had a prejudice against fat men. It may have been the spectacle of her brother Percy, bulging more and more every year she had known him, that had caused this kink in her character. At any rate, it ex isted; and she gazed in sickened silence at Geoffrey. He had turned again now, and she was enabled to get a full and complete view of him. He was not merely stout, he was gross. The slim figure which had (Continued on Page 117)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 115

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ete ee } } } (Continued from Page 113) haunted her for a year had spread into a sea of waistcoat. The keen lines of his face had disappeared altogether. His cheeks were pink jellies. One of the distressed gentlewomen had approached with a slow disdain, and was standing by the table, brooding on the corpse upstairs. It seemed a shame to bother her. “Tea or chocolate?” she inquired proudly. “Tea, please, voice. “One tea,” sighed the mourner. “Chocolate for me,” said Geoffrey briskly, with the air of one discoursing on a congenial topic. “I'd like plenty of whipped cream. And please see that it’s hot.” “One chocolate.” Geoffrey pondered. This was no light matter that occupied him. “And bring some fancy cakes—I like the ones with icing on them—and some tea- cake and buttered toast. Please see that there’s plenty of butter on it.” Maud shivered. This man before her. was a man in whose lexicon there should have been no such word as butter, a man who should have called for the police had some enemy endeavored to thrust butter upon him. “Well,” said Geoffrey, leaning forward, as the haughty ministrant drifted away, “you haven't changed a bit—to look at, I mean.” “No?” said Maud. “You're just the same. I think I’’—he squinted down at his waistcoat—“I have put ona little weight. I don’t know if you notice it? Maud shivered again. He thought he had put on a little weight, and didn’t know if she noticed it! She was oppressed by the eternal melancholy miracle of the fat man who does not realize that he has become fat. “It was living on the yacht that put me a little out of condition,” said Geoffrey. “I was on the yacht nearly all the time since I saw you last. The old boy had a Japanese cook and lived pretty high. It was apo- plexy that got him. We had a great time, touring about. We were on the Mediter- ranean all last winter, mostly at Nice.” “‘T should like to go to Nice,” said Maud, for something to say. She was feeling that it was not only externally that Geoffrey had changed. Or had he in reality always been like this, commonplace and prosaic, and was it merely in her imagination that he had been wonderful? “If you ever go,” said Geoffrey earnestly, “don’t fail to lunch at the Hotel Céte d’Azure. They give you the most amazing selection of hors-d’ceuvres you ever saw. Crayfish as big as baby lobsters! And there’s a fish—I’ve forgotten its name it’ll come back to me—that’s just like the Florida pompano. Be careful to have it broiled, not fried. Otherwise you lose the flavor. Tell the waiter you must have it broiled, with melted butter and a little parsley and some plain boiled potatoes. It’s really astonishing. It’s best to stick to fish on the Continent. People can say what they like, but I maintain that the French don’t really understand steaks or any sort of red meat. The veal isn’t bad, though I prefer our way of serving it. Of course what the French are real geniuses at is the omelet. I remember, when we put in at Toulon for coal, 1 went ashore for a stroll, and had the most delicious omelet with chicken livers, beautifully cooked, at quite a small, unpretentious place near the har- bor. I shall always reraember it.” The mourner returned, bearing a laden tray, from which she removed the funeral bakemeats and placed them limply on the table. Geoffrey shook his head, annoyed. “T particularly asked for plenty of but- ter on my toast!” hesaid. ‘‘I hate buttered toast if there isn’t lots of butter. It isn’t worth eating. Get mea couple of pats, will you, and I'll spread it myself. Do hurry, please, before the toast gets cold. It’s no good if the toast gets cold. They don’t understand tea as a meal at these places,” he said to Maud, as the mourner withdrew. “You have to go to the country to appre- ciate the real thing. I remember we lay off Lyme Regis, down Devonshire way, for a few days, and I went and had tea at a farm- house there. It was quite amazing! Thick Devonshire cream and homemade jam and cakes of every kind. This sort of thing here is just a farce. I do wish that woman would make haste with that butter; it’ll be too late in a minute.” ” said Maud, finding her THE SATURDAY Maud sipped her tea in silence. Her heart was like lead within her. The recur- rence of the butter theme as a sort of leit- motif in her companion’s conversation was fraying her nerves till she felt she could en- dure little more. She cast her mind’s eye back over the months and had a horrid vision of Geoffrey steadily absorbing but- ter, day after day, week after week, ever becoming more and more of a human keg. She shuddered. Indignation at the injustice of fate in -ausing her to give her heart to a man, and then changing him into another and quite different man, fought with a cold terror, which grew as she realized more and more clearly the magnitude of the mistake she had made. She felt that she must escape. And yet how could she escape? She had definitely pledged herself to this man. ““Ah!” cried Geoffrey gayly, as the pats of butter arrived. ‘‘That's more like it!’’ He began to smear the toast. Maud averted her eyes. She had told him that she loved him, that he was the whole world to her, that there would never be anyone else. He had come to claim her. How could she refuse him just because he was about thirty pounds overweight? Geoffrey finished his meal. He took out a cigarette. “No smoking, please!’’ said the dis- tressed gentlewoman. He put the cigarette back in its case. There was a new expres- sion in his eyes now, a tender expression. For the first time since they had met Maud seemed to catch a far-off glimpse of the man she had loved in Wales. Butter appeared to have softened Geoffrey. “So you couldn’t wait!’’ he said with pathos Maud did not understand. “T waited over a quarter of an hour. It was you who were late.’ “T don’t mean that; I am referring to your. engagement. I saw the announce- ment in the Morning Post. Well, I hope you will let me offer you my best wishes. ee Mr. George Bevan, whoever he is, is ucky Maud had opened her mouth to explain, to say that it was all a mistake. She closed it arain without speaking. “So you couldn’t wait!” proceeded Geoffrey with gentle regret. “‘ Well, I sup- pose I ought not to blame you. You are at an age when it is easy to forget. I had no right to hope that you would be proof against a few months’ separation. I expected too much. But it is ironical, isn’t it! There was I, thinking always of those days last summer when we were everything to each other, while you had forgotten me. Forgotten me!” sighed Geoffrey. He picked a frag- ment of cake absently off the tablecloth and inserted it in his mouth. The unfairness of the attack stung Maud to speech. She looked back over the months, thought of all she had suffered, and ached with self-pity. “T hadn’t!” she cried. “You hadn't? But you let this other man, this George Bevan, make love to you.’ “T didn’t! That was all a mistake.” “A mistake?” “Yes. It would take too long to explain, but ys She stopped. It had come to her sud- denly, in a flash of clear vision, that the mistake was one which she had no desire to correct. She felt like one who, lost in a jungle, comes out after long wandering into the open air. For day she had been thinking confusedly, unable to interpret her own emotions; and now everything had abruptly become clarified. It was as if the sight of Geoffrey had been the key toa cipher. She loved George Bevan, the man she had sent out of her life forever. She knew it now, and the shock of realization made her feel faint and helpless. And, mingled with the shock of realization, there came to her the mortification of knowing that her aunt, Lady Caroline, and her brother Percy had been right after all. What she had mistaken for the love of a lifetime had been, as they had so often in- sisted, a mere infatuation, unable to sur- vive the spectacle of a Geoffrey who had been eating too much butter and had put on flesh. Geoffrey swallowed his piece of cake and bent forward. “Aren’t you engaged to this man Bevan?” Maud avoided his eye. She was aware that the crisis had arrived and that her whole future hung on her next words. EVENING POST And then Fate came to her rescue. Be- fore she could speak there was an inter- ruption. “Pardon me,” ment!” So intent had Maud and her companion been on their own affairs that neither of them observed the entrance of a third party. This was a young man with mouse- colored hair and a freckled, badly shaven face which seemed undecided whether to be furtive or impudent. He had small eyes, and his costume was a blend of the flashy and the shabby. He wore a derby hat, tilted a little rakishly to one side, and car- ried a small bag, which he rested on the table between them. “Sorry to intrude, miss.’”” He bowed gal- lantly to Maud. “But I want to havea few words with Mr. Spencer Gray here.” Maud, looking across at Geoffrey, was surprised to see that his florid face had lost much of its color. His mouth was open and his eyes had taken on a glassy expres- sion. ‘I think you have made a mistake,” she said coldly. She disliked the young man at sight. “This is Mr. Raymond.” Geoffrey found speech. “Of course I’m Mr. Raymond!" he cried angrily. ‘‘What do you mean by coming and annoying us like this!” The young man was not discomposed. He appeared to be used to being unpopular. He proceeded as though there had been no interruption, He produced a dingy card. “Glance at that,”’ he said. “‘ Morris Wil- Joughby and Son, Solicitors. I’m Son. The guv’nor put this little matter into my hands. I’ve been looking for you for days, Mr. Gray, to hand you this paper.” He opened the bag like a conjurer performing a trick, and brought out a stiff document of legal aspect. ‘‘ You're a witness, miss, that I've served the papers. You know what this is, of course?” he said to Geoffrey; “action for breach of promise of marriage. Our client, Miss Yvonne Sinclair, of the Regal Theater, is suing for ten thousand pounds. And if you ask me,” said the young man with genial candor, dropping the professional manner, “I don’t mind telling you I think it’s a walk-over! It's the best litfle action for breach we've handled for years.’’ He became professional again. ‘‘ Your lawyers will no doubt com- municate with us in due course. And if you take my advice,” he concluded, with an- other of his swift changes of manner, “you'll get ’em to settle out of court, for, betwee n you and me and the lamp-post, you haven't an earthly!” Geoffrey had started to his feet. He was puffing with outraged innocence. “What the devil do you mean by this?” he demanded. ‘Can't you see you've made a mistake? My name is not Gray. This lady has told you that I am Geoffrey Raymond!” ““Makes it all the worse for you,”’ said the young man imperturbably, ‘making advances to our client under an assumed name. We've got letters and witnesses and the whole bag of tricks. And how about this photo?” He dived into the bag again. “Do you recognize that, miss?” Maud looked at the photograph. It was unmistakably Geoffrey. And it had evi- dently been taken recently, for it showed the later Geoffrey, the man of substance. It was a full-length photograph, and across the stout legs was written in a flowing hand the legend ‘‘To Babe from her little Pootles.”” Maud gave ashudder and handed it back to the young man, just as Geoffrey, reaching across the table, made a grab foi it. “T recognize it,’ she said. Mr. Willoughby Junior packed the pho- tograph away in his bag and turned to go. “That's all for to-day then, I think,” he said affably. He bowed again in his courtly way, tilted the derby hat a little more to the left, and, having greeted one of the distressed gentle- women who loitered limply in his path with a polite “Gangway, if you please, Mabel!” which drew upon him a eulen stare of which he seemed ecblivious, he passed out, leaving behind him strained silence. Maud was the first to break it. “T think I'll be going,” she said. The words seemed to rouse her com- panion from his stupor. “Let me explain!” “There’s nothing to explain.” “Tt was just a—it was just a passing it was nothing, nothing!” ““Pootles!’”” murmured Maud. said a voice. “One mo- 117 Geoffrey followed her as she moved to the door. “Be reasonable!"" pleaded Geoffrey **Men aren’t saints! It was nothing! Are you going to end—everything—just be- cause I lost my head?” Maud looked at him with a smile.’ She was conscious of an overwhelming relief The dim interior of Ye Cosy Nooke no longer seemed depressing. She could have kissed this unknown “ Babe” whose busi- nesslike action had enabled her to close a regrettable chapter in her life with a clear conse ience. “But you haven't only lost your head, Geoffrey,” she said; “you've lost your figure as well.” She went out quickly. With a convulsive bound Geoffrey started to follow her, but was checked before he had gone a yard There are formalities to be observed before a patron can leave Ye Cosy Nooke. “If you please!” said a distressed, gen- tlewomanly voice. The lady whom Mr. Willoughby had addressed as Mabel--erroneously, for her name was Ernestine—was standing beside him with a slip of paper. “Six and twopence,”’ said Ernestine. For a moment this appalling statement drew the unhappy man's mind from the main issue. “Six and twopence for a cup of chocolate and a few cakes?” he cried, aghast. ‘‘It’s robbery!” “Six and twopence, please!" sa‘’d the queen of the bandits with undisturbed calm. She had been through this sort of thing before. Ye Cosy Nooke did not get many customers, but it made the most of those it did get. “Here!” Geoffrey produced a half sov- ereign. “I haven't time to argue!” The distressed brigand showed no grati- fication. She had the air of one who is aloof from worldly things. All she wanted was rest and leisure, leisure to meditate upon the body upstairs. A}l flesh is as grass. We are here to-day and gone to-morrow. But there beyond the grave is peace. “Your change?” she said. “Damn the change!” “You're forgetting your hat.” “Damn my hat!” Geoffrey dashed from the room. He heaved his body through the door. He lum- bered down the stairs Out in Bond Street the traffic moved up and the traffic moved down Strollers strolled upon the sidewalks. But Maud had gone, xxvVilI N HIS bedroom at the Carlton Hotel George Bevan was packing. That is to say, he had begun packing; but for the last twenty minutes he had been sitting on the side of the bed, staring into a future which became bleaker and bleaker, the more he examined it. In the last two days he had been no stranger to these gray moods, and they had become harder and harder to dis pel. Now with the steamer trunk before him gaping to receive its contents, he gave himself up whole-heartedly to gloom. Somehow the steamer trunk, with all that it implied of partings and voyagings, seemed to emphasize the fact that he was going out alone into an empty world. Soon he would be on board the liner every revo lution of whose engines would be taking him farther away from where his heart would always be. There were moments when the torment of this reaiization be- came almost physical. It was incredible that, three short weeks ago, he had been a happy man. Lonely perhaps, but only in a vague, impersonal way; not lonely with this aching loneliness that tortured him now. What was there left for him? As regards any triump! which the future might bring him in cor nection with his work, he was, as Mac tl stage-door keeper had said, “blarzy.’’ Any success he might have would be but a stale repetition of other successes which he had achieved. He would go on working of course, but The ringing of the telephone be the room jerked him back to the present He got up with a muttered malediction Someone calling up again from the theater probably. They had been doing it all the time since he had announced his intention of leaving for America by Saturday's boat. “Hello?” he said wearily. “Is that George?”’ asked a voice. It seemed familiar, but all female voices sound the same over the telephone. (Conctuded on Page 120) Il aere

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

PP — — 2 2 8 SS SF ne pr New in t Standards ight (ar Field HE coming of the Cleveland Six raises new standards in the light car field. You will find new interest now in choosing a car. For here is a car such as the market has not previously offered. In the lines of its design, in the nicety of all its fittings and furnishings, and in the beauty of its finish, it reflects the ideals which created it, and which are built into it. And underneath these pleasing bedies is a chassis that will make all motordom talk. Up front is a compact little engine that performs. Men who have ‘‘stepped on it’’ on the open road, who have watched it on the mountain climb, who have sat at its wheel in crowded traffic, say there is no other like it. And the same efficiency that distinguishes the motor is found throughout the whole chassis. From front to rear, every detail of design and construction has been developed with the purpose of sturdy service. Here, truly, is a car which will make its presence felt in American life, and in the city and country alike, for it brings new motoring qualities. It brings new motoring satisfaction for thousands of families who want and appreciate something better than the commonplace. The Cleveland Six is built with four types of body, each designed with due thought to grace of line and to comfort. The illustration can only suggest the attractiveness of the touring car. It seats five persons in unusual comfort. It rides smoothly at any speed. Its deep cushions are upholstered in genuine hand-buffed leather. Its well-fitted top adds a touch of style. For the many who desire a roomy single-seat roadster, the Cleveland offers a most satisfying model. A big wide seat, lots of leg room and cushions tilted just as you want them. It’s a snappy, serviceable car. Under the rear deck is a spacious stow-away compartment. Two attractive closed-car models complete the Cleveland line —a five-passenger, four-door sedan and a four-passenger coupé, substantially built bodies of pleasing design, trim and finish. The Cleveland Six will be Shown by Dealers in July CLEVELAND AUTOMOBILE

COMPANY,

CLEVELAND, OHIO

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(Conctuded from Page 117 ‘This is George,”’ he replied. ‘“‘ Who are you?" ‘Don't you know my “T do not.” “You'll know I'm a great talker.”’ “Is that Billie?”’ “It is not Billie I am female, George “So is Billie.” ‘Well, you had better run through the list of your feminine friends till you reach me voice?” it quite well before long whoever Billie may be. ” “T haven't any feminine friends.” “Non e?” “No.” ‘That's “Why?” “You told me in the garden two nights ago that you looked on me as a pal.” down abruptly. He odd.” (seorge sat felt boneless “Is--is that you ean’t be— Maud! “How clever of you to guess. want to ask you one or two things. first place, are you fond of butter? George blinked This was not a dream He had just bumped his knee against the corner of the telephone table, and it still hurt most convincingly. He needed the evidence to assure himself that he was awake “Butter?” mean?” “Oh, well, butter means, I expect it’s all right. is your weight, George? ‘About a hundred and eighty pounds. But I don’t understand.” “Wait a minute.” There at the other end of the wire. thirteen stone,” said Maud’s voice, he stammered. ‘“‘It Geofge, I In the 90 he queried. ‘What do you if you don't even know what What was a silence ** About “Tye They had told her last winter in psychol- ogy of salesmanship not to be impersonal, “Establish at once,” they said, ‘‘a per- sonal relation with your customer.” Perhaps it was this in her memory that made J. A., 1760, lean forward, coloring divinely, her eyes like deep skies of blue, resting on the girl's face, her voice caressing as she said, ‘‘Something in leather? A com- fort kit?” Perhaps. And then again, perhaps she was thinking: ‘Oh, happy and fortunate girl! Able to lay any offering in the hand of your knight, which unworthy gift may I aid you to « hoose?”’ At any rate, Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon, alert across the aisle, seeing her parted lips, the starry tenderness of her eyes as they rested on the girl, reflected: ‘“My heavens! With her looks I could sim- ply sell ice in Iceland.” The girl, however, did not seem to hear. involuntarily the eyes of J. A., 1760, flashed toward the young man’s face. He, downcast, stood staring at leather goods, not knowing what he saw. Bewilderment, even fear growing in her eyes, she turned her regard upon the girl and stood patient “Our line of wrist watches is very nice,” she hinted. The girl gave an impatient movement “Well, Hal,” observed. “‘Do you want another wrist watch? You have two. Or do you want a comfort kit?’ Thus addressed, Hal brought himself back from whatever somber reverie en- grossed him. “Do | want — why— there want unless you care to give it to me, His voice, curiously flat for one so young and vital, stammered, then stopped en- tirely. The girl shrugged. “Oh, well! I'll give you a comfort kit. You'll probably give it to the first French girl you meet.”” J. A., 1760, did not look up. She could not. With hands as cold as ice she rearranged her wares. ‘The green is a wonderful value,” she heard herself saying in a far voice. She showed the pockets, the flaps, the trench mirror and other charms of the green. **How much is it?” broke in the girl’s voice. “I suppose the green will do. Charge it, please.” She gave a name and address that J. A., 1760, knew well from the Sun- day society page. “Send it to Lieut. Harold Somers,” she named a downtown club. too, absent, she is nothing I and THE SATURDAY been doing it in my head. And what was it this time last year?” “About the same, I think. weigh about the same.” “How wonderful! George! “Yes?” ‘This is very important. bee n in Florida? “T was there one winter.” “Doyouknowa fish called the pompano? es I always 0 Have you ever ” “Tell me about it.” “How do you mean? You eat it.” “T know. ” There aren't eat it. The voice at the other end of the wire purred with approval. “T never heard anything so splendid. The last man who mentioned pompano to me became absolutely lyrical about sprigs of parsley and melted butter. Welly that’s that. Now here’s another very important point. How about wall paper George pressed his unoccupied hand against his forehead. This conversation was unnerving him. “TI didn’t get that,” he said. “Didn’t get what?” “I mean, I didn’t quite catch what you said that time. It sounded to me like ‘What about wall paper ?’” “It was ‘What about wall paper?’ Why not?” “But,” said G jeorge weakly, make any sense.” “Oh, but it does. wall paper for your den? “My den?” “Your den. Where do you It’s just a fish. Go into details.” any details. You just “it doesn’t I mean, what about You must have a den. suppose you're going to work, if you don’t? Now my idea would be some nice quiet grass cloth. And of course you would have lots of pictures and EVENING POST books. And a photograph of me. I'll go and be taken specially. Then there would be a piano for you to work on, and two or three really comfortable chairs. And—well, that would be about all, wouldn’t it?” George pulled himself together. “Hello!” he said. “Why do you say Hello?” “T forgot I was in London. have said ‘Are you there?’”’ “Yes, I'm here.” “Well, then, what does it all mean?” “What does what mean?” “What you’ve been saying—about but- ter and pompanos and wall paper and my den and all that? I don’t understand.” “How stupid of you! I was asking you what sort of wall paper you would like in your den after we were married and settled down.” George dropped the receiver. against the side of the table. for it blindly. “Hello!” he said. “Don’t say Hello! It sounds so abrupt!” “What did you say then?” “I said ‘Don’t say Hello!’” “No, before that! Before that! You said something about getting married.” “Well, aren’t we going to get married? Our engagement is announced in the Morn- ing Post.” “But- but ~~ “George!” Maud’s voice shook, “Don’t tell me you are going to jilt me! ’ she said tragically. “Because, if you are, let me know in time, as I shall want to bring an action for breach of promise. I’ve just met such a capable young man who will look after the whole thing for me. He wears a bowler hat on the side of his head and calls waitresses ‘Mabel.’ Answer yes or no. Will you marry me?” “But — but — how about —I mean what about—I mean how about —— I should It clashed He groped J. A., 1760 (Continued from Page 19) J. A., 1760, arranged the carbon paper in her little book and wrote neatly the record of her sale: ‘One comfort kit, twelve- thirty-five, charge and send.” She wrote the magic name and address of the Sunday page once. Twice s wrote . own iden- tification, “‘ Dept. J. A., No. 1760." Me- chanical device she was, numbered and ticketed. Nothing more. So regarding her, deaf and invisible mechanism necessary to the smoothness of human transactions, the girl once more ad- dressed her companion, evidently going on with earlier private interchange none too happy: ‘Of course I understand that my feelings in the matter are of no importance. But you may call it patriotism as much as you like. I call it simple desertion of responsi- bilities. You're terribly excited over Bel- gians you never heard of. But you don’t care what becomes of people at home who are depending on you.” She was moving away as she spoke, un- conscious of a flash of sky-blue eyes across the counter, melting a moment since, steely now in their horrorandsurprise. The young man somber, his eyes downcast, stood a moment almost as if in a dream. Almost as if in a dream he became aware of a small white hand, writing neatly before him in a red-lined square, Dept. J. A., No. 1760. Twice the small white hand wrote it in in- delible blue pencil. Watching it with misery-dulled eyes the young man found it one of the outstanding memories of a sick- ening ~~ HY “Dept. J. A., No. 1760,” he was parrot- ing to himself as he Rian" away, following miserably the retreating Pellique model and the Hanley shoes. Even though he had heard her he could not believe. He had thought ever since he went into the R. O. T. C. that she had not meant what she said: “Of course! Get a commission. Then with all the influence you have you can easily get an office job in town.” It had been too incredible then. He had said to himself that she was joking. Nota very nice kind ofajoke. It wastrueenough, of course. That was the worst of it. He had all kinds of pull. But the one fear of his life had been that somebody might use it for him somewhere. it had turned out that she wasn’t joking. Now when he was just on the eve of going her months of suppressed bitterness welled out. He had been fumbling over it through two wretched days of his leave with her. About all he had really gleaned was a sense that he had hurt her. The Government, the war, the whole arrangement was hurt- ing her. But most of all he, her supposed lover, was administering the fatal wound. They were taking him. Worse yet, he was letting them do it—was leaving her. Unnecessarily. Perfectly patriotic things could be done at home. But no, he cared nothing for home—and her. Some French girl had caught his fancy. Heavens! The sickening abysses into which he found him- self looking stupefied him. As he walked after the graceful undulations of the Pel- lique model he scarcely knew what he thought or that he thought at all. “Dept. J. A., No. 1760,” he was stupidly repeating to himself as he went through the turnstile door. The eyebrows of Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon lifted slightly as her gaze saw the last of the two figures. “Kinda snippy?” she questioned. ‘‘I guess she thinks she’s losing her meal ticket.” J. A., 1760, busy tearing out the pink duplicate slip ‘and putting it in one of the pockets of the comfort kit, made no reply. “Take or send?” inquired Mayme at the wrapping desk. ‘Send? Then I’m going to lunch first.” “That's a fact,” assented Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon from her post by the Yanko-Frank. ‘ Pretty near due for a little nourishment myself.” J. A., 1760, wordless, looked at the clock over the main elevator. Seeing that it was her own luncheon hour, or to be more exact, her luncheon thirty minutes, she slipped through the hinged exit in her counter and was swallowed up in the far mazes of Wig- gins & Wiggins’ labyrinthine aisles. As she walked her step slowed, became irresolute, then at the basement stairway leading to her daily noon sandwich and cup of choco- late it halted entirely. A moment she stood hesitant. Then, her head erect, her cheeks flaming, her eyes dark with new and tre- mendous purpose, she turned and walked swiftly back. Sandwiches could wait. Per- haps they might wait forever. J. A., 1760, did not care. She had made a resolve before which sandwiches and chocolate became highly nonessential industries. She hung five minutes over stationery. She knew just the kind she wanted. Cream linen. Heavy but not too heavy. Note size. Her purchase made she sped away to a June 28,1919 a sae up your mind what you do mea “The other fellow!” gas George. A musical laugh was wafted to him over the wire. ““What about him?” “Well, what about him?” said George. “Isn’t a girl allowed to change her mind?” said Maud. George ye Iped exe itedly. Maud gaveacry. “Don’t sing!” she said. ‘You nearly made me deaf.” “Have you changed your mind?” “Certainly I have!’ “And you really want—I mean, you really think ——-”’ “Don’t be so incoherent!” “Maud!” “Well?” “Will you marry me?” “Of course I will.” “Gosh!” “What did you say?” “I said Gosh! And listen to me, when I say Gosh! I mean Gosh! Where are you? I must see you. Where can we meet? I want to see you! For heaven's sake tell me where you are! I want to see you! Where are you? Where are you? “I’m downstairs.’ “Where? Here at the Carlton?” ‘Here at the Carlton!” * Alone?” “Quite alone.” “You won’t be long!” said George. He hung up the receiver, and bounded across the room to where his coat hung over the back of a chair. The edge of the steamer trunk caught his shin. “Well,” said George to the steamer trunk, ‘and what are you butting in for? Who wants you, I should like to know!” really you think— you really want (THE END) writing room she knew of on the third floor. There at a little desk, behind a screen, she spent twelve minutes of her precious thirty, alternately biting the end of her pen and writing very neatly. When she had written she read it over, then blotted it with care. Having seven minutes left of luncheon thirty she fled for leather goods. She found time to stop once at jewelry. There over a tray of service stars she hung a moment, made a purchase and sped on. Back at leather goods she had still three minutes before Mayme was due. Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon’s post was vacant. Six-one, down at the other end of the counter, was staring idly through the turnstile door at the drizzle of rain without. Swiftly, J. A., 1760, took the green comfort kit from the wrapping desk, slipped what she had written into the pocket with the trench mirror, buttoned down the flap and was rearranging special values in hand bags before Six-one knew she had returned. ““You couldn’t of eaten much,” was Six- one’s comment. ‘‘ Well, I'll be off. Mind if I take an extra minute to-day, dearie?” Her smile brilliant as her cheeks, J. A., 1760, assured her she did not mind. When Six-one had gone, however, she ceased to rearrange hand bags and addressed herself to one more task. She had just finished this to her satisfaction as Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon was disgorged from the elevator, absorbed in conversation with aman. They lingered evidently arranging the finalities of some business. As they parted Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon in some excitement made her way to leather goods. “Well what d’you think has happened now?” she demanded. ‘‘Say, that’s a cute way to fix your service star in your tie, that way. I hadn’t noticed it. It looks cute. But lemme tell you. That man I was just talking to. Remember? I sold him this morning. You remember, when I said I liked men, they spent freer?” J. A., 1760, fingering her newly oltuted service pin, nodded. “Well, he manages the Liberty Loan campaigns for this state, and whaddyou suppose?” . A., 1760, being unable to suppose, Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon went on: ‘“‘Why—he said till he saw me this morning he’d never given vacuum cleaners a thought. But he said I hadn’t talked to him two minutes till he saw a Yanko-Frank (Continued on Page 124)

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RE gn a gh —— A partial list of Wilson’s Cer- tified Products sold under our ‘‘money-back’’ guaran‘ee: Sweet Corn Green Peas Tomatoes String Beans Beets Pork and Beans Leaf Spinach Asparagus Tips California Peaches Pineapple Cherries Blueberries Raspberries Strawberries Pumpkin Catsup Chili Sauce Je llies Jams Preserves Peanut Butter Mince Meat Olives Sardines Salmon Ox Tongue Veal Loaf Oleomargarine Ham Bacon Coffee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 121 Qool food or a hot day -T\ENDER and tempting, perfectly cooked, Wilson’s ‘‘square pressed’’ Certified boiled ham not only gratifies your hot-weather appetite, but it saves time and tiresome work in the kitchen. Each ham is carefully selected, properly boned and trimmed, then boiled by expert chefs. Our exclusive method of pressing the ham squarely gives it the ideal shape for wasteless slicing. Divide the slice and make two sand- wiches. Your delicatessen store, grocer or meat dealer will be glad to slice this ham for you—ask for Wilson’s Certified square pressed boiled ham. NET WEIGHT OLIVES 118.202. 6% HE rich, full-ripe flavor of our Certified ripe olives appeals to all. And they “go splen- didly”’ with sandwiches, salads and all other hot weather dishes. All Wilson products are selected, handled and prepared with respect. Thoughtfulness, care and consideration, such as your own mother would show, are second nature in our organ- ization. The Wilson label is a pledge and promise to you that your purchase must entirely satisfy you. i A ff ‘ghia mak TUE eY you quorontes” VV CHICAGO The Wilson Label Protects Your Table

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 Thousands freed from drudgery Made with copper or galvanized tub. Cylinders of wood or zinc as preferred. Several convenient SIZes.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ShEGA St eset metnetiietn a a oO ree ; El ic Cloth Wash ectric othes asher HY not hire this mechanical laundress as you would a hired girl? Many thousands of women have had Eden Washers sent to their homes, tried an avn. Sic cien ‘wathday has tue indopematie™ ithe be them on their own washing, and have hired them by chine washes trge pecs as wel'aa eases nr | neve Swe see the week or month, just as they would pay for any ul not wear out the ALBERT S. I RSON . . . . clothes. My son, who isa ma: Shewano, Wi , other kind of help—and in a little while had the chinist, tells me this is the best in n . ~. * ‘ peg opin ag ceed fe err ee machine paid for. They found the Eden Clothes Site wy eee fe oe Washer much more economical than the old wash- have one my expectations MRS. J. B. GIBSON MRS J. A. SWANSON. board method. Dvluth, Minn $801 W. Sth St. St. Paul, Minn. In over 314 years’ experience with Tam so perfectly delighted with Housekee yers everywhere have learned to lean on the the E den Was ‘a r = = a more my Eden that | wouldn't let it go mane aie itpp, _—_aut_of the house for any amount of capable services of this mechanical laundress that sub- Retiadstetin, De. SOES. Ch Oe ee OF stitutes its scientific and sure washing for the old-time I purchased, in February, 1916, eas human laundress and her aching back. one of your Eden Wa and have 8 used it regularly eac " \ we ok “ve I po pF Pe goacsmy on oe a family of four ing one boy one of them iad over a month, . 6 years old Mit wre aware how but it was not the machine perfect: In hiring a laundress—you ask for her references. Do dirty a boy gets his clothes, but the A triend of mine told me 4 a = . == “ra ne machine ‘the longer I work her the better the same with the Eden. Send us your name and sive and heartily: recommend 1 to waning out. Ainage tx ened Oe address and we will see that you are sent the names of ' «MRS. O. L. WATSON, MRS, ©. H. ROBINSON neighbors who own Eden Washers. Ask them what East St. Louis, Ill. 1628 N. 36th Chicago, I » Lovel Avi e cm 7 ° ” pian they think of “‘ The Best Servant in the House’’—The Eden Electric Clothes Washer. Brokaw-Eden Manufacturing Co. Alton, Ill.

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Continued from Page 120 Cleaner was the one thing hi always had lacked He said he never saw anything so clear in his life. He aid his whole past looked to him misspent for want of one. He hardly till he'd bought one and had the receipt for t in his pocket. And he said if I'd do it I could sell Liberty Bonds to people the same way. And sol’m going to doit. I’m going of cleaners for a month and give my whole time to bonds. There’s no money in it One of these dollar-a-year jobs heard about. But I got some saved up. And you never know. It'll mean meet- ing lotsa people and making friends. Peo- ple always like me after I’ve sold ’em. So I'm going right at it. I'm to get my badge or what you call it to-night. Then I may come round your way to-morrow. Think I you in a Liberty Bond?” eyes the counter. 1760, her fingers on her service star, as she always did Vacuum existence couldn't walt out here you ve could interest Her J.A leaned forward a when eager “Oh, ves!” she breathed “I'd like to so much, I’m going to do it.”” Her eyes glowed again with tremendous resolve The next morning before ten o'clock Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon, bebadged and radiant, had pinned her Liberty Loan pin on the shirt waist of J. A., 1760 “Looks fine that service don't it?” she beamed. “Well, I gotta hustle. I ge | already Maybe I'll t to cleaners some day Not while this lasts, though This looks kinda big tome. Well, solong! Be good!” And on the swelling tide of large endeavor } twinkled across ittle beside star, otsa back prospects was -— * gone 1760, watched her through the tful but happy pin I'm sure She wa t her eye wl her fingers on her “T had a right to " she wa saying And she was almost sure he remember? J. A., 1760, looking wistful ¢ the aisle toward the of rain the turnstile door, drizzling day dreamed once more that roseate day dream tar happily irn ile door ervice I had a right completely ves down outside again that other She fingered her service I had a right to,” she had said to her elf. “Surely—-hadn't La right to?” Little creeping doubts had begun already to steal the smiles from her lips and dim the day aream She lay hour when forces and cruel realities crowded upon her still join that creeping stagger the with She cried a good deal as the Shopgirl that a numbered nobody, with not even a name, she facts of her daydream, er them, and in the morning put the box in her drawer She But she night in the doubt daydreamer awake little realitic he wa saw the wept 07 ervice tar ina couldn't quite yw it away couldn't wear You have image in the mirro t yale told her contempt. “If he doesn't belong t« i girl he doe to Not « dropped daydreamed: right.” she someone like her N ver to And the ime 4 convi The in had She would wear the I And after a long while Lieut. Harold through the turr ot to you you ted if eye \“ he n the war was over Somers would come tile door, alone th time: would stride swiftly to leather goods in all healthy youth, tory crowning him; ither goods and say thr Mayme, the wrapping clerk entranced and Six Did you And she dreamer that it farther A stern young woman, however, shutting the silly tar up in her bureau drawer end to all that. “The Romanet the Beautiful Shopgirl,” she told herself with a curling lip, could end with the would ingly, the glow of hi gladne of vit lean over le | while one bent avid at wear that service pin for me rhe image, day- not quite get would say was, could service put an of Sadi right there After that of her Liberty Bond for want of | perceptibly Her half nobly stood it iva bond all she had left was the buying ! All that long winter, Incheons, her color oled her last waned once, pay y ear be fore rly well These ment on the last's ult were mit The ros even in its place unhappiness \ now and again ; irp stab. The Pel} model, undulating by in many iniforn deliver the stab. Sometimes she was alone More often there was an adoring male in her wake. In either case, at sight of her ome one of becoming could alway THE SATURDAY J. A., 1760, acutely felt herself once again a number, not a name. She was glad she had written the letter. If he ever found it Lieut. Harold Somers would probably think it came from the Pellique model; or some other Pellique kind of person. She was glad she had bought her bond. In an impersonal drab fashion both these acts gave her satisfaction. There were other stabs, however, when the Pellique model was not undulating by. When the war ended, what J. A., 1760, had not foreseen suddenly began to happen. Six-one’s husband, for instance, dropped straight from heaven down beside leather goods one day, leaned over grinning and said: “Hello, kid! Glad to see me?” After that Six-one, wearing a rose velvet hat her husband had bought her in Paris, came EVENING POST something of a personage in an upstate town, of pioneer stock and commercial standing. That and the service of her son in France gave her several lines. Later, after the armistice was signed, the same faithful chronicle announced that the Pel- lique model had gone away on her honey- moon with one of the office lieutenants who had become an office captain in late October. Even then she did not stir into the old thrilling daydream. She hoped Lieut. Harold Somers would not care. If he did care it would be a curious greeting for him when he came back—if he ever came back. As she gazed absently down the empty aisle at the drizzle of rain beyond the turn- ott: om f) In the Morning She Put the Service Star in a Box in Her Drawer. in now and then to talk about her apart- ment and how his firm had saved Tom’s job for him and raised his pay. About that time parades began to march by the Fifth Street entrance with flags flying and bands playing. Little cash girls, impor- tantly starred, began to disappear from Wiggins & Wiggins. Elevator giris kept getting married to returned soldiers and returned soldiers began to run the eleva- Life began to run backward into its old channels just as fast as it had run into And in it all J. A., 1760, felt herself even more acutely drab. Once in the early fall a paragraph in her morning paper had told her that Lieut. Harold Somers’ mother had died. She was new ones months ago. She Couldn't Quite Throw it Away stile door she told herself that if he came back or never came back she had no right to care. In the midst of all the coming back she remained out of the current. She had bought a bond. Her shoes would not stand another resoling. The war was over. So far as she was concerned life was unchanged She could not know that a green leather comfort kit addressed long months ago to Lieut. Harold Somers at a downtown club remained unopened when Lieutenant Som- ers flung it into his bag before taking a late train the night after it arrived. He had gone through a horrible parting with the Pellique model. There had been tears, last appeal, words spoken with quivering lips June 28,1919 that he had not believed could be imagined by anyone. The parting with his mother’s white-lipped smiles had been hard enough. He was all she had. She was not holding him back. Yet there had been something in her gallant silence that meant reproach. What if, after all, it was wrong to go? The tears and reproaches of the Pellique model completed his uncertainty. Was it just adventure? Was he shirking the real things to which he was bound for the sake of some far mirage of crusading that an- other might do as well? Would future years point their finger at him saying: “You remembered everything but the things you should have cherished’’? He flung the unopened comfort kit into his bag and caught the eleven-fifty for camp, a most military-looking but wretched figure. This, J. A., 1760, could not know. could not know that the package remained unopened for months. Lieutenant Somers looked at it often in strange far places. He hadn’t really room for it—many times. Yet whenever a morose impulse over- powered him to give it away or throw it away the sense that this would be another treachery, another desertion, stayed his hand. She could not know either that as the long luncheonless days went by the com- fort kit and its owner were at last nearing the end of their billeting in a remote little French town, fifteen miles from railroads. There all the human and animal inhabitants moved out into the fields in the morning and back to their housing at night, appar- ently all sleeping together in greatest amity. There for weeks he and his detail of young fellow officers were schooled in sniping, night patrol work—that difficult liaison between attack and support so necessary, so impossible to rehearse. And the day at last came when the little town must be left. “And it’s pretty hard to know what we may be up against next,” the young fel- lows said to each other, eager and on tiptoe for that next. Lieut. Harold Somers, neither eager nor on tiptoe, took account of his worldly goods. He had what his top sergeant called a hunch that something sudden and rather final might be about to happen. Earlier in the war he would have written to his mother. His last mail had let him know that she was not waiting now for his letters. He wrote to the Pellique model. It was not an easy letter. He rather more than fan- cied that the Pellique model was finding consolation in the tenderness of a young lieutenant he knew who had one of the recommended office jobs. However, he wrote a letter that he hoped was decent and having so done, looked about him to arrange his other affairs. He must go light- handed to whatever it was that impended. That flat package in its much worn wrap- pings had now come, he knew, to the moment of its final disposition. It took up little room. But room was now a life-and- death matter. With the sense upon him that he was performing a final act he undid the pack age. There was a funny little peasant girl in a black dress, one of the few village chil- dren, on all of whom he had beneficently bestowed much chocolate. He wondered how she would like a good-by present. He looked at the duplicate slip and wondered how Jeanne would like to own a green leather comfort kit bought at Wiggins & Wiggins for twelve-thirty-five, charged toa well-known name of the Sunday society page, sent to Lieut. Harold Somers and sold by Dept. J. A., No. 1760. In giving it to Jeanne he had a feeling that he was finally severing something between him and the Pellique model. Well, this being his hour for final things, he held the comfort kit in his hands and gave it somber inspection. Never since that sickening moment in Wig- gins & Wiggins had he been sure whether going to war did not in his case mean deser- tion rather than rallying to the colors. “Well,” he decided, “if I’m a deserter, here’s the last and worst of it.” He looked the pockets of the comfort kit through and tore up the duplicate slip. After all, Jeanne need not know her name Behind the trench mirror he found a sheet of paper, cream linen, note size. With a curious contraction in his throat, a curious throbbing of excitement growing in him, he read, very neatly written: She “What you are going to do will need the best there is in you. It is bigger than (Concluded on Page 126)

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126 (Concluded from Page 124) yourself, finer, far beyond you. You must believe in it and in yourself or you can never be fine enough for it or do it well. “T am going now to buy a service star and wear it for you. I hope you will not mind. Think that someone you have never seen, never will see, believes in you, is proud of you, and knows that no woman who loves you would put out a hand to draw you back from any glorious sacrifice you may be making of yourself.” Harold Somers sitting on a bench wall on the outskirts reread the neat Lieut. against an old stone of a remote French village writing that seemed as he read it vaguely familiar, and turned the paper over. So far as he could see, there was no name, no clew. He looked the pockets of the comfort kit through once more. Then he picked up the torn pieces of the duplicate slip and laid them against each other on the bench. As he did so his memory visioned a rainy day, a turnstile door, the main aisle of Wiggins & Wiggins, a counter piled with hand bags, belts and pocketbooks, a small white hand, writing neatly, twice in its red- lined squares, ‘ Dept. J. A., No. 1760.” He gave the comfort kit to Jeanne. The note, reread, he put in an inside pocket. Then, his moment having come, he waved the little town farewell and marched away. Hearing them sing as they marched and seeing particularly the look on the face of Lieut. Harold Somers as he sang, little Jeanne, her comfort kit close to her flat little bosom, innocently inquired: “ Where do the Americans go, grandmother? Is it to a feast?”’ The top sergeant had not been far wrong. Something sudden, and for some of the singing young Americans, final, hap- pened. When they found Lieut. Harold Somers in a shell hole beside his machine gun, with something horribly bloody where his face should have been, they thought at first it had been final for him. The next day an American woman doc- tor, standing at the door of a crowded ward full of newly wounded fine young boys, resolutely winked back tears from her tired eyes and called out: ‘“ Well, hello!” A yell of joyous youth recognized her good cheer and her familiar tongue and smiles were her portion as she moved among the beds. By one bed she stopped. There was no smile here. The face was all bandage but one eye. It was going to be, the surgeon said, an interesting case of plastic surgery. They would make that side of his face, he prophesied, exactly as good looking as the other. The bandaged head lay very still. One hand outside the cover, too, was quiet. Knowing that it must be something precious they had put back in it the crumpled sheet of note paper that had been clenched in it so tightly when they found him. The woman doctor leaned over to see whether the one eye was shut. He must be just about coming out of the anwsthetic. She found it wide open, star- ing at her And from among the somewhere, quite distinctly, “J. A., 1760." He said it twice. The doctor thought it was a football signal. Seeing that the patient was still a little under the ether she drew the covers about his neck, gave him a pat and moved on. All this, J. A., 1760, looking after Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon's vanished figure, could not know. She could not know either that Lieut. Harold Somers, feeling the comfort of the crumpled note paper in his hand, drowsed off, orgetting the pain in his head because of a vision he was enjoying of a small white hand, writing neatly ‘And who's to care, whether anything happens or doesn't happen to me?” she was saying as the elevator gave up the form of Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon, once more nourished and visibly bearing news “What d'you leather goods to ask, ‘ Listless as she was, J. A., refuse smile “Something always is happening to you,” she said. Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon considered. ‘That's right,’ was her final verdict. “It looks that way, don’t it? But this is certainly something My kid nephew wrote me a letter and said he'd be home in a month after [I got it. Maybe less, I ean't hardly wait.” bandages came the remark: think,” she leaned over has happened now!" 1760, could not her engaging twinkle an answering THE SATURDAY Her eyes twinkled across the counter. J. A., 1760, surveyed her. “You must be glad,” she said in a dull voice. She was trying to imagine how it would seem to get a letter saying that someone who belonged to her would be home in less than a month. By trying ever so little she could entirely imagine it. She could feel the reluctant days go by. She could wake up on the very last day of all and know that to-day someone who belonged to her would come through the turnstile door. He would be tall and young and strong. He would look as if in all his life he had thought generously and done victorious deeds. He would come toward her swiftly, trium- phantly, down the aisle of Wiggins & Wiggins and when he reached leather goods he would lean over and say —— There! She had done it again. The dream she had shut away in her bureau drawer had burst out upon her, more roseate, more poignant than ever. As she stood, her startled eyes wide upon Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon, her color flaming, that lady thought: “‘ My heavens! There has been someone. There is this minute.”’ Aloud, she remarked: “It’s going to be a wonderful time. We'll cer- tainly be proud of them when they come back.” A thought at the back of her mind made her add: “And those that don’t come back—we'’re proud of them Her gaze, casual, indifferent, lost nothing of the swift changes in the girl’s face. Theatrically as if the footlights had been extinguished the color left her cheeks and her face was gray. ‘There's no one coming back for me,’ she said. ‘‘ There never was. “That's all right,” said Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon with heartiness. “You brace up. There’s goin’ to be.” She twinkled encouragingly and took her station by the Yanko-Frank. Her face showed nothing of her inner pity. “The poor kid!” she was thinking. “They've quarreled. Or he’s got another girl or something. He's not dead, I don’t believe, or she’d look different. I’ve a kinda feeling is She did not finish but her gaze as it passed lightly over the girl was reminiscent and speculative. J. A., 1760, looking down the aisle toward the Fifth Street entrance winked rather fast. She had stripped the last rose leaf from her daydream. There wasn't anyone for her. There never had been. The next month went by on leaden feet. Spring was not a brisk season for leather goods. There are spring bags, of course, and cheerful belts. But ginghams and shower-proof silks call the shopper down other and more bewildering aisles. J. A., 1760, had plenty of time to think. Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon herself found the hours long. Spring house- cleaning proved a godsend to the Yanko- Frank Vacuum Cleaner and business was never more prosperous. It was a stolid housewife who could resist her latest argument. “You know,” she would say, always at the provocative moment, “we gotta make our houses look fine for all these boys of ours that are coming home,” and the sale was closed. The days were prosperous and busy. Yet she checked off on her fingers night after night and found time laggard. Spring grew riotous outside the turn- stile door. J. A., 1760, looking up from attentive examination of the imperfections of a newly purchased pigskin bag, could see daffodils and hyacinths in the florist’s windows across the way. Day after day, as the spring sun smiled or spring rainbows banded the changing sky, she stood behind the counter of leather goods selling belts or purses. The hour of comfort kits was forgotten. The Pellique model was far away. There came a day, however, when the Yanko-Frank stood silent. The hand of Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon was not there to snap and unsnap the electric snapper. She was in fact engaged in stand- ing on the curbstone watching the kid nephew march up from the station to Lib- erty Temple. There orators were to have their opportunity. Later there was to be a public dinner. But Mrs. Annette Has- kins Witherspoon would bring the kid nephew up to the store as soon as he couid get away and they would all go up to her apartment in the Tudor Manor for real food. EVENING POST “You never had one of my lemon pies,’ she said. “‘ Well, I can make a meringue just as good as I can sell bonds. And that’s pretty good. You wait and see.” She laughed as she went away, leaving J. A., 1760, smiling faintly after her. She would be back, she said, about clos- ing time. All day long, while the sun chased shad- ows past the turnstile door, J. A., 1760, sold leather goods after the best methods of psychology of salesmanship. All day bands pase without, khaki-clad figures streamed yack and forth and irruptions of happy relatives gushed in and out of Wiggins & Wiggins on the arm of some sunburned overseas man. It was almost closing time when J. A., 1760, regretfully selling a bright red leather belt five inches wide to a woman with a thirty-two-inch waist, looked up and saw the short but ample figure of Mrs. Annette Haskins Wither- spoon make its way through the turnstile door. Behind her was the form of the kid nephew, much like a dreadnought behind a tugboat, on a large scale not unlike her and showing a humorous face unmistakably Haskins. Behind him still another uniform made J. A., 1760, pause in her neat transcribing of symbols necessary to the sales record. She did not need to pause long. She had not forgotten that tall figure as she had seen him coming down the aisle on a long-past rainy day. He was coming slowly now, not swiftly as in her daydream; slowly and with something of a limp. The scar across his face showed almost as far as she could see his face at all. Scarred and limping he was coming down the aisle. The Pellique model had not been among those who crowded the station or waved from the curb as he limped by. She remembered, too, the paragraph about his mother. There must have been, she had time to think, something fairly drab and impersonal in this return. Then she could just make herself seem to be writing neatly in its appointed square her appointed “J. 1760,"" when the robust voice of Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon broke in. ‘“‘ Meet my nephew, Sergeant Haskins,” it said. ‘“‘He’s grown two inches and gained thirty pounds. But he’s an awful cute kid just the same.” J. A., 1760, stayed her hand and met the grin of Sergeant Haskins. “And this,” went on the robust voice, “is the lieutenant he’s said so much about. He’s not got a relation in the city and he’s going to eat up one of my fine lemon pies while you and I eat the other and Sergeant Haskins stands at attention—or whatever it is he’s learned to stand at. Meet Lieu- tenant Somers.” Her hand still pausing in its business of writing neatly “J. A., 1760,”" she met the eyes of Lieutenant Somers. She gave the belt to Mayme, the wrapping clerk, got the change and dropped it in the waiting shopper’s hand. She did not forget the smile that psychology of salesmanship said would encourage the customer to return. This done she could only lean against the shelves behind her and lift half-frightened eyes to his again. Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon by this time was showing the sergeant the workings of the Yanko-Frank Vacuum Cleaner. “It may of been different in foreign lands, but back here in the good old U. S. A., you see, there are three kinds of dirt,” her voice floated clearly across the aisle. Lieut. Harold Somers leaning a little heavily on the counter was looking from the small white hand that rested there to the frightened eyes of the girl and bac k pa. “Please forgive me,”’ he said, “if I seem silly. But it is the same handwriting.” Her eyes questioned him timidly. “T had a lot of fever for a long time and a lot of headache. I used to feel lost and rather scared. I felt a long way off from everything and I couldn’t seem to know the way back. But every now and then I could see a small white hand writing what you wrote, just now, ‘J. A., 1760,’ very neatly and nicely inside a little red square. Then I would cheer up. You couldn't possibly remember ever seeing me watch you do it before?" J. A., 1760, looked desperately down the emptying aisle. Across the way the voice of Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon was saying to the absorbed sergeant: “And there is embed- ded dirt.” The pleasant everydayness of it steadied her. “Yes, " she said, “‘I remember.” June 28,1919 Across the counter Lieutenant Somers’ eyes begged for help. “There was a wonderful letter in that comfort kit you sold us here. There wasn’t anyone I knew who could have written it. But if whoever wrote it knew how flat things had gone for me, how drab it all seemed, how often I wondered whether I had any business to be where I was and how little I cared whether I ever got back, I think—the person would have been glad. You couldn’t possibly know?” J. A., 1760, looked at him. This was not the glowing face of that other day, nor the compelling voice of her daydream. It was a face that had felt pain and weariness, a voice that asked but could de- mand nothing. “Yes,” she said gently, “I do know.” “And did this person—wear that service star?”” His eyes besought her. She stretched her hands, palms upward, a little toward him on the counter and wonderful color, the color of daydreams, flooded her cheeks. “Oh!” she smiled. “Would it really have made any diffe rence?” “Made any difference!’’ he echoed. Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon's gaze, here perceiving his intentness and the girl’s eager face, made an inspired sugges- tion. “Us two,” she sent across the aisle, “are going on up to beat the meringue and set the table. Maybe when closing time comes you could show Lieutenant Somers the way.” She had the kid nephew by the arm lead- ing him protestingly down the aisle to the turnstile door. “What’s the great idea?” he demanded, once outside, with the irascibility of an out- raged top sergeant. “Well,” said Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon, “I had a kinda feeling.” “*Kinda feelin’ what?’’ Her nephew strode mutinously beside her. He loved his aunt. He had left no one in France who did not know that Annette Haskins Witherspoon was a wonder. But at times all women were as yet beyond him. “Well, as soon as you introduced me to that lieutenant I said to myself I’d seen that fella before. And when I saw him lean over and saw her face I remembered. I'd had a kinda feeling all along anyway.” Sergeant Haskins drew a deep breath. “T guess it’s all right if you say so. But it’s beyond me.’ Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon twinkled at him. She was letting him into the automatic elevator on the way up to the three-room apartment. “You’re an awful cute kid,” she said. “But I’m cute too. All you got to do is to beat the meringue like I tell you. Beat it about half an hour. And I’ll set the table.” She was turning the key in her lock as she said this. “My! It’s good to Kiss your old aunt!” He kissed her, unashamed. And when she took her arms from about his neck her eyelids were rather red. She began, however, to stir about briskly, getting her hat off and starting sizzling sounds in the kitchenette. “There’s chicken,” she announced, “all ready to heat up. And that’s the egg beater. I'll put an apron over that uni- form. That lieutenant of yours,” she ob- served, “has a kinda funny look in his eyes. He's gotta get rid of it.”” She tied his apron strings firmly. The kid nephew gave the egg beater an experimental twirl. “He’s had a kinda funny time, I guess, he remarked. Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon, at her window, was looking down the street. Her gaze, casual, roving, rested on two figures a block away, coming slowly toward the apartment. The two figures were rather close together, the one in khaki bent over, as he limped along, to hear what the little one with the upturned face seemed to be saying. Mrs. Annette Haskins Witherspoon's gaze, resting on these two, drew them slowly but inevitably onward. “ Well,” shesaid, “ you beat that meringue like I tell you and ‘et those two have a little conversation. If you do I’ve a kinda feeling Her gaze here saw the two figures safely swallowed up by the entrance of the Tudor Manor four floors below. “I’ve a kinda feeling,” she finished, ‘‘that if you do the day’ll come when [’ll be able to interest those two in a Yanko-Frank Vacuum Cleaner.” have you back. ”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HERBY Lil IRREEHE EHH (Moe ME Aner EEE EEE EEE EEE EEE EET EEE TEE Tb Tr) Fl) fw if at unas. 2 ea 24) CE ie ees o y ae a They now carry on hand } LESS) since trucks es stock of goods ($350,000 worth Troy Trailers gave them quicker and dependable hauling Here is a new angle on what “quicker and dependable” hauling will do The U. S. Worsted Co., of Lawrence, Mass., has mills 9, 6, and 21 miles apart. (See map below.) When all of the goods (raw wool, yarn on bobbins and dyed cloth) were handled and distributed between the plants by railroad, a stock of approximately one million dollars in value had to be carried, simply to prevent shortage due to the delays of freight congestion, storm tie-ups, etc. Today, their entire inter-city hauling is dc ae by trucks and Troy Trailers, and at a cost approximately only one- third the original rail cost. Aside from the saving in actual cost of hauling, there is still another saving in the number of bobbins necessary, since more rapid hauling puts them back into service quicker. But the greatest saving of all is the carrying of $350,000 worth Jess of finished stock, the interest on which at 6% is $21,000 a year, which they consider ‘“‘no mean saving”’ for a fleet of six trucks and trailers. Not only is their inter-city hauling done entirely by trucks and Troy Trailers, but, most of their finished product is trucked to Boston for freight shipment from that point. They are able to run direct from plant to plant with no hold-up for switching engine, train crew, and no hauling AWAHAHHAHE from freight car to platform at both ends, —making deliveries in two hours that by rail have sometimes taken a full week. This is a dependable system, —a cheaper hauling system in itself—a sys- tem that makes unnecessary extra factory equipment, —that prevents losses through carrying an excessive amount of finished goods on hand against emergencies, And we can show thousands of concerns how similar savings are possible in their business. Send for booklet “Some Users” of Troy Trailers — from single- truck owners to fleet operators. THE TROY WAGON WORKS CO. TROY, OHIO © Oldest and largest makers of Trailers, making possible highest grade construction at lowest cost. Cc) Tt thedel hedeledytede fed] HHO Tt SUGGEST ETT a 7° -— June 28,1919 THR RRHR ARABS

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a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ADVENTURES IN INTERVIEWING THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION MAKERS (Continued from Page 21) with people. The y represented every W alk in life. Apparently the whole new Russian democracy had come to lay its troubles at the door of the man who voiced its aspira- tions and embodied its hope. I have never seen such social contrasts as I saw there that April morning in 1917. I made my way to an officer, who, I dis- covered, spoke English. When I told him my name he said: “‘ You are expected and your name comes first.” Nabokoff had done his work thoroughly. My appointment was for ten o'clock. Just before the big clock on the shabby wall indicated the hour I heard the slamming of a door. A curious movement stirred the crowd. Instinectively we knew that Keren- sky had arrived. My eyes were turned toa pair of folding doors. Suddenly a little window on one of them popped Kerensky spoke with great admiration of President Wilson. In the light of recent events he uttered a prophecy which has been much in my mind of late. At that time there was a strong peace-without- annexation sentiment in Russia. It was one of the rocks on which the first pro- visional government foundered. Kerensky referred to the President’s peace-without-victory speech, and said: “If President Witson adheres to the prin- ciples of that speech he will be the dominat- ing factor in the Peace Conference.” This forecast came true, but not through Kerensky’s idea of a peace without victory. Wilson’s authority in the Peace Conference was largely due to our own part in the war and Europe’s need of us in peace. open and a pale face peered out. Having seen many pictures of Keren- sky I knew that it was the man of the hour. The act betrayed one of his strong characteristics—the the- atrical. He was doing precisely what David Belasco would do on a first night at the play. He was siz- ing up the audience Belasco would look through a hole in the curtain; Kerensky used this little window in the door. For a moment he surveyed the crowd, which constantly grew in numbers. Then the little door closed with a bang and he was gone. I sat waiting my turn. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Then the officer whom I had ac- costed upon my entrance came up and said: ‘“‘ The minister will see you now.”’ I entered a small room, bare as a monk’s cell. At a flat-topped desk in the center sat a man whose phys- ical appearance fitted that ascetic ervironment. Of average height, spare build, with pale sruooth face and high cheek bones, grayish-black hair and blazing eyes, he looked the zealot that he was. His whole be- ing seemed charged with a restless energy. He wore, as I recall it, a curious jacket with high collar and buttoned close up to the throat. It gave the finishing touch to a weird and unforgetable presence A Born Actor His manner was a strange combi- nation of shyness and impetuosity. This paradox seems absurd at first glance, but anything was possible with Kerensky. He violated every tradition of statesmanship, for he was Premier and Commander in Chief of the Army at the same time. In short he was a contradiction to himself and to everyone else. But he made things happen. No strategic approach or diplo- matic maneuvering was necessary to make Kerensky talk. He began the moment we entered the office. I saw at once that my feeble knowledge of French would be wrecked before this torrent of speech. I asked him to use Russian, which he did. I have heard most of the champion con- versationalists of this world, but I must confess that their talk is a tiny rivulet compared with the Niagara of words that rushed from those torrid lips. For one olid hour Kerensky discoursed with an earnestness and passion almost enthralling. Though I scarcely knew a word of Russian I felt what he was saying. It was like watching Duse or Bernhardt act. They employ only their native tongue, yet with- out the slightest knowledge of Italian or French you understand the story of the drama they interpret. Kerensky has the same histrionic ability He told the story of the revolution and his part in it; he painted his ideals of a government in which a constituent assem- bly elected by the people would be the voice of the people. What interested me most were his impressions of people. For one, he spoke of Lincoln. He said: ‘All my life | have admired Abraham Lincoln. I often wonder what he would have done in this Russian crisis.” Paul Miliukoff, After Kerensky Perhaps the Most Tragic Figure of the Revolution It was impossible to speak with any eminent European in those days without a reference to Roosevelt. Kerensky hoped he would come to Russia. He felt that his galvanic personality would stir the Slavic imagination. The selection of Mr. Elihu Root as head of the American Mission to Russia had just been announced. My in- ference from what Kerensky and his col- leagues said was that they were surprised that a lawyer who had been conspicuously identified with reaction all his life should be sent to Russia. Here is one reason why tke American Mission did not obtain all the results that it had hoped to secure In this connection I can throw a little new light on Roosevelt’s attitude toward Russia. In May of last year just before | returned to Europe I took Lady Muriel Paget down to see Colonel Roosevelt at Oyster Bay. She had organized and con- ducted the Anglo-Russian Hospital in Pet- rograd and was much concerned with Rus- sian affairs in England. She had survived the Bolshevist terrors and was on her way back to England. She was very anxious to meet the former President. When I told him she was in America he invited us out to tea, Roosevelt was tremendously interested in Russia. After Lady Muriel had told him her story of the murder of the Kerensky government by the Bolsheviki he pounded the table so vigorously that the tea service rattled. Then he said with animation: “I could have taken two American divisions to Rus- sia and saved the whole situation!” Kerensky’s face, with its ghastly pal- lor, drawn features and unearthly eyes, gave him the look of a dying man. In the first talk I had with him, as in many of his speeches, he referred to his physical condi- tion, for he was not strong. He did this so often that more than one person suspected that he converted his poor health into what we would call a theatrical prop. In this, however, he was doing a typical Slavic thing. If you know Russian literature at all you know that dis- ease and physical deformity are part of its realism. The Russian loves to read about such things. The more vividly they are portrayed the more he enjoys it. Fond of the Spectacular Kerensky loves to do spectacular things. He delighted in making what actors call a good entrance. If he was scheduled to speak at a public meeting he waited until the audience was assembled and clam ored for his appearance. When ap- parently all hope of his arrival had been abandoned he would dash out on the stage in dramatic fashion, stop suddenly, fix the crowd with those haunting eyes, and let loose an ava- lanche of oratory. I saw him do this once at a crowded session of the famous Council of Workmen and Soldiers’ Delegates and it made a tremendous hit. It was his way of doing things. To have met both Kerensky and Lloyd George is to recognize at once a striking parallel between them up to a certain point. Each is sel made, each is a one-time pacifist who became Minister of War, each is a lawyer whose advent into na- tional leadership was inspired by national peril, each is a brilliant and convincing orator, each rose to the premiership. Here the kinship ends. Lloyd George mounted the heights and remained there, while Kerensky tasted the bitterness of downfall and exile. I cannot resist the impulse to tell a story on Lloyd George which bears directly on the Kerensky tragedy. When I returned to England from Russia in May, 1917, I was among the first to get back. On the day after my arrival, at Lord North- cliffe’s request I gave an interview , to the Daily Mail on the whole Rus sian situation. Kerensky’s name was on every tongue, and I spoke of him as the Lloyd George of Russia. A few days later I saw Lloyd George and he seemed much pleased at this phrase. A year later, however, when I came back to England, Kerensky was down and out The phrase that I had coined for him still stuck, much to the irritation of the Prime Minister of England. Why did Kerensky fail? There are many reasons—some personal, some national. All bear directly upon this prosent troubled hour when the Bolshevism that over whelmed him and his cause has reared its head in our own midst, aided and abetted by the I. W. W. Profiting by his costly mistake, or, rather, by the tragedy of his indecision, America can easily crush the reptile that destroyed that hard-won Rus- sian freedom if she stamps it out at once Kerensky delayed and it was fatal To understand Kerensky’s downfall let me briefly recapitulate the closing scenes of his régime. The provisional government which followed the overthrow of the Czar and which was dominated by Kerensky immediately faced two malignant enemies. One was the Germans and Austrians abroad—the other the Bolshevists at home. Those two forces of evil were in league with each other. Lenine, as you will see later in “This is my last day of school forever” When Mr. Edwin P. Kohl wrote us this on the day of his wradua tion from Harvard Law Schoo he had already earned $7700. by acting as representative of The Saturday Even Post, The Ladies’ Home ‘Journal and The Country Gentlema) ind had paid h way through High School, and Law School—all with Curti Profit Y h . , Perhaps you have felt it necessary to sa on is my last day of hool forever’’ defore you have a plished what Mr. Kohl ha Perhaps you have just finished High School and have vearning for a college career —perhaps you already have a college diploma and want professional training tn a wraduate chool Whatever may be your educational amb tions,wewill help you fulfill th You provide the determination: We will supply the money Scores of our repr ntat Casily earn during th Vacation enough mot! ro p for the next yea hoo lo obtain our book, “ An Fducat Without Cost,” and f parti ulars, without obligation pense, simply clip and oupon to-da eneunceuccucacevcccccncesconesencnccncen: The Curtis Publishing ¢ fompany 243 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pa

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GRORGE & BRIGHTSON, PRESIDENT » Broadw Dept A w York Terente: Kyrie Building THE SATURDAY » | this article, arrived in Petrograd while I || was still there. Aided by Trotzky, who came soon afterward, he began to debauch | the Russian democracy. With propaganda and otherwise they finally undermined the | army morale that Kerensky, by word and deed—he led the last offense in person— had worked to restore. Kerensky’s last opportunity to save him- self developed after the first serious Bolshe- vist demonstration, in July, 1917. That uprising was suppressed by the Cossacks under Genera! Korniloff, a fine upstanding | figure of aman. I saw him often. Trotzky was arrested and put in prison, while Lenine hid. There is a strong impression that had | Kerensky, who was then Premier, acted with vigor and decision at that time and employed the machine gun and the firing squad instead of hot air and diplomacy he might have stamped out the poisonous growth that was to be his undoing. Instead he quarreled with Korniloff, who had urged stern measures, and eventually caused his arrest. From that time on he led a forlorn hope. Trotzky was permitted to leave jail. Lenine came back unashamed. In November, 1917, came the Bolshevik coup that established the so-called ‘‘ Dic- tatorship of the Proletariat,’”’ with Lenine and Trotzky as dictators. It standardized anarchy and made human slaughter a fine art. The members of the provisional govern- ment were arrested and imprisoned. Ker- ensky fled to Sweden. Red Russia was born in a reign of terror more awful than any horror that czar had ever decreed. Why Kerensky Failed CAUTION! Beware of similarly con- structed needles of inferior quality OREGON CHERRIES Big, wonderful Oregon cherries, made » a confection that te quite differ Try them! ». box, prepaid where in ( 25 ~ Vogan Candy Co. ortland, Oregon Study at Home er. Legally trained 5 in blic life eater opport es now ” er Be a leader awyers carn &. 000 to $10, 000 Annually vide you » by chem. Vou cnn toate valuable 120-page “ and 1 them— NOW LaSalle puteotion University, Best 671-LA,Chicago Library free i Guide Kerensky failed because, for one thing, he was a dangerous optimist. He held the government together in the early days with sweeping oratory and rare powers of con- ciliation. He thought he could do the same thing with the assassins of popular govern- ment masquerading as Bolshevists. Then, too, Kerensky’s swift and enormous suc- cess accentuated a vanity that contributed | to his disaster. Unfortunately, as events | proved, he wanted, as we say in America, to be the whole show. He could not swing it. Had he joined forces with Korniloff he might have saved Russia. But apparently he wanted to go it alone. He had the rare quality of magnetic and popular leadership, but he lacked executive ability. He tem- porized when he should have struck. Early in May of this year Kerensky turned up in Paris. He is still pursuing the yhantom of a return to power. Whatever his frailties he lived a great hour and con- | tributed a meteoric but pathetic figure to the human interest of the war. Though Kerensky monopolized the spot- | light of the revolution he was merely one of | a group of unusual men. Each brought a picturesque personality and experience to | that momentous period. The exact oppo- | site of the flaming zealot I have just de- | scribed and whose oratory was always on | tap, was Prince Lvoff, the first Premier in | the provisional government. He embodied a curious contradiction in that he was an aristocrat of the aristocrats wedded to the democratic idea. Physically Lvoff was also the antithesis of Kerensky. Smaller in stature, he had the face and look of a poet. He seemed to be- hold always the vision of the great things. Where Kerensky was explosive, Lvoff spoke in a gentle voice. There was more logic and reason in five minutes of Lvoff’s talk than in a whole day of Kerensky’s. It was no easy matter to see Lvoff. The government was in such an incessant tur- moil of talk and change that the officials themselves scarcely knew where they stood. Lvoff bore a heavy burden of responsibil- ity. Besides, he disliked to be inter- viewed, Once more Nabokoff came to the rescue. I told him that it was important for Amer- ica to know something of the personalities of the new leaders. I used this selling argu- ment successfully with most of the other members of the Russian Cabinet. There is no doubt that America then was a name and a power to conjure with. Both Keren- sky and Lvoff hoped that we would send | over an army to help them against the Germans and the Austrians. Anyhow, the | moment Lvoff realized that he could get a | message to America through me he ac- quiesced. Here is revealed another phase | of the grand approach in interviewing. In other words you must hold out the lure of | some advantage to be gained by the inter- viewee. EVENING POST I first met Lvoff in his office in a huge ellow-and-white structure that had been or many years the nest of Russian reaction. ory dn nough he sat at the same desk that had n used by Sturmer, the notorious Premier whose pro-German sympathies dur- ing the war were well known. It was a com- mentary on the new order that this real trustee of the people should be dispensing ow and humanity inside the walls that ad witnessed such dark and deadly con- spiracy against the masses. Lvoff spoke Russian, German and French, but little English. Patriotic Rus- sians would not speak German, so the con- versation was in French. Though he had been one of the organizers of the zemstvos— a public-spirited organization with branches in every community—he had seldom been interviewed. He was therefore shy, almost diffident at the start. Conversation, how- ever, is a favorite Russian sport. With the possible exception of the French I do not think that any people talk quite so much. When the novelty of the experience wore off Lvoff let loose and was most diverting. Among other things he told me that as a very young man he had made a walking trip through our western country. He said: “The first thing that impressed me about America was its vastness; the second was the extraordinary freedom of speech and action. I decided then that if the oppor- tunity ever came to me in Russia I should like to translate some of those American ideals into action. That hour has now come.” The hour came, but unfortunately was never fully realized. Lvoff went the way of most of his colleagues. It was characteris- tic of the unconquerable spirit that defied Russian autocracy for so many years that a few months before the signing of the armi- stice Lvoff turned up in Siberia, where with a handful of devoted followers he was try- ing to organize a movement for a new Rus- sia. This dauntless persistency somehow inspires the hope that all is not lost in Russia and that perhaps out of the present orgy of Bolshevism will come a new and happier day. The Personality of Miliukoff After Kerensky perhaps the most tragic figure of the revolution—and pathos en- velops him still—was Paul Miliukoff. He incarnated the irony that pursued all his associates. This veteran of the long wars for reform, who had endured exile, imprison- ment—indeed every penalty that attached to the fight for freedom—saw his dream fulfilled and then shattered. He was the only member of the provisional govern- ment who really knew America. He spoke English fluently and had lectured in Chi- cago and New York. Having been an editor and a teacher he was easy of ap- proach, Personally Miliukoff appears to be the mildest-mannered individual in the world. He has white hair and mustache and his kindly eyes beam behind gold-rimmed spectacles. He had a magnificent courage. It was never better revealed than in November, 1916, when he made the famous speech in the Duma in which he denounced Sturmer’s pro-German intrigue to debase Russia and deliver her to her enemies. That speech was something like the famous Revolutionary shot at Lexington. It was heard through- out Russia. I saw him many times, but the first meet- ing with him will always stand out in my memory. It was on Easter Sunday and Petrograd was flooded with sunshine. In Russia spring comes with amazing swift- ness. One day the world is bleak and ice- bound; the next morning it is a sea of slush. On Easter Saturday I had gone to the Kazan Cathedral, with its superb pillared facade, to watch the charming festival of the children. On this day every Russian child is me ag to take a homemade cake surmounted by a candle to church and have the cake blessed and the candle lighted by a priest. The cake becomes the center of the ayy feast. I thought of this cere- mony the following morning when I stood in the stately Foreign Office salon with its yellow silk hangings and massive crystal chandeliers and talked with Miliukoff, who seemed to reflect the spirit of that glad Eastertime. He spoke entertainingly about the whole Russian situation. He looked eagerly for a close brotherhood with America. When I asked him to give me a message for my own June 28,1919 people he sat down at his desk and wrote out the following: “The new Russian democracy greets the great Republic of the United States and hopes to concur with them in the founda- tion of a new world on an enlarged inter- national basis of law and freedom and good- will of nations.’ I reproduce this message to show that this amiable professor-statesman sounded one of the first notes of that concord now known as The League of Nations. Per- haps he did not realize it at the time, but it was prophetic. To run the roster of that first Russian Cabinet as I saw it in Petrograd is to un- cover an almost incredible range of achieve- ment. I doubt if any government ever mobilized a greater variety of careers. Hard-headed business, for instance, was represented by Michael Téréschtchenko, who was Minister of Finance. He is the son of the sugar-beet king of South Russia and had’ inherited his father’s title and fortune. While Lvoff represented aristoc- racy, Téréschtchenko expressed plutocracy. He had studied at Oxford and spoke Eng- lish with a British accent. He looked like the clear-cut, carefully groomed, well-set-up young man of affairs whom you meet in a Wall Street broker’s office. A Loan Drive in Petrograd Before we began our nation-wide cam- paigns for funds Téréschtchenko launched a Liberty Loan in Petrograd. I believe he was the first to give a war loan this title. He called it, however, the Loan of Liberty. Incidentally he wrote every line of adver- tising that was put out. He was a pioneer in using war equipment for war-loan pur- poses. On the day the loan started I was nearly run over on the Nevskii Prospekt by a huge armored car plastered over with posters and manned by excited Russian soldiers distributing loan leaflets. Téréschtchenko was a live wire when it came to interviewing. He was so full of speech that it almost overflowed. It was therefore only necessary to guide the cur- rents. In one respect he resembled Sir Eric Geddes. He found Russian finance a ter- rible jumble of debt and misappropriation. He said: ‘‘Our first task is to establish a system of adequate bookkeeping. We can- not work until we have statistics.” It was the simple application of business methods. The Bolsheviki shot his system to pieces. According to their idea, money as well as a human being is a thing to be destroyed. No Petrograd figure was more striking, however, than Michael Rodzanko, the President of the Duma. He was the first member of the government that I met. In singling him out as the initial victim I was merely following an old rule of mine in interviewing. The way of it is this: If you are called upon to interview a group of men—say, for example, all the members of a cabinet—and I have had this experience more than once—the important prelimi- nary is to sell—as they say in business— one of them immediately. The mere fact that you have interviewed one of them is always an argument to employ in winning the rest of them. The same thing is true of the psychology of ordinary salesmanship. A canvasser sell- ing goods on a street will invariably say to a prospect: ‘ You ought to buy this article. All your neighbors Cave bought it.” It usually means an order. When I got to Petrograd I found that Ambassador Francis and Rodzanko had become good friends. They lived on the same street and saw each other often. Rodzanko spoke English fluently, which helped in the relationship. The Ambassador informed me that 1 would not have the slightest difficulty in meeting Rodzanko. He arranged the interview. My first encounter with him was some- what unconventional. He lived on the top floor of a large apartment house. Petro- grad, like New York, has the apartment- house habit. I had to use a French operated-by-the-passenger elevator. When I got halfway up it stuck between landings. I tried in every conceivable way to start it, but without success, I had seen a sleepy- looking porter down in the lobby, so I yelled down to him. He was Russian and did not understand a word of English. His dumb brain could not comprehend that I wanted to continue my ascent. He prob- ably took my yell for a good-humored greeting. He simply looked up and grinned. (Concluded on Page 133)

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SATURDAY EVENING POST The prevailing tendency of business men and heavy-hauling experts to favor the Duplex 4-Wheel Drive, is easily explained. After all,the superior power of the Du- plex is a matter of simple mathematics. Because Duplex power is applied to all four driving wheels, it exerts a fourfold pulling capacity. Because all of the gasoline is con- verted into driving power, and not wasted in spinning powerless wheels, the hauling cost is remarkably low. Cost data of many, many firms, in more than a score of varied indus- tries, show that Duplex ton-miles actually average 20 to 60 per cent less. Duplex results are the same — on smooth city streets, where hauling difficulties are nil, and on miserable country roads, where hauling diffi- culties are greatest. These figures, plus the easily under- stood mathematical principle of in- creased power, explain why Duplex trucks are constantly replacing horses, June 28,1919 Heavier Hauls at Lower Costs mules, and other trucks for heavy hauling. They prove that Duplex power goes through, where other power fails. They prove that Duplex power does more hauling at decidedly Jess expense. Duplex dealers are especially anxious to get in touch with firms which estimate the earnings of their hauling fleets on the basis of ton-mile savings. They welcome eagerly a chance to prove by comparative demonstration this greater pulling power—on hauls of the most difficult nature. We confidently urge you to study Duplex figures and to witness Duplex performance. They will convince you that the Du- plex 4-Wheel Drive has demonstrated its superiority in heavy hauling, be- cause it works better, saves more, and lasts longer. DUPLEX TRUCK COMPANY LANSING, MICHIGAN

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(Concluded from Page 130) Suddenly ! heard the booming of a voice above me. It sounded like the explosion of a forty-two-centimeter shell. The porter galvanized into action and in a few minutes the elevator shot upward. At the landing I saw a mountain of a man. It was Rod- zanko, who having heard my sounds of distress had come to the rescue himself. Rodzanko is one of the most massive human beings I have ever seen. Nature must have intended that he should preside over the stormiest session in the history of the Duma. He personified big-boned au- thority. He looked—and when in the Duma he acted—like a four-ply edition of the late Thomas B. Reed. In parliamentary mat- ters he, too, was a real czar. Being a fat man Rodzanko is naturally inclined to be amiable. However, I fortified nyself fer this meeting with an irresistible asset. It pays to be prepared. Various people had told me that Rodzanko had his ond ential lightning rods out. Human nature is the same the world over, even in reddest Russia. The moment that the Czar was overthrown a score of possible candi- dates for the presidency developed. As : me passed nearly everybody wanted to be the first President of the Republic of Russia. Rodzanko was merely one of the many. At that time it looked as if he had the best chance. I said to him: “I feel that I am meeting the first President of the Republic of Rus- sia. His broad face broke into a luminous smilie and he replied: ‘I hope it may come true.” If Rodzanko had felt the slightest re- serve about talking with me this exchange of courtesies would have melted it. Even with men of sterner mold such a passage as I have described is an unfailing aid to speech. It proves that most people are susceptible human beings after all. Rodzanko really precipitated the revolu- tion. During the prelude to the Seven Days, when Petrograd was a smoldering volcano, he sent the Czar a telegram asking him to form a new government. Without waiting to hear from their royal master his representatives in Petrograd ordered the Duma dissolved. It was the custom of the reactionary government to have a supply of such documents on hand, signed and sealed, for any emergencies. Rodzanko’s Great Speech order Rodzanko rose in his seat and, towering like a colossus of wrath, said: ‘“‘They have dissolved the Duma, but it will not be dissolved. Stand with me, my colleagues. From this time on the Duma is the constituted authority of Russia.” This was a characteristic Rodzanko per- formance. He was no respecter of power. Round him rallied the forces that now broke loose against their ancient oppressors. Thus he will always have a permanent place in the annals of those days. I shall always remember him, however, asa kindly rescuer. There is no need of making * further tour through that first Russian Cabinet. Kerensky, Miliukoff, Lvoff and Téréschtch- enko had their full mates in Goutchkoff, the soldier banker who defied labor aggres- sion in the same way that he fought the Japanese; in Konovaloff, the textile king who became Minister of Trade and Indus- tries; in Shingareff, the doctor who be- came Minister of Agriculture and who launched a system which would probably have solved that eternal Russian agrarian problem; and all the rest of that group. They made history once. Perhaps they will make it again. Late in that momentous April of 1917 the first strains of Bolshevism rose like a discordant note. At first it was drowned in the tumult and the shouting over a swift emancipation. Like an evil motif the dis- cord swelled until it drowned out that earlier chant of real liberation. The Me- phisto of that national opera was Nikoiai Lenine, who is to-day the red-handed dic- tator of Russia. Though I saw him several times I did not meet him. Lenine, always an agitator, was in exile in Switzerland when the revolution broke. In the general amnesty which was at once declared in Russia all bars were let down. From foreign countries, and more espe- cially from Siberia, the exiles flocked home. It was a moving and dramatic spectacle this return of the exiles, many of them Upon receipt of this patriots who had endured the long martyr- dom. No sight that Petrograd witnessed those days was more pathetic than the arrival of Catherine Breshkovsky, Little Grandmother of the Revolution,” heroine of the crusade for freedom. Keren- sky met her in person at the station and “the | escorted her to the Duma amid a frenzy of | tears and cheers. Lenine received no such ovation, nor was his heart stirred by the same deep emotion and thanksgiving that shook most of his fellow exiles. He traveled almost direct from Switzerland to the Russian frontier in a sealed car. The average traveler would have had to come out through France and then across England, Norway and Sweden. The German Government, as is well known, gave him every possible facility. If the Germans had not realized then that Lenine | was their ally they would not have showered him with courtesies. They knew their man Many Americans believe that Lenine is a lowbrow. Far from it. He is a hereditary nobleman, educated in Kazan University and the University of Petrograd, where he specialized in law and economics. By an extraordinary coincidence—and I doubt if this fact has ever been stated before—both Lenine and Kerensky were born in the town of Simbirsk. I first saw Lenine in circumstances that left no doubt about his attitude toward the United States. We were among the first of the great nations to recognize the new provisional government and to pledge | our aid to it in the war. This of course irritated the Leninites, who bitterly op- posed the war and who desired an immediate and separate peace with Germany. Sub- sequently they achieved their desire at Brest-Litovsk. Russia and Germany I was standing in front of the American Embassy one day when I heard the noise of an approaching crowd. Down the street came a mob carrying red banners and mak- ing a demonstration against the embassy. At the head marched a man of medium height, with high shoulders, rather reddish face and with brown mustache and scraggy beard. His eyes flamed with passion. ““Who is that person at the head of the procession?”’ I asked. “His name is Lenine,” was the reply. After that demonstration, at the request of the Ambassador an armed guard was placed at the embassy. At that time no one in Petrograd, cer- tainly none of the high government officials, regarded Lenine as a real menace. It was a fatal and costly neglect. He was practically looked upon for a time as what we would call a soap-box orator. Had these optimists only read the future they would have learned that this soap box was loaded with an explosive destined to destroy the fruits of freedom. Lenine’s mode of existence during the first few months after his return was not exactly in harmony with the much-vaunted idea of the simple life of the proletariat. When Lenine, Ww hose name is_ pro- nounced “‘Lennin,” and Trotzky, who ar- rived after I left Petrograd, succeeded in deposing the provisional government they instigated a carnival of crime which had not been equaled since the French Revolu- tion. With that saturnalia this article is not concerned. Yet the consequences will affect all posterity. To-day the whole world is wondering about the fate of Russia. Even the madness of Bolshevism cannot utterly destroy a nation with nearly two | hundred millions of people. They remain and they must be salvaged in some way. How? That is the supreme question. The Peace Conference was unable to shape a definite procedure. Whatever hap- pens, one thing seems certain: When real Europe an reconstruction crystallizes, at least one nation will have a clear-cut Rus- sian policy. That nation will be Germany. To the average Russian in business, and despite all her frightfulness in war, she spells law and order. He will turn to Germany for commercial rehabilitation Propinquity is usually the mother of eco- nomic assimilation. Out of every mistake made by Allies, Bolshevists and real re- formers in Russia, Germany will capitalize an advantage for herself. On it she will rear much of the structure of her material re- generation. Editor’s Note—This is the fourth of a series of articles by Mr. Marcosson showing some of the outstanding personalities of war and peace at close range. The next will deal with General Pershing, Marshal Foch, Clémenceau, Marconi, Sonnino and General Cadorna THE SATURDAY EVENING POST NO METAL CAN TOUCH YOU must meet your idea of complete garter value, comfort and service or your dealer is author- ized to give you a new pair. You are the judge. Imitations, at any price, cost you too much A.STEIN & COMPANY eWakers Children’s HICKORY Garters Neu } ork Chic ago yi S—. ‘c lll .2 55 se ae ps ‘ Jar for lee Cream or Solid Foods PPP SRRSRRRRRRRRRRARRRRRRERRRRRRR RRR E DESIRED Keep Contents Cold for 72 Hours; Hot for 24 Hours | dada 1-27 8} (RA RARASRSERRE RRR RARER ER ERIS ¥ ae of the great outdoors hot meats and vegetables, on outings with Icy-Hots or kept ready for instant service at any hour, day or night, in the home valids, guests,everyone. A shock-abe ICYHOT Guaranteed Vacuum Bottles — Made in America Icy-l lots add the pleasure of delightful meals to the yoy LRRSR REAR RARE ES | ? ie" “ “ a ot. PEER ES ES SSUES SESESSESI Motor Restaurant No. 182 On Every Motor Trip Hot soups and hot or cold drinks or frozen ices can all be carried I ussential for infants, in Easilycleaned,absolutelysanitary Cushioned Bottles »rbing cushion and heavy coiled spring inside the protecting metal case protect the glass bottle With ordinary care against jolts and jars Icy-Hots last a lifetime Icy-Hot Lunch Kit ley-Hot bott iffee or Keeps lunch moist while in kit provides steaming hot tea or « fresh cold milk. Ask your dealer for ley Look for trade-mark’ ley-Hot"’ onbottle. If your dealer can't supply you, send direct to us, giving dealer's name and address W rit for catalog showing Icy-Hots from $2.25 up THE ICY-HOT BOTTLE CO 5 W. Second St., Cincinnati, Ohio RRRBRERERARAREAERASESREAEAAPRAREROT EE NEATBBSE RAAAAMAASASRAPRRERRERERRERS RC RRRRE ROEDER RARER AP BER eeeeaseeent

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Ve, bottle childre and sk In covers an antisep film that and washing. maha’ “Where there's lasting Prosperity” Omaha is the and distrutins t per-capita traduig termtory in America. Thirty-fourth City in eo natural manutactunmg point for the richest- Thirteenth in Bank C Omaha had no big war industries. Its prosperity will increase because of the ever-increasing world demand for food- stuffs from this territory You -manvufacturer, distributor wholesaler or other investigate Omaha's earings business or profeasional man , opportunities for YOU ” } New Omaha Book, containing maps, data charts, views and other valuable in formation, free on request Address Dept 15 FOURTH OF JULY GOODS *Costunies by Dennison."" Ask any dealer for our wonderful 4th of July of paper —for table, dance or pageant. specialties made Pedigreed Rufus ae and New Zealand a Hares t r Huge Profits,” and for 1 aN Hane Farm, Bl THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 WHO KILLED COCK ROBIN? arrange, transpose, emphasize, delete, and then assemble into the fluent continuity of a good five-reel story. It is true we start our stories with a writ- ten continuity, but due to the necessity of focusing so many minds on its building, the finished product, translated into pictures, can never be identical with the literary conception. No one would be more pleased than directors of production could they make pictures exactly according to script, and shoot only five thousand feet to make a five reeler, but it is a physical and an in- tellectual impossibility, plain only to those who have tried it. In order to get an estimate of the film editor it is necessary to understand the condition of the material that comes to his desk. At the finish of every bit of action a boy holds up before the camera a slate upon which is written the number of the and cabalistic signs by which the laboratory is informed of light conditions, and what not. This is done merely to identify the action with the scenes as ar- ranged in the written continuity. For instance: Interior set 88, showing the chil- dren saying their prayers, will be found in scenes 342-3-4-5-6 on the film. When the finished shots are all printed the films are brought to the cutting room and assembled in rough continuity and then run. First the whole business is shown, retakes and all. And here is where the greatest footage is cut, for sometimes a scene will have been retaken five or six times, and the editor must select the best action, even though he take a few feet from each retake and paste them together. scene From the Cutter’s Viewpoint After the retakes are cut out the footage may still run to seven or eight thousand feet; and then begins the painful surgery The that will be bettered by shorten ing and the episodes that are not essential are cut, and cut, till the story runs 5500 feet. Yet the finished film, including titles, must not run over 4700 feet—the popular length with exhibitors. The film editor has read the contin- uity, so he knows what to expect; but he did not see the picture made, which is well, for he is the one person who must always keep a fresh eye and must possess a child- like mind that can witness things objec- tively. Yes, he knows the story, but the question is, Has the di- scene and (Continued from Page 17) hard on one scene that it has gained an importance in your mind that isn’t justified in the story. It’s bully stuff, all right, but quite unessential, and the whole action can be covered in a six- word title. “On the other hand,” I went on, office scenes are pe rfectly fine and the action is strong, but you have given me nothing to cut to, so you'll have to shoot some stuff showing what the wife was doing at that time.” I might remark also that the length of the film scenes presents a curious psycho- logical problem. There is this difference between stage and screen. On the stage, action is constantly accompanied by the spoken word, which helps to explain it, and keeps the interest divided between the eye and ear, so that a scene may run con- tinuously for thirty minutes. On the screen, however, it has been found by innumerable tests that the eye tires after about two or three minutes, so that our scenes cannot run over two hundred feet without danger. There are only a few cases where the action has run for five minutes without a break of any kind, and these were in like burglaries, where the characters in real life would work silently. So if we get long footage that runs over two or three minutes we must have col- lateral scenes to cut to or must break the action with titles. The office scenes in Henry’s story needed breaking, both for the mental rest and to carry on the collateral action. Then there are psychological cuts of tre- mendous importance. It has been dis- covered that no human being can compete with babies or animals and command the attention necessary to the telling of the story. I had a case only yesterday. A father was holding a baby on his knee, and the wife sitting beside him was engaged in some pantomimic business that was very essential, yet I saw instantly that the baby would focus the entire attention of the audience, and the action would be ljost. So I ordered separate close-ups of the baby, the father’s face and the mother’s, and then after showing a flash of the long shot with all three together I cut in close-ups of each in turn, thus registering the mother’s and father’s action without the infant’s diver- sion. This corresponds to the old stage joke of catching flies. When an actor wishes to crab the work of a star he waits until the “the scenes fellow is working up to his big business, and then begins catching flies on the back drop, knowing perfectly well that any action, howsoever innocent in appearance, will de- tract from the interest in the star. When it was learned in the films that a kitten can kill a hero in popular interest it was found necessary either to star the kit- ten or cut him out of all the hero’s impor- tant business. This also holds true with the bathing girls in comedy films.’ What chance would the rarest comedian alive have in getting over important business in the presence of twenty shapely young girls who are intro- duced solely to give a note of beauty relief to the story? We may show them all to- gether in one scene, but when the comedian begins to register we cut to a close-up which obliterates for the moment the eye lure of the bathies. Thus it will be seen that the cutter is no mere editor, simply exercising literary or dramatic judgment. He must have a strong story-telling sense, a peculiar ability to carry clearly in mind plots, counterplots and collateral action, besides a complete maste ry of the curious complexities of film technic. Even authors and actors who visit a film editor in his cutting room are perfectly be wildered by the miles and miles of film tha lie on the shelves in small spools or fill baskets in apparent confusion. It is a com mon belief that film editors must be like mathematical experts. ; nuts, Built Out of Waste The star will come in to see a few feet of close-up stuff he did the day before, and even with the aid of a magnifying glass he will slowly reel off yards of film before he can find his own picture; whereas the cut- ter will rip the celluloid off a wheel twenty feet a second and stop at the exact point where the hero lowered his eyelids. The story-telling ability of the cutter is well shown in the experiment that made Ben Revis a film editor. Strangely enough, though Ben is one of the most ungrammat- ical and ill-read fellows in the business he has a natural story-telling sense and is re- garded now as one of the best cutters of ad venture pictures in America. About four years ago Ben was working in the laboratory, and asked to be shifted to the cutting room, where he learned the queer ramifi- cations of rector trans- lated it into pictures? ‘Henry,” said I the other day to a splendid director, ‘I’m afraid I'll have to eut out all that garden- party stuff. Six hundred feet have to come out somewhere and = *Heaver Andy, that will simply ruin the story! Why, I worked three hard days on that scene and go some great stuff. Can't youcuts some- thing else And so I told him a truth that isn’t gener ally known: ‘Henry, you have expressed the exact reason why so few directors can or should cut theirown pic- this pec uliar job. Then day he triedaunique experiment. Gathering the waste film of four stories in which Tom Sentous ap- peared as the hero he cut and assem- bled the ma- terial into a little story of his own. As the four sto- ries were in different lo- cations and many of the characters were not the same, it took much inge- nuity to cut back and forth from one to an- other and to carry them all forward. This he did by chemical fade-outs to get time lapses and by titles that filled in miss- ing action. one When it was all tures. You worked so Pauline Frederick in the Drying Room of the Laboratory (Continued on Page 137)

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a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST "HERCULES 3} £ Patented November 26, 1918 The High Speed Twist Drill that Created a New Standard in Hole Drilling ERCULES” High Speed Twist Drills go through the hardest, toughest steel after attempts with other High "Speed Drills have failed. “Hercules” Drills are being used on Armor Plate under the severest conditions; for example, drilling overlapping holes, and holes that run into each other at an angle. ao oe **Hercules” Drills require the least power and won’t break or bind when driven into hard spots or blow holes. ««S21INDUSH,, cs **Hercules’’ Drills work faster, give less trouble, require fewer grindings and increase production at less cost. **Hercules” efficiency results from the original way in which “*Hercules’’ Drills are made. ‘The extra performance is in the Drills and has been proved in countless comparative tests in the largest industries. Service Our Service Department will show you how to save money on holes. Expert information on the choice of the Drill, correct pointing, grinding, ete. Our customers are saving thousands of dollars a year hy putting their drilling and reaming production up to us. When you want better, quicker, cheaper holes, use “Hercules” High Speed Twist Drills. The United States Navy does it. The Whitman & Barnes Manufacturing Co. General Offices, Akron, Ohio Factories: Akron, Ohio, Chicago, Ills., St. Catharines, Ont. European Office, 139 Queen Victoria St., London, E. C. a s Las ie f Giz aecaame aati it en /seocagten mers Ae sae Ad Zw hit e Bitites TWIST DRILLS — REAMERS — WRENCHES — DROP FORGINGS

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Typical installation of a Simms Magneto on a 1919 motor car The magneto is the only de pendable, self-contained unit which produces high-tension sparks for ignition—indepen- dent of battery or coil. MAGNETO MANUFACTURERS, THE EISEMANN MAGNETO CO The Eisemann Magneto SPLITDORF ELECTRICAL CO Dixie and Aero Magnetos THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ITS DEPENDABLE Ar the finish line on the beach at Daytona. At the other end of the measured mile of that hard-packed white sand, DePalmaand his PackardCar areready. He is off! The flag drops as he flashes across the starting line. The slim white car tears over the sand. Before we catch our breath he is upon us. A blur. A roar from the exhaust. The finish flag falls. He is past. It has been done. The record held for eight years by a German car is smashed. De Palma has made the mile in a fraction over 24 seconds. De Palma’s Packard—the car that hurled itself through space at over 149 miles an hour—was magneto-equipped. Twelve cylinders looked to the magneto alone for the vital spark which made them drive the car faster than car had ever been driven before. And the magneto stood the test as nothing else could. You will never drive at 149 miles per hour. But at whatever speed you do drive— whether at 2 miles in crowded streets or at 50 on the open road—you want the life, the dependability and the efficiency of the magneto—the hot, perfectly-timed spark that develops every ounce of energy on every power stroke. You need the magneto on your passenger car, truck and tractor, on motorcycle, motor boat and stationary engine. Insist on Magneto Ignition—dependable igni- tion. You can get it. Write for booklet ‘‘Why Magneto Ignition Makes A Good Engine Better.”’ Mention make, model and year of your car, truck, tractor, etc. ERICSSON MANUFACTURING CO. The Berling Magneto 110 West 40th Street, New York THE SIMMS MAGNETO CO. Simms Magnetos AMERICAN BOSCH MAGNETO CORP’N The Bosch Magneto June 28,1919

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(Continued from Page 134) finished he asked the boss in to see the picture run, and so pleased was he with the story that he couldn’t believe that it was simply a lot of adventures and situations hooked together by clever cutting and titling. Of course it was more a ““; than an artistic triumph. However, by having a few scenes shot that took the place of sev- eral long connecting titles the picture was actually released and received much favor- able comment. Perhaps the most astounding example of building pictures from cuttings occurred at a certain studio where our greatest come- dian had made eight pictures and had finally left to work in his own studio. So profitable had his films become that his employers, unsatisfied with the huge profits made from his regular releases, gathered all his waste, retakes and deleted scenes and turned them over to an ingenious bird, who worked this hash into new stories. Now every month or so the poor fellow wit- nesses the advertising of a film in which he is the star, bearing a title he never heard of before, and in which he sees himself do stunts that appeared in other pictures or were thrown out as unworthy of his tech- nic. Yet he is powerless to protest against this blow to his artistry, for he worked on salary with the company and every foot of film he shot was its property. Since this experience he lets nothing leave his own studio but a finished negative, titled, cut to footage and complete. All waste, retakes and deleted scenes he either stores or destroys lest they fall into profane hands. Another question that bothered the studios for a long time was when to cut in with a spoken title. Should it be done first and then show the man speaking or vice versa? Now, however, the title is inserted just after the man begins to speak, and when finished we cut back to him just uttering the last word. Then again the length of the titles must fit the tempo of the action. Long titles are often used at the beginning of a story to plant the action, but after the story starts the titles are usually shortened, and be- come shorter and shorter as the action ac- celerates. Many a good point has been lost when fast action was cut by a long title breaking the swift continuity. Experience has taught us that Myrt, Bert and Lizzie read titles much more slowly than we do, so we cut them to run about five words in three feet of film, or to a length permitting us to read them through twice. The Invention of the Fade-Out of the story also deter- mines the cutting. The scenes in a sweetly moving romantic play run much longer than those of more strenyous action. There are probabiy two hundred less cuts in a five-ree] bucolic story of Charley McRae’s than in the tumultu: us Westerns of Dor- othy Daniels; while in comedies the films are often a patchwork of scenes running from but two to twenty feet. ' be- cause much comedy action is so fast. Now let us consider for a moment the re- lation of literature to the films, for this is the point about which so much is said and The character us 1S so little understood. There are three ways one may be told a story: Through the mind, through the eye, and through the ear. Literature tells it through the mind, and if illustrations are invoked they are often a mere embellishment or repetition of the text, not at all necessary to the story. Poe’s Raven can stand on its own feet with- out the support of any illustrator. On the other hand when literature mar- ries art upon the screen a very different relationship is observed. Here, indeed, in- stead of the printed word being a mere addendum or handmaiden to the picture, it becomes part and parcel to the fabric of the story. It is used to plant the action, gives the time, identifies locations, introduces characters, utters the spoken word, ex- plains collateral action, connects time lapses, establishes one’s mental attitude and hooks together what would often be meaningless episodes. Furthermore, in connection with the cutting it furnishes the pictorial punctuation and gives tempo to the story. 3efore the invention of the curious meth- ods of punctuation now employed and the gradual education of the public, our picto- rial syntax was very simple—even silly. We would start blithely off in a bit of action and then wouldn't know how to stop, cept by cutting suddenly with a title. But even then we had to be on our way with the story, and unless the film finished with a big bang or a chase the result was likely to be an anticlimax. The pictures would end abruptly and the reel sizzle out to a lot of blanks, bubbles, scratches and blobs. It was so much easier to begin a scene than to stop one. We had commas and semicolons in just simple cutting, but as yet we had no period. Then someone invented the fade-out, and instantly this was seized upon as the missing sy mbol, for the gradual fading out of a picture was me neat suggestive that the action was finished. Also, this mechan- ical triumph was soon put to another use that has been a greater artistic service than merely to ease off the action into a quiet finality. By fading out on one scene and then fading in on the next, a time lapse is | insinuated and now understood by every fan. When an author leads his character up to a certain point in his romance beyond which he considers it an impertinence to carry his readers he indicates by arowofasterisks,thus: * * * * the ungrammatical days of the long ago we indicated time’s flight by the grand old title ‘‘ That Night” or “‘ Later.” Now, how- ever, when Harold snuggles up to Helen | we fade out on the amorous scene, and hide our blushes in the feeling that Harold will do better in his clinch if no one is peeking. The fact is the fade-out and the fade-in have done for the cinema what the falling and the rising of the curtain do for the stage drama. No explanations are neces- sary to register time’s advance. If we fade out on a fellow going to bed and then fade in on his getting up again, the title ‘The Next Morning” would be useless and re- dundant. Technic Good and Bad However, we use lapse titles between fadings when we wish to account for a great deal of missing action or long stretches of time. A scene may fade out on the lovers locked in each other’s arms or unromanti- cally consulting a steamship schedule, and this will be followed by the title: ‘“‘ And so the spring found them living happily amid the snows of the Swiss Alps.”” This car- ries the action forward for months, and at the same time saves an enormous amount of footage. Often when a story is running miles too long we cut out scene after scene and hook the action together by this liter- ary device. If a film editor decides to cut fifty feet off the end of a scene as it was shot by the director, how is he going Po fade out when that part of the scene has been amputate 2d? He sends the film to the laboratory, where they make a chemical fade-out. This is done by a gradual bleaching of the final six feet, left on for that purpose. The greatest blunder made by unobserv- ant writers for the photodrama is in consid- ering the relation of the title to the film analogous to that of the illustration to the printed story. This error is found when they attempt to tell the action in the titles, for then literature becomes the dominant factor, and the moving pictures mere illus- | trations to the text. To read “John goes to college,” and then to see John going to college is both silly and inartistic. Yet these are the titles that come sent to the studios. It is difficult for a man trained to paint pictures by use of words to realize that the cinema furnishes the pictures while the literary accompaniment has a vastly ent significance from what he supposes. I know of only one series of pictures where the titles became the major factor in the production. These were the visualization THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | a time lapse | In | OX- | EVINRUDE DETACHABLE MOTOR FOR WATERCRAFT OR cooling days on lake or river. No rowing—just going. Delightful vacation days for the whole family. Put on any rowboat or canoe—even a rented one. Easy to start, runs with- out attention. Built-in flywheel spe- cially balanced for smooth running. Automatic reverse gives complete con- trol. Nearly 160,000 Evinrudes in use. Ask Your Dealer or Write for Catalog EVINRUDE MOTOR COMPANY 32 Evinrude Building en Wis. 69 ( etlan it Street r Ne rivet Se rh .N Y.; i4 Distributors i Ca lesparticles of adimt broken! with nine-tenths of submissions differ- | of certain well-known fables wherein the | slang carried the humor of the stories. But authors submit no end of stories which are simply bits of action written to illustrate the titles. An explanation of any kind is considered very bad film technic, good direction should not need it. How- ever, there are times when an expository title is necessary. This is due to the low mental grasp of a certain mythical figure known in our world as Lizzie. This young lady symbolizes the lowest denomination to which we dare address our pictures. Should we show a girl falling in a faint we must make it clear that the lady isn’t drunk, and so we kindergarten the picture | with an explanatory title. Bessie Floppit for | Swells Wood te bg b ATCH your wheels closely! KEEP YOUR SPOKI ‘ rit! t ose in dr \ y t it the ratt h i) eh loose with t ir | it \ | is tant source of danger and Pi ne ipplyvir POR TITI It i ‘ 8 juirt PORK TIN to th rack t Sa ij once done it i e for “i NO wed « t Phe } expensi nd . ry > resell } $1 “ Wye , \sk your dealer It 1.50 BP and not SPOKTITI 7 W also ke t rOPTITI F Dressing and KANTMAR AU TOW H harmik THE WOODTITE LABORATORIES &@ Modesto, California and ecor

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How a Good a id Plumbing | Fixtures :| Be: J ~ &,. bps as a (an be oe ae E guided by experience. If your home has a noisy toilet, you and your en tire family will understand and appreciate the virtues of the Silent Si-wel-clo Closet. Again, if it has been your duty to daily clean the bathtub and lavatory — if you | have struggled with the “soil ring” that quickly gathers after use, you would appreciate “Tepeco” All-Clay Plumbing fixtures, modeled along the most sanitary lines of the material that is most efficient for building plumbing. Those who do the work of housekeeping are entitled to this consideration. The Trenton Potteries Company ‘“’Tepeco” All-Clay Plumbing is most sanitary, beautiful, practical and permanent. ‘Tepeco” plumbing is china or porcelain, solid and substantial. Dirt does not readily cling to its glistening white surface, nor will that surface be worn away by scouring. With time, inferior materials will lose their sanitary value, dirt will adhere, the appearance become uninviting—the piece lose its usefulness. Insist that all your plumbing fixtures be of “Tepeco” ware. A wise investment—a beautiful one. If you intend to build or renovate your bathroom be sure to write for our instruc tive book, “Bathrooms of ( haracter.”” The Trenton Potteries Company | Trenton, New Jersey S. A. World's largest makers ‘lt Clay Plumbing Fixtures \ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | was cast in a dual réle where she appeared | first as a corset clerk and again as a beauti- ful heiress, and for fear Lizzie wouldn't get the fact that Bessie was two persons we had to kindergarten the picture thus: “Though a great social gulf lay between them Doris and Dolly were as like as two peas in a pod.” But even such titles are often insufficient to clarify the doubling stunt in Lizzie’s mind, so we usually double-expose one scene, so as to show the two characters met ting. | Besides the ordinary fade-out, which simply shows the whole picture dissolving into blank nothingness, we have another kind of punctuation called the iris—named after the iris shutter of the camera. This shows the scene gradually contracting from the outer edges, the foc ‘al point becoming smaller and smalle until it rests for a mo- ment on the hero’s expression or the fatal letter. The fading- out process is of course indicative of the scene’s end, but the irising at an especial point is for the purpose of focusing the mind on that particular detail. An author wishing to plant an atmos- phere of bucolic simplicity will open his story thus: ‘“‘The venerable little church standing at the end of the willowed lane looked down in calm serenity upon the peaceful village, and as the bell tolled out its matin chimes the whole countryside came forth in answer to its summons.”’ We would simply iris-in or the cross, and as the picture opened ir ing circles we would see the steeple ne” che church, and then the street and t people slowly wend- ing their duti.. wuys in painful shoes toward the open door of the church. Where the author uses boldface type and astonishing punctuation marks we use the close-up to get emphasis, and though some of our cuts may be used to show paren- thetic action we never use the parenthesis marks, which we call finger nails, in our titles. This is because what is contained in a paren- thesis presupposes an explanation, and, as I said before, an explanation is considered a great weakness in screen technic. On the other hand, dashes are used freely, because they compliment the audience by sharing a supposed understanding. As in D—n, for instance. Kidding the Picture I said that titles were often used in com- pelling a certain attitude of receptivity toward a picture. A while ago we shot a story with a new leading lady—one of the procession of show girls that is annually sent out by our Eastern bosses to litter up the films— and she was such a punk actress that it seemed to the studio that her first cinema effort was to be a costly joke. But Laura had an inspiration. She changed all the titles so-they read in the grandiose sen- timentality of the old melodrama. I recall one: “‘Do you mean to leave me thus?” Laura changed it to “‘’Tis thus you would leave me, Harold Ganzevoort? Then be- ware, for I have a viper’s sting.”” And so strange was the psychological effect that several critics insisted only a great actress cou | have burlesqued the part so subtly in making satirical comedy. This is known among title editors as kidding the picture. Sometimes the mute inglorious goggled scenario hounds or some well-known author, kidding the photodrama, emits a continu- ity with situations so fantastic that it takes lots of literary nerve on Laura's part to make them plausible. For instance, if the story requires that the heroine and her cutie be brought together in some outland- ish place by the most incredible set of cir- cumstances we beat the audience to its artistic jolt by using one of the many coin- cidence titles such as ‘‘ This world is a small place after all.” | Much experimenting has been done in the way of illustrated titles, but this is dan- gerous ground, for after all they are illus- trations to illustrations and are likely to interrupt the narrz ative, , like an annoying footnote in a story. This is especially true w.re there is any movement in the title, for it i.ce been often demonstrated that the interest of the eye, which should be focused entirely on the text, must not be diverted. One studio attempted to run the titles at the bottom of t!:o scenes while the action was in progress, but failure was immediate, because it was impossible to read and watch the action simultaneously. The experimentation in moving titles however has resulted in one great gain, for it has trained many pictorial artists in photographic values, and some of them are June 28,1919 now so clever that they can save us thoi sands of dollars by alibi-ing locations for us. This is usually done by painting the landscape, the sky line of a big city, the pyramids of Egypt, or whatever we wish, and then double-e xposing some moving clouds on them. The result is so real that only the most sophisticated movie people will detect the counterfeit. We have just finished an Alaskan story wherein it was necessary to show a steamer locked in an ice floe. One of our title artists accomplished the difficult feat by painting a picture of the desired location which showed a boat way off in the dis- tance, looking like a black spot in the midst of a white arctic night, but realism was given to the scene by double-exposing some smoke rising from the stack of the ice bound ship. With this scene so well alibied it was easy enough to finish the episode by shooting all the other scenes aboard a ship built on the lot. When the Cutter is King Real storms are hard to photograph be- cause the light is bad, and when the ligh is good, no matter how high the wind, picture will not look stormy in the oh nce of black threatening clouds. So if we wish to show Mamie, the wronged daughter of the lighthouse keeper, taking a high dive into the hereafter, we take her personator to San Pedro, shoot a few feet on top of the cliff with the poor girl registering: ‘‘ All is lost-ah!”” and then get a good shot of Hawkeye, a daredevil who has doubled for most of the screen suicides of movieland pitching himself off the cliff into the mois st and moaning sea. This dank episode may have certain eeriness added to it by stain- ing the film blue-green to get a stormy at- mosphere. But at best, staining is not adequate to turn daylight into night or sun- shine into storms. However, if we letter the title on a laboratory storm so that the reading is punctuated by lightning flashes, and then if we cut suddenly to the terror- stricken lass bent upon a watery grave, the missing meteorological note is supplied, and the mind naturally associates the title and the event. Though titles that merely reproduce the scenes of action are redundant and often annoying, symbolism may sometimes be used with telling effect. In introducing a character the title may simply say: “John Temple also loved Muriel”; but a stack of playing cards and a pair of dice faintly sug- ge ested at the back or bottom of the title will characterize the man instantly and more eloquently than anything that may be said. Even a moving title that is subtly done may be used a The chang ing expression on an owl will give added meaning and piquancy, and the rising of a thermometer in a romance growing con- stantly warmer may introduce a quiet note of comedy into perfe!iy serious action. And speaking of comedy, it is in these pictures that the cutter is king and the title hound is court jester. When I was working at the Clingstone in the dear old custard days before Herbert Hoover dealt - his deathblow to art the boss used to say: “IT don’t givadam what those birds on the stage do if they'll only let me cut the pictures.” And it is an absolute fact that a drama may be turned into a screaming farce by clever cutting. When you see a hotel hall with rooms on either side, and the characters are kicked, hurled and projected into a confusion of awkward and naughty situations backward and forward in riotous abandon, the result is obtained almost entirely by cutting. If the indignant husband finding the walrus adventurer in his wife’s boudoir kicks him out of Room 722, and the crea- ture lands with a splash in the bath of the young lady in 786 across the hall, all inter- mediate action is cut out so that only the ignominious exit and the impertinent en- trance are recorded. Again when the French count with his alleged noble manners nonchalantly tosses out of the window the } s from his plate at the banquet board and a pack of dogs outside is seen to grab each morsel as it comes hurling through, the spectator to such a scene little realizes that the two cut- tings to this comic action may have heen taken days apart and the quick continuity achieved by an alert cutter pasting them together in alternating flashes. And speaking of the bedroom-blunder motif, which has become a standard situa- tion for much comedy, I often wondered (Continued on Page 141)

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(Continued from Page 138) why the Clingstone Company did not build a hotel hallway out of reénforced con- crete, as a matter of stability and economy. Then after every picture it could be cleaned with fire hoses and be ready for the next story. But for some reason or other this classic set is built and struck for each sue- ceeding comedy, probably for the purpose of kidding producers into the belief that they are doing something new. As everybody knows, the cataclysmic stunts of the custardists are almost entirely the result of clever cutting, for it stands to reason people are not actually wrecking five-thousand-dollar limousines to make a comic holiday. Even in ordinary comic ac- tion much cutting is necessary. If a man hesitates before taking a daring plunge the hesitation is cut out; or if one of the char- acters exhibits a moment of awkwardness in an otherwise good bit of action a few feet cut from the film will render him as alert as a hop-toad. Titling is also helpful in the comedy film. 3esides the ordinary spoken witticisms characters may be introduced with a laugh. “They called her Rosie, after her father’s The title ‘He had a wife, and a baby, and indigestion” comically charac- terizes the man. In ascene in which a Chinaman is struck in the eye by an Irishman the title in Chi- nese characters was punctuated with a row of astonishers, which was funny in itself, but the joke became a howl when the Chi- nese characters began to disperse and then reassemble into English profanity. And this reminds me that due to our Oriental illiteracy Chinese titles have often appeared upside down, greatly to the amusement of many of our best fans, for the inscrutable Chink is an omnivorous movie hound. Another bright use of literary help to the pictures occurred when the wife was bawl- ing out her hubby, and all his replies were simply blank titles. But perhaps the funniest titles are those not thus intended. A classic one I recall was: ‘“‘He was a well-known Secret Service agent’’; though there is something quaintly humorous in the matter-of-factness of the statement: “Tired after a night of vil- lainy they fell quietly to sleep.” % nose. A Wedding in Filmdom When art and letters married on the screen some fifteen years ago, the event held little interest to the seeker of beauty. The pictures were made by rough-and- tumble fellows whose definition of dramatic entertainment was both cataclysmic and dynamic, and the titles that went with these pictures were the literary expression of those same motor-minded men when they felt the necessity of admitting the strange matri- monial adventure. But just as in real life we often find one partner to a humble mar- riage growing in spirit and intelligence while the other sticks in the mud of ignorance, so we witnessed the pictures becoming finer and more splendid, while poor literature lagged lamentably behind. This was a rather natural consequence, for there was no denying the fact that the picture was the thing, and so gradually artists were summoned to directorship, while the titling was left as a mere unhappy necessity that could be executed by anybody on the lot. Even yet most of the bosses have not learned that only a perfect picture results from a complete artistic harmony Laura,” said I one day, “I learn with chagrin that the English departments of our various schools are deploring the lack of chastity in our film literature.” ““Oh, indeed!” she said. ‘‘ Well, I have noticed that only at one high school in town does the automobile sign read ‘Drive Slowly!’ “Yes,” she went on, “I have read the indignant protests from Boston, but what do these here LL.D.’S expect frem us? Andy, why, this game is just in its infancy, and infants ain’t Robert Brownings. I guess the big boss oughta know what the villagers like. Anyway, I don’t see why the purists should pick on us. Why don’t they start with the song writers? Music hands it to literature lots worse’n we do. Our countrymen are in no position to protest film titles so long as they enjoy, year after year, popular songs that break into the chorus with ‘Then him to her did say.’ Why, I ask, do the cognoscenti applaud such literary pearls, and then grow indig- nant when we sometimes make an am- bassador say ‘Why wasn’t you at the reception?’ Boston should tend to her own antepenults and leave off pickin’ on the | fillums. We never claimed to be no belles- | letterers, but we sure can make fillums for the Lizzies.” I’m afraid Laura Barsoff is kidding my story. The fact is, Laura has always been dis- tressed over our titles, for they are written for no other purpose than to please the boss, and the boss has a perfectly abnormal literary appetite for what is classically known as slush. The first story Laura titled was hailed by all intelligent directors on the lot as the best we had, but her triumph was short- lived. “Mrs. Barsoff,” said our great purveyor of art, ‘I want you go to and see Her Pur- ple Shame at the Picturtorium this week and make note of the titles. That is the kind of stuff I would like at the climax.” It is painful to record the fact that when Laura returned she was very flippant and disrespectful toward her boss, for the drama, it seems, was indeed purple and the titles fairly oozed slush. Here is oneshe swears she copied verbatim: ‘ Like an un- loosed soul breaking forth among the whit ened sepulchers of the great aurora came a terrific blast —storm-swept clouds bore down upon the shuddering village as though to smother it in cold embrace—the night wind sang through the crackling pines—-and then old Boreas, shaking his whitened shroud athwart the night, buried the land beneath a mantle of frosted tear drops, while singing his requiem to a dying world.” “That’s perfectly grand,” said I, “but what's it all about?” “That means it snowed! Why, Andy, and you a Roosian! I thought you were one of those dreadful intelligencias.”’ “Laura, if that’s what Abers wants I’m afraid you can’t hold down the job. You're not illiterate enough.” A Soul's Slimy Bed **Andrei Barsoff, you have no idea how illiterate your wife can be when she is work- ing at it. Here’s one I wrote on the way home. It is for that mining story with Hank Stix and Bessie Floppit. Listen: ‘Like the giant redwoods lifting their heads to greet the golden dawn Helene’s soul burst forth like a pearl rising from its slimy bed.’ And how’s this for a slush time lapse? ‘When Helene heard the splashing of the frogs among the lily pads she knew that the sun was kissing the lips of a newer day.’”’ When the picture was released Laura got a nice letter from Mr. Abers in New York congratulating her on the titles, especially mentioning that one with the curious figure of a soul rising from its slimy bed. Yet we have it on reliable authority that these titles caused riots in Boston. There is a painful thought contained within this episode and it must be stated painlessly. Alas, there are many Mr. Aber in the picture business, and most painful of all, they unmistakably reflect the taste of Lizzie. There is even a prejudice in some of our studios against highbrow editors, the claim being that their titles lack pep and punch. But it would seem that they might at least keep one highbrow in captivity, if only to render their snappy stuff into good English. Laura has just reminded me of one she wrote last December which read ‘Tor ment and terror had turnec him gray.” When we went to see the picture run at a local theater it had been changed to “After several tortuous years his hair turned gray.”’ And where do you suppose the change had been made? In the rough unlettered West? No, sir, in the cultured East. It was a horned toad in the New York office who lost his tortucus way among the great fillum editors of Gotham Some of the travelogue fellows evidently feel that titles are fine antidotes for thei: lack of dramatic sense or natural dullness, for they invoke either humor or slush to pull them through. In gorgeous scenes there is a great temptation to grow poetic and often the title will be quite as grand as the scenery Sometimes, however, silence would be much more eloquent than any comment. I was once with some people standing spellbound before the terrific spectacle of the Grand Cafion—the one thing in this old world of ours that has left poets speechless and painters palsied. On this occasion, however, we had a poet equal to the proper literary figure. She was a young lady from Erie, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | * y : > New Style Adjusting } ; . Guard ever * Double Bevel , Blade J ee This Double Bevel Blade Makes Your Face Feel Fine! | pesos er ei ee | bevel—so fine that it almost escapes the eve lifts the shaving edge away from the skin and steadt it (See diagrams above.) Penn Double Bevel Blades will fit a// mod of Penn Razors as well as the Adjustable Penn $5 to $10 Razor Penn Adjustable Razor with ten double bevel blad genuine leather case, $5. Penn Shaving Sets, including Adjustable Razor, ten double bevel blades, Penn Honing Strop and Stropping Handle, complete in genu leather case $7.50 and $10, he store where you trade will /oan uone totry. 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THE SATURDAY 142 PURITAN J In A Clean, Cool gin 01am Kitchen OR canning and preserving—what a comfort to have a Puritan Oil Cook Stove! Instead of sweltering over a big hot fire that tires you out and takes away your appetite, you'll enjoy all cooking. The Puritan cooks like gas. Each uten- sil rests in a clean, hot flame that can be instantly regulated for any cooking pur- while one burner boils or bakes, another simmers. pe Se Every burner has an indicator with which you can set and control the flame at low, medium or high. The brass burn- ers insure long service. Reversible Glass Oil Reservoir You'll appreciate the cleanliness and time-saving features of the reversible glass oil reservoir—the ideal way to handle kerosene oil. Puritan short chimney oil stoves are sold by reliable dealers everywhere. THE. CLEVELAND METAL PRODUCTS CO 7704 Platt Avenue Cleveland, O See your dealer or write for free Puritan booklet No. 23 ira Ye Mar A EVENING POST Pennsylvania. ‘‘My, Mother Nature must have let out an awful holler when she got that gash in her side!’ Miss Erie would have made a wonderful title editor for the travelogues. On the other hand scenes are sometimes accompanied by titles that are hopelessly inadequate to the dramatic intensity of the action. I saw a picture a while ago wherein the base villain attempted horrid liberties with a lady in her apartment. In rushed the hero from next door, mixed it with the sinful critter, and in the brawl the whole set was wrecked. When at last Harold Holsom stood triumphant amid the débris the emoting heroine rushed up, grabbed the hand of her noble savior in heaving relief and said: ‘“‘ You are indeed, sir, a kindly neighbor.” Brevity in titles is quite as essential as in the pictures, where years of action must be told in an hour and a half. This has led to curious literary cuts. For instance, the word “‘that”’ has completely dropped out of our title vocabulary. ‘‘He knew that she was due to arrive at six o’clock” would be cut to ‘“‘He knew she was due at six o'clock.” However, one cannot be too arbitrary in taking such literary liberties. Laura wrote a title once and some hound in the New York office, seeking brevity, cut out “that” and made the title read: ‘I did not know we were fighting women!” But even the studios that have plenty of literati to pass upon the chastity of title syntax are often victims of outrageous blunders, due to the fact that titles are usually the last things made, and often in the haste of finishing quickly errors slip in that would never have passed editorial at- tention, Then again, there is always the possi- bility that the New York office will rewrite a title in accord with the bosses’ erudite shortcomings. Andstillfurther again—and this is the cruelest blow we have to en- dure — local censors often order changes that voice forth unlettered sentiments, and even exhibitors take it upon themselves to put snap into titles with a disastrous effect upon our common tongue. Good Titles and Bad The continuity, or script, that we shoot from, always has temporary working or stable titles, but they are usually changed greatly before the film is cut and assembled, and often afterward. For by this time the tory has undergone severe changes, weak have been eliminated and scenes cut out that necessitated new connecting titles. Furthermore, if the di- rector makes any mistakes, such as having the fellow leave home in a street car and arrive in a limousine, the error can be ac- counted for. It is particularly important that the main title be decided after everything else, for a mistake is very costly. Exhibitors tell us that the title represents fifty per cent of the box-office value, and that they would rather advertise a good title with no stars than the greatest film favorite with a poor title. The printed reports filled in by the ex- hibitors are very illuminating. ‘*‘ Don’t use the word ‘mystery’ in a title, for it sug- gests a serial, and few people in the cities care for serials.”’ ‘‘ Don’t change the names of well-known novels, even if they are bad, or you lose the advance pulling qualities of the successful book.” ‘The best titles are short and give some hint as to the nature of the story. When Worms Turn is good, but Bettie Smiles and Jane Goes A-Wooing are rotten. You say to yourself: ‘‘Let ’em smile and woo, and see if I care.”’ ‘Titles like Where Was Your Wife Last Night? and characterizations June 28,1919 The Kiss That Killed, are good, for they stir up a fellow’s interest.” ‘‘ Love as the vehicle of a famous fat comedian suggests hilarious possibilities, and String Beans for a well-known interpreter of bucolic parts is portentous of delicious comedy. 3ut the value of these titles depends abso- lutely upon their association with particu- lar stars.” This is the way we keep in touch with the public tastes. In choosing the main title for a picture the element of showmanship is dominant. This is especially true with the great fea- ture pictures. Barnum is still the sacred cow of some producers, who invoke the superlative in telling the cost of production and the number of people engaged. But though picturesque and lively, this method of suggesting magnitude lacks the subtlety of the higher showmanship developed by moving-picture producers. Nowadays it is not the number of ele- phants used and the cost of the cast, it is the subject that is so tremendously sug- gestive of the superlative. Destiny! In- stantly the mind conjures up some great epic of the ages. The Birth of an Empire! Truly such a picture must be more than ordinary, for such titles suggest an almost Miltonesque grandeur of conception. It is true that much of the film may be just good old melodrama and big stunts, but it is mighty good showmanship to suggest that it has tremendous significance. The Ultimate Goat Grandiose main titles have a perfectly amazing psychological effect upon even the highbrows, and they often compel an aus- tere attitude of mind that the subject does not warrant. A simple little rural romance with a big war background loses its local color and achieves almost cosmic impor- tance when called The Heart Throbs of Humanity. Laura says if I'll get hold of about five good reels of show stuff—she doesn’t care even if they are animal pictures—she’ll title it Eternity, A Sun-Play of the Cos- mos, and by shooting a few feet of sym- bolic hokum between reels, with grand but meaningless subtitles, she’ll so impress even the Super-Lizzies that they'll pack the houses with reverence and bated breath. I have said elsewhere that the success of a picture is absolutely dependent upon the work of the film and title editors, but I'll have to edit this statement in view of a little domestic clash that occurred in the Barsoff family the other day. “Laura,” I said, “I’ve been thinking over the demise of the late Cock Robin and I really think your titles were at fault. You didn’t do yourself justice on that pic- ture.” “Why, you old bear!”’ she replied with some spirit. ‘‘Shakspere himself couldn't have hooked up the continuity that was handed me. If anybody is to blame it is you for cutting out the murder episode, for that was the big punch of the story.” “But, my dear gisl, you know perfectly well the censors—especially in Pennsyl- vania—would never have let me show the sparrow actually shooting his arrow. I had to cut it.” “Well, Andy,” she smiled back, “the best part of the picture business is that there is always somebody else to pass the buck to. As the censor represents the public let’s make the public responsible for the death of poor old Cock Robin.” ‘Seems to me that some of our successes are pretty heavy crosses for the public to bear without hanging our failures on ’em too,”’ I ventured timidly. “But, Andy,” retorted my cruel wife, “somebody has got to be the ultimate goat, and the public is used to it.”

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THE SATURDAY SEVENTEEN-YEAR PEOPLE (Continued from Page 9) Pym Some of us may regret this, but it is the way we are built and we cannot alier i. on a mand, no matter how strong may be the ¢ ase of the demandant. And these facts make it all the more imperative upon our ¢ state smanship that immigration be so regulated as to keep within bounds all divisive strife caused by conflicting nationalities in our states. The Japanese question illustrates the problem of immigration in such a way that it ought to be studied carefully on both sides of both oceans. Our Nip- friends seem to think they are badged as inferiors when we express a desire to exclude them from our stream of immigration or refuse to naturalize them; and the way in which the matter is dis- cussed often seems to justify this belief on their part. But their inferiority or superiority is not involved in the case at all. Our theory of immigration is that the immigrant is a lump of humanity thrown into the Amer- ican melting pot, and that every incomer is an ingredient which must melt or fuse wiole ponese into the American mass or it should not be admitted. The immigrant must be suitable for intermarriage actually or potentially with our people, so that the pure strain of the first generation will in a few generations disappear by dilution. This has happened with the British, the Scotch, the Irish, the Dutch, the Germans, hag Danes, the or naage the Norwegians, the French, the Swiss, the Bohe mian s and the Poles. It is only vs n we reach the Italians, who are mainly recent comers; the Greeks, for the same reason; and the Balkan peoples and those of hither Asia that we find the strains more resistant to amalgamation by intermarriage. And though intermarriage is perhaps the most powerful agent of amalgamation there are other traits grow- ing out of historical environment which make amalgamation more and more diffi- cult as we draw our immigrants from points farther and farther east. C omplexion has much to do with the The intermarriage between Des- demona and Othello was distasteful to the Venetian court, not because he was a mere soldier but because he was a Moor. One of our most insoluble troubles as a nation rises from the existence among us of a colored race; and, make no mistake, we shall never allow another similar problem to grow up among u m atter. Good Qualities of the Japanese There is no finer race than the Hindus. Even the wine press of caste and oppres- sion in which they have been crushed cannot disguise that fact. But inter- marriage with Hindus in this country can take place only between couples who are superior to popular criticism—or below all criticism; the ordinary American woman married to a Hindu would lose standing, and her children and descendants for sev- eral generations would be placed in a most unfavorable position. The presence among us of a few hundred thousand or a few millions of this half-caste class would be so objectionable a thing that the shutting out of Hindu immigration before it grows to a danger has been a national duty. For all that, if Hindus, who admire our people and our institutions above those of India, who readily take on our characteristics and acquire our ways, could be admitted among us and be felt by our people to be of us instead of aliens, there would be nothing objectionable about the intermingling, in my opinion Sut, they being as they are and we being as we are, such an accom- modation and adjustment are impossible. Therefore it was well to nip Hindu immigra- tion in the bud; well for us, well for the Hindus, well for the future relations be- tween India and the United States. It is the with the Japanese. In many respects the Japanese are superior to us. They are industrious and enterpris- ing and intelligent, and in the matter of producing food from the soil they are su- perior to Americans. They are more frugal than are we, and can live on a smaller proportion of their product. The Japanese has no difficulty in mastering our literature and our science. But why does he come to America? To become a part of this republic? To express his admiration for us as a people and for our institutions? To intermarry and blend his racial strain with Same the American strain? And he really wished to do these things racial pride and no racial exclusiveness is he a man who would be received among us and taken into our racial blend by our own people? It is not a case . inferiority or superiority on either side, but of racial attractions and racial repulsions. A bit of firebrick in the melting pot, too refractory to be melted—such is the Jap- anese, and such are many other would-be immigrants. Whether the fault be in the nature of our people or of theirs, the inter- fusion cannot take place, as it must if this nation is to live and fulfill its democratic destiny. People Who Can Underlive Us The Japanese possesses intense racial pride, and that inevitably and naturally. His is an old and high civilization, but one which has impressed on his people charac- teristics which our commonalty cannot understand or appreciate. His is an island race; and like the island race from which we derive our institutions, our national peculiarities, our literature and much of our blood, it is impressed with the intense peculiarities of is slanders. He does not de- sire to blend with our people, any more than they wish to blend with the Japanese. The ordinary Japanese immigrant cares nothing for our institutions. In that he is no worse as a member of our society than nine out working-class immigrants from Europe; but with the latter two generations will make them one with us through racial blending and social relations, while the Japanese will still stand apart. He does not admire our women, and they do not admire him. As with the Hindus, racial interfusion can take place only at the op- posite poles of society, between those who by education, position, mental develop- ment and wealth are above public opinion, and between those at the bottom, who are below it—the blending can take place only in the cream of the societies or in the dregs. Even in making this statement I may run counter to almost universal pub lic opinion in admitting the possibility of racial blending at the top. I am in equa! danger with Japanese public opinion and with that of America, so far are the two peoples from fitness for intermixture. The ordinary Japanese immigré ant comes to America for purely economic reasons Japan is densely populate i, and has bee n in this condition for age and by r al experience the Japi anese ha ive acquire d the ability to underlive a race like the Amer- icans, who have lived off the free resources of a new continent and have even lost the frugality and iron economy of their Euro- pean ancestors. We have become unfitted for competition with such a race as = Japanese. It is because they know thei superiority to us in industrial competition that they desire to come, such of them as do so desire. They come to underlive us and drive us to the wall unless we adjust ourselves to their competition. They can pay more for land than an American can pay, and prosper at - e higher prices; and this means that they have the power to establish a lower scale a actual wages. They are not pioneers. In the matter of developing new lands we are vastly their superiors. We have learned this by hun- dreds of years of experienve, while they have been oie and industriou y adjusti themselves to their island conditions. The y will not emigrate to a country which is very hut or very cold or very rigorous in con- ditions. They prefer to go to a develope od land, and by underliving the inhabit n who have done the development realize a more comfortable and prosperous life than they could if they were able to succeed as pioneers. Nowhere on earth do we find the Japa nese living in great numbers on lands they have recently developed. We are carrying on a successful life below the level of the sea in the Imperial Valley, where the heat in the sun frequently runs far above the heat of the blood; we carry our herds and flocks above the clouds and rear our crops at the margin of eternal snows on the loftiest mountains. We have opened up the remotest glens of recently untrodden heights. We reclaim vast areas of desert. We drain immense fens and everglades We grow rice almost as well as they do, and of ten of the | if he had no | EVENING POST } WES AMM (TON TER ns Lhe Watch Dog of Your Battery What do YOUknow about AMMETERS? OU know that on the dash of your car you have some kind of dial supposed to show battery charge and discharge but have you ever inve stigate -d its de ~pendability and its importanc e as an aid to you in lengthening the life of your of your electrical equipment ? The one safeguard of your battery invest- ment and guarantee of efficient starting, lighting and ignition 1s to ke ep your battery properly charged. The one way to know that your generator | working and whether your battery is really charging or discharg- ing —Is by means of the dependable Weston Ammeter. battery —in increasing the efficiency The Weston is the Ammeter with a pedigree — the product of 30 years specialized expenence and leadership in of reliable indicating in- struments to meet every electrical need. If you haven't a Weston Ammeter—get one. It is low in cost—and is a genuine moncy the manufacture saving investment. Sold by Accessory Dealers or installed by any Garage or Battery Service Station. Send for illustrated leaflet showing different types and finishes, giving model of your car. WESTON ELECTRICAL INSTRUMENT CO. NEWARK NEW JERSEY Branch Offices in ALL oe i Cities Fer Dependable Service Outlasting Your Cam (Pérformant@

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Shur-on EYEGLASSES AND SPECTACLES Led, - | Made in many attractive styles, with or without Shelltex Rims, Shur-on Mountings are comfort- able, becoming, and when fitted with Shur-on KQGMA Lenses lenses for sensitive eyes you have the utmost in refined and efficient spectacles or eye- glasses. Health and Success de- pend largely on your eyes. lobe sure you see clearly, without effort, have your eyes examined regularly. If you need glasses you will Ask for them by name and look for the name want Shur-ons. in the bridge of every Shur-on Spectacle and Eyeglass mount- Ing. Optical dealers everywhere Quality Bevond Ouestion E. Kirstein Sons Co. Rochester, N. Y. Established 1864 Co SS ES ES ESS ESE ¢ maximum safety and minimum urdir cal circu fit verioads and pemesis Dr t ' wh ance proximately 80 ECONOMY FUSE & MFG. CO. Kingie and Orleans Sts. CHICAGO, U. 8. 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In the Aroostook Valley, of Maine, in a climate in which a Japanese could not be induced to live; on the windy and blizzard-ridden plains of the Dakotas and Montana, and spread abroad over the old Llano Estacado of New Mexico and Texas, we live productive and prosperous lives. We live closely packed in cities, and we scatter over great areas capable of sustain- ing none but sparse populations. In lowa and the adjoining regions which the writer remembers as seas of prairie grass we have built up an agriculture which is one of the marvels of the earth. We felled a thousand miles of forests to reach these prairies. We make the cheapest cotton in the world. We can do better than anyone else the things which bring new lands into the service of mankind—but we cannot com- pete with the Japanese, and with some other peoples who have learned to live lives of intensive struggle under enormous pres- sure of population, in restricted areas, with a high birth rate. A long time—ages must elapse, spent in getting to understand each other and like each other, and great changes must be made in our land system and our economic system and in theirs, be- fore the Japanese and the Americans can blend in a democracy if ever. The time must come when we shall be drawn to- gether by mutual attractions and under- standings, and the time must forever pass away when as now the Japanese enters our populations like a nail thrust into wood, driven by economic forces, always to re- main an alien, filled with a pride in and a for his old land such as he can never feel, and because of our own ways will never be allowed to feel, for this country. love The Case of the Martians Superiority on the part of immigrants under our present economic system may conceivably be the best of reasons for ex clusion. Mr. Wells, in one of his novels, imagines an invasion of the earth by the inhabitants of Mars. The Martians are imagined to have possessed such a com- mand over the forces of Nature that the men of the earth could not live on the same planet with them. The world would have been cleared of mankind by these superior beings had they not been de- stroyed by the bacterial life of the earth, to which they could not adjust themselves. There is some reason to believe that we shall eventually learn to make foods by combining their chemical elements syn- thetically, making the equivalents of meats and cereals and vegetables in laboratories. Under such a system cultivated fields would no longer exist, and the world would pass to a state in which chemistry would take the place of all other professions What would any nation do under such conditions if a people universally trained to the new chemistry should offer them- selves as immigrants? It would be obliged to acquire the new art, exclude the immi- grants or become their slaves. Ability to interfuse with the population is the test of an immigrant’s desirability, and not the matter of superiority or inferiority. I am perfectly willing to admit the superiority of the Japanese in many respects, and I wish we had some of the virtues which make them so efficient; but, they being what they are and we being what we are, we ought not to be blamed by them if we refuse to receive them. And the same reasoning prevails as to all peoples differ- ing strongly from us in racial stock, in complexion, in anything which prevents them because of our peculiarities or theirs from interfusion with the body of our people. Mention has been made of our fumbling and unskillful way of dealing with these matters. No nation has ever in all the history of the world opened the door so widely for immigration as have the Amer- icans; no nation has benefited so enor- mously by immigration; and no nation has ever had to confront a more difficult problem than we now confront — that of as- similating so many racial strains in a democ- racy. Now that the time has come when we must guard the door more closely we should do it with as little offense to other peoples as lies within the bounds of pos- sibility——but we must do it. We must put our house in order. We must perfect our system of Americanization. We must re- cover from the scare, much of it baseless, which we have received in the wrenching of minds through racial sympathies in this THE SATURDAY EVENING POST great war. We have the right to expect of Congress that it will find a way to exclude immigrationselectively with no valid ground of offense to any proud and sensitive or humble and long-suffering nation to whose peoples our new regulations may apply. Immediate action is essential, but it should not be blind or unduly offensive action. Our new regulations should have in mind our ability to Americanize the immigrants. The greatest force for Americanization of immigrants lies in that body of population of the same racial strain which is already among us and already Americanized. It does not take a Norwegian long to become an American in Wisconsin, or a Swede in South Dakota, or an Irishman almost any- where. Their relatives and friends take care of that. A good safe basis of ad- missions would be some percentage an- nually of people of the same race already among us as determined by the census reports. Suppose that we exclude all im- migration of any race in excess of, say, five per cent of that race already among us. The Percentage Basis This would let in—after the period which should be fixed during which ail immigra- tion shall be prohibited—all the peoples from the northern and western countries of Europe, the lands from which our old immigration came, which would be likely to present themselves for admission. It would let in more British, more French, more Dutch, more Belgian, more Swiss and more German immigration than we have lately been in the habit of receiving. In other words, these countries would not use up their legal admissions. Those excluded would be of the peoples of eastern Europe and of non-European lands. If five per cent of the present stock be too much, then make it four, or three, or two, or one—-but let us treat them all alike on a percentage basis. Assuming a five per cent basis, during the years 1911 to 1915 in- clusive, under the percentage plan, twenty- four per cent of the immigrants who actu- ally came in would have been kept out. Of this twenty-four per cent all but one per cent would have been from south and east Europe, and that one per cent would have been non-Europeans. During these years, on this percentage basis, according to which all peoples would have been treated alike, Japanese immigration in 1911 would have been cut down a hundred or so from what it was; in 1912 it would have been about three hundred less; in 1913, about thirteen hundred less; and in the two other years about two thousand less each year. Chinese immigration would have been practically cut in two. We could have kept our treaty with China and re- moved from Japan all legitimate grounds of offense to her sensibilities, and have taken in less than half the immigrants from either country that we did take in. We should by this percentage basis confine Oriental immigration to limits of absolute harmlessness. We should forever dispose of the Hindu immigration problem. We should keep within limits immigration from every other country. To show how this plan would work with another country, let us consider Italy. If we had admitted from Italy only five per cent of the number of Italians already in this country the number would have been about 45,000 a year; and we should have admitted 80,000 fewer Italians in 1911, 55,000 fewer in 1912, 146,000 fewer in 1913 and 152,000 fewer in 1914. In 1915 the Italians would not have used their per- missible admissions. We ought to demand of Congress at last some skill, some tact and some ingenuity in handling this chaotic situation, the re- sults of immigration practices which have just growed instead of having been worked out. An organization called the National Committee for Constructive Immigration has been studying for five years this whole immigration problem in its national and international aspects. It has come to the conclusion that this percentage basis, some- thing as I have stated it, will solve the problem of selective admission of immi- grants and save the face of those who pro- test at our present methods. A thousand or more men and women well known as thinkers indorse the suggestion. Perhaps Congress may find a better scheme; but whatever plan is adopted it should make Americanization safe, and avoid legitimate offense to other peoples. The task calls for average legislative ability and a little leg- islative labor on the part of a few leaders. June 28,1919 We have just passed through the greatest explosion of international forces that the world ever experienced, and we passed through it well. We did so by reason of things like those described to me some time ago on a train between Omaha and Min- neapolis, by a man in a fur coat who got on the train at Alton, Iowa. He looked round for someone to whom he might un- bosom himself, and recognizing me he sat down and told this story. “‘T have just come from South Dakota,” said he, “out round Scotland. Twenty- five years ago I was locating settlers out there, and one night I was belated and overtaken by night on the prairie. It was dark and there were no roads. Suddenly we drove almost over a sod house and stopped. “The people were Russians, raw from the land of the ezar. They had been there less than a year. The house was the awful- est hovel I ever saw, and the people glared at us through tangled and matted locks as if they wanted to murder us. Asa matter of fact they were nonresisters, and would have allowed themselves to be killed rather than to have killed; but I didn’t know that, and I was afraid. I wanted a gun. I slept hardly at all, and at dawn after eating in dirt and squalor a meal of bread and sour milk I drove on, glad to escape with my life. They were as glad to get rid of me as I was to be away from them; for they no doubt thought that as a member of the ruling class I had the right or the power to rob them or knout them or do them any other sort of dirt. “Yesterday, after twenty-five years, I drove past that same farm. I knew it by the description— a land agent always knows his location by the sections, townships and ranges. I drove up to the Russians’ farm just a little after noon, and seeing a good two-story house with lace curtains at the windows I drove in. It was a mighty good farmstead, with barns, a silo and big feed yards. A boy about a dozen years old came out of the barn, and I asked him if I could stop and feed myself and the team “*Sure!’ said he. ‘We've had our din- ner, but just go in and the folks will get you something. I'll take care of your team. Do you feed corn or oats?’”’ The Second Generation ““A young woman who had seen what was going on met me at the door and in- vited me in. An old woman was just going kitchenward—I suppose she was one of the people with whom I slept on the floor of that mud hut twenty-five years before. The girl played the piano while I waited, and introduced me to a young fellow named Forrest, who it was plain to see was visiting her. They talked about their life at the State University at Vermilion. I could see that his visit had to do with the complete Americanization of this Russian girl. “The young boy came in and talked baseball and the pig club to which he be- longed, organized by the county agent. The old lady served the excellent meal, talking in pretty fair United States. She told us that her son, the small boy I had seen there a quarter of a century before, was a prosperous physician in a town near by. Three of their children had attended the university. I could see that they had become well-to-do farmers, and as good Americans as anybody could be. By George, when I went away, leaving the girl spooning with that young fellow named Forrest, I wanted to throw my hat up and hurrah for the good old United States that can take a lot of dumb, driven cattle ain’t that what the verses call ’em—and turn ’em into two-fisted Americans in twenty-five years. And that’s what we're doir.g all over these prairies.” This story tells of what we have done in the past and hints at what we must con- tinue to do in that future which stretches out before us, with all the free land gone upon which these Russians were Americanized by means of free schools, economic freedom and liberty. The free schools are still with us, but the free lands are gone, and there is not so much economic freedom. If our incomers are not to become seventeen-year locusts we must intensify our processes of Americanization, and stop the influx of foreigners until we have constructed something to take the place of the old free conditions. We must adopt some selective system of admission which will let in those for whom assimilation is easy, and we must reject those who, we being as we are and they being as they are, cannot be assimilated. The present system must end.

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— , { LOOKING BACKWARD (Concluded from Page 12) “Bent on making a plunge he went from one table to another, placing the maximum stake on the same number. Strange to re- late, at each table the same number won, and it was his number. Recognizing that this perhaps might be his lucky day the player wended his way to the trente-et- quarante room and put the maximum on three of the tables there. To his amaze- ment he discovered that there also he had been so fortunate as to select the winning number “The head croupier confided to a friend of the writer who happened to be present that that day had been the worst in the history of the Monaco bank for years. He it was also who mentioned the amount won by the fortunate Londoner, as given above.’ It is prudent of the space writers to ascribe such information as this to the head croupier, because it is precisely the like that such an authority would give out. People upen the spot know that nothing of the kind happened, and that no person of that name had appeared upon the scene. The tory on the face of it bears to the knowing its own refutation, being absurd in every detail. As if conscious of this, the author proceeds to qualify it in the foliowing: “It is a well-known fact that one of the most successful players at the Monte Carlo tables was Wells, who, as the once popular music-hall song put it, ‘broke the bank’ there. He was at the zenith of his fame about twenty years ago, when his esca- pades—and winn ings were talked about wide ly and envied in Europe sporting cir- ( le: s and among the de ee *‘In ten days, it was said, he made up- ward of £35,000 clear winnings at the tables after starting with the modest capital of £400. It must not be forgotten, however, that at his trial later Wells denied this, stating that all he had made was £7000 at four consecutive sittings. He made the statement that, even so, he had been a loser in the end. ‘The reader may take his choice of the two statements, but among frequenters of the rooms at Monte Carlo it is generally considered impossible to amass large win- nings without risking large stakes, Even then the chances are a thousand to one in favor of the bank. Yet occasionally there are winnings running into four or five fig- ures, and to human beings the possibility of chance constitutes an irresistible fascina- tion. “Only a few years ago a young American was credited with having risen from the tables $75,000 richer than when first he had sat down. It was his first visit to Monte Carlo and he had not come with any system to break the bank or with any get-rich- quick idea. For the novelty of the thing he risked about $4000, and lost it all in one fell swoop without turning a hair. Then he plunged with double that amount, but the best part of that too went the same way. Nothing daunted, he next ventured $10,- 000. This time fickle Fortune favored him. He played on with growing confidence, and when his winnings amounted to the respect- able sum of $75,000 he had the good sense to quit and to leave the place despite the ” temptation to continue, Vv HE “man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo,” and gave occasion for the song, was not named Wells, and he was not an Englishman. He was an American. I knew him well and soon after the event had from his own lips the whole story. He came to Monte Carlo with a good deal of money won at draw poker in a club at Paris and went away richer by some 100,000 frances than he came. The catch line of the song is misleading. There is no such Ps as “breaking the bank at Monte Carlo.” This particular player won so fast aa two or three spins that the table at which he played had to suspend until it could be replenished by another bank—perhaps five minutes in point of time. There used to be some twenty tables. Just how one man could play at more than one of them at one time a foreign correspondent, but only a foreign corre- spondent, might explain to the satisfaction of the horse marines. I very much doubt whether any player ever won more than 100,000 franes at a sin- gle sitting. To de even that he must plunge iike a ship in a hurricane. There is of course a saving limit set by the Cusino company upon the play. It is to the interest of the Casino to cultivate the idea, and the letter writers are willing tools. Not only at Monte Carlo, but everywhere, in dearth of news, gambling stories come cheap and easy. And the cheaper the story the bigger the play. “‘The jedge raised him two thou- sand dollars. The colonel raised him back ten thousand more. Both of ‘em stood pat. The jedge bet him a hundred thousand, | The colonel called. ‘What you got?’ he. ‘Ace high,’ says the jedge. ‘What you got?’ ‘Pair o’ deuces,’ says the colonel.” Assuredly the play in the Casino is en- tirely fair. It could hardly be otherwise with such crowds of players at the tables, often covering the whole layout. But there says | is no such thing as honest gambling. The | house must have the best of it. A famous American gambler, when I had referred to | one of his guild, lately de ceased, as an hon- est gambler, said to me: ‘“‘What do you mean by ‘an honest gambler’?” “A gambler who will not take unfair ad- | vantage!” I answered. “Well,” said he, ‘‘the gambler must have his advantages, because gambling is his vo- cation. He must fit himself for its profitable pursuit by learning all the tricks of trade like other artists and artificers. With him it is win or starve.” Among the variegate thronged the highways and Monte Carlo in those days there was no crowds that byways of | single figure more observed and striking than that of Leopold Il], King of the Bel- gians. He had a bungalow overlooking the sea, where he lived three months of the year | like a country gentleman. made it a rule to avoid courts and courtie rs, an event brought me into acquaintance with this best abused man in Europe, en- abling me to form my own estimate of his very interesting personality. He was not at all what his enemies repre- sented him to be—a sot, a gambler and a roué. In appearance a benignant burgo- master, tall and stalwart; in manner and voice very gentle, he should be described as first of all a man of business. His weakness was rather for money than women. Speak- ing of the most famous of the Parisian dancers with whom his name had been scandalously associated, he told me that he had never met her but once in his life, and that after the newspaper gossips had been busy for years with their alleged love affair. “I kissed her hand,” he related, ‘‘and bade her adieu, saying, ‘Ah, ma’m’selle, you and | have ine deed reason to congratulate ourselves ‘ It was the Congo business that lay at the bottom of the abuse of Leopold. Henry Stanley had put him up to this. It turned out a gold mine, and then two streams of defamation were let from the covetous commercial standpoint and the other from the humanitarian. A king must be an anchorite to es cape calumny, and Leopold was not an anchorite loose; one I asked him why I never saw him in the ( ‘asino. **Play,”’ he answered, ‘‘does not interest me. Besides, I do not enjoy being talked about. Nor do I think the game they play there quite fair.” “In what way do you consider it unfair, Your Majesty?” I asked. “In the zero,” he replied. “At the Brus- sels Casino I do not allow them to have a zero. Come and see me and | will show you a perfectly equal chance for your money, to win or lose.’ Years after I was in Brussels, Leopold had gone to his account, and his nephew, Albert, had come to the throne. There wa not a roulette table in the Casino, but there was one conveniently adjacent thereto, managed by a clique of New York gamblers which had both a single and a double zero and, as appeared when the municipality made a descent upon the place, which wa ingeniously wired to throw the ball wher- ever the presiding croupier wanted it to go I do not believe, however, that Leopold was a party to this or could have had any knowledge of it. He was a skillful, not a dishonest business man, who showed his foresight when he listened to Stanley and took him under his wing. If the Congo had turned out worthless nobody would ever have heard of the delinquencies of the King of the Belgians. Editor’s Note—This is the fourteenth of a series of articles by Mr. Watterson. The next will appear in an early issue. Though I have | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Ba? oe Ce tee See 4 S & comes | CLEMENT C. GAINES, M. A.,1 L.D., Box 947, DEAN ACADEMY, Franklin, Mass. 53:d Year y . ARTHU R Ww y $4 PEIR( E Litt. D., Principal M O N Ss 2. = FOR BOYS ringfiel Anend : { ‘ - yy oe ‘$450. I i 1 tor log Monson, Mass STERN and SOUTHERN STATES WENTWORTH— | MILITARY ACADEMY baleen Lexington, Mo “ i , d ‘ Mia af ' ' ! d f he ithe how ! why ‘ co-oF ed ida ix r for lew t ’ | \ ‘Hl ' Ce \ { 1 ! ! 1 I 43 My t Kanses Cit - | r ler CoOL 8 SELLERS, Supt 1812 Washington Ave Lexington, Mo STAUNTON MILITARY ACADEMY | An Ideal H ne Reon See Masts Deee a nthe f orn mi Academ ¢ Business Government Honor School Rig” s el WM. G. KABLE, Ph.D, Pr al, Staunton, Va Tri State College of Engineering Civil, M 1 Po cl University of Louisville—College of Dentistry DD 19 } Lik M.D., Db. dD Le I hk Colovade SchooleMines Golden { ' it hl \ tican counts ) ter t 1, 19 Registrar, Box 620, School of Mines, Golden, Colorado. | Know about the oppor tunities of dental profession before deciding your career The Indiana Dental College Presents an exce plional 4 portunity to study dentistry at a moderate cost for tuition and living expenses. New Dentistry offers unusual opportun- ities. Write to INDIANA DENTAL OL 0) BH C4 & @® KEMPER MILITARY SCHOOL college year begins Septem ber 29. Augmented curricu lum. Able faculty, Clinical facilities unexcelled. Write for catalog and full details of opportunities for service anc advancement in the practice of dentistry. Address F.R. Henshaw, Dean 3 W. North St., indianapolis G ‘ k i ’ $000. F . A COL. T. A. JOHNSTON, Supt Bw 732 Third St Boonville, Mo Blackstone Military Academy BLAC AK, VIRGINIA $40. 00a Wee We offer students an opportunity to make $40.00 a week this summer The pay for spare-time work at home is proportion ately good, If you want money, we want you. The ad SATURDAY 282 Independence Square, InE k for Students Agog POST Philadelphia, P

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Mr. bk. D. Ba field, back from fwentyv-or month ry th Navy, found this rather staggering problem controntir him: Nojob work very difficult to find—a wife ind two kiddies to support back bills to pay—and current expenses to meet. SOLUTION When the prospect of a satisfac tory solution seemed most distant, offering libve T ‘| j i meni ilifies he iw an ad in THe Post wenerous Commission — ' ] tlart tomenand we for appointment as our repre ent atives. He beliewed he had every » per onality and the will to succeed. He sent us a post-card, requesting appomntment ANSWER $87.25 Profit in his first Fifteen Days and still going strong. Mr. Baren nece sary quality enerwy field easily carns $2.00 hour he pend n th w ae | hi profit will be permanent and ever increasin for we will allow him the san mar t renew as for new subscriptions. Your Problems Can Be Solved As Easily Every opportunity that Mr Barenstield found open to him tn Curtis work il pen t ! YOU can be yvour own bo - you can raise your own pay in a too, can hav ill the money you need to meet current or unt il exper Ni x} T a ! qui 1. If vou have ambi 1 iu for more t \ Clip This Coupon Now! SSSSRSSSTSESSSR EERE REESE SERRE EERE E RRR REE ES The Curtis Publishing Company 284 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pa ’ ‘Vv t WW hw MORE MONEY P and one thing only—namely, that the tribute we are paying him is not a tribute to his talents, his energies, his achieve- ments; that it is not a tribute to those qualities in him which point so certainly toward great material prosperity; but that, upon the contrary, this farewell banquet represents a tribute to his personal charac- ter—that it is a spontaneous expression of our esteem, our affection, for one who will always be our comrade and our friend. Gentlemen, I ask you to rise and join me in drinking the health of H. Bell Brown the Man.” It would be hard to say how much of the applause that followed was for H. Bell Brown—the Man—and how much for Bol- ton, whose talent for oratory was now made known for the first time to his colleagues. The toast was, however, drunk enthusiasti- cally, and in a variety of liquors; for though the red wine was holding out, a number of the men had ordered further drinks on their own account. Even Murphy, the city-hall man, who had at first rebelled at the expense involved, now had a highball of his own purchasing before him and was among the noisiest of the enthusiasts. As the glasses were returned to the table Otis started For He'’sa Jolly Good Fellow! and the song was bawled feelingly by all. Next the column conductor read a hu- morous prophecy in which the various men present were shown as his waggishness suggested they would be twenty years hence. The accented individual in this forecast was, of course, H. Bell Brown, the scene being laid at a banquet given by Brown at his mansion on Fifth Avenue formerly the Metropolitan Museum of Art. At this banquet the members of the Dispatch staff gathered, and each told his story. While the column conductor was reading his prophecy Bolton left his place and went to where Otis was sitting, halfway down the table. “I'm going to call on you next,” “to present the cup.” “No, you're not,” Otis answered. “I’ve got the cup here, but I’m not the one to present it."” He reached under the table, brought up a silversmith’s bag of soft ma- roon cloth and placed it in Bolton’s hands, “Of course you'll present it!’’ Bolton insisted. “No,” said Otis firmly. ‘“ You've got to do it. The whole object is to do it right to make old Brown feel his oats. Well, I’m no talker, and you are. You've amazed us all. You're a wonder. Give him some more of that Grade A oratory of yours. Tell him how we love him.” Ile was so evidently in earnest that Bol- ton yielded. “Just as you like,” he said. “Only you got this party up, Jimmy, and you ought to say something.’ All right. I have something very ef- fective to say after you give him the cup. Just wait. You'll see who turns out to be the real orator of the evening!” Thus to Otis’ satisfaction it came about that when the column conductor’s prophecy had been heard Bolton rose and, uncorking new vials of praise, presented ‘the cup to Brown, Still seated, Brown took the vessel in one hand and looked at the side on which the names of the donors were engraved. The engraver had certainly managed very well, he thought, to get so many names on a surface so comparatively small. He turned the cup and read the inscription: he said, TO HENRY BELL BROWN IN TOKEN OF ADMIRATION AND AFFECTION OF His FRIENDS AND COWORKERS ON THE STAFF OF Tue New YorK EVENING DISPATCH THe Esterm, ery neat,"’ he remarked to Bolton Me anwhile the assembled donors of the cup were shouting and applauding. “What's the matter with Brownie? howled Otis ‘He’s—all-—-right!” from everyone. *Who's—all—right?” “ Brownie me “Speech! Speech!” Then, looking very clean, very weil- dressed, very composed, He nry Bell Brown stood up. In planning his remarks he had THE SATURDAY EVENING POST UNBEAMS, INC. S Continued from Page 7) at first thought of beginning with some in- formal introductory word, such as ‘ Boys” or “Fellows”; but now, what with the wine, the enthusiasm and the oratory of Bolton, he felt that informality would seem a little out of place, coming from him. The note for him to strike was not that of familiarity but of fine and gracious dignity. = Mister Toastmaster, and gentlemen of the staff of the New York Evening Dis- patch’’—thus impressively did he bégin. Then after a weighty pause he entered upon the body of his address. His first duty was, of course, to make them think that he was satisfied. “I feel sure,”’ he said, “‘that no words of mine can make you realize more fully than you already must how thoroughly I am pleased by the tributes you have paid me to-night, in words, in actions, and in giving me this’”—he hesitated; he had meant to say “handsome,” but the word would not come out—‘‘this loving cup. How true it is, my friends, that sentiment is some- th \ing that rises above all that is mundane all financial considerations, all the crass materialism thz ut surrounds us in our daily life. How true! And what better illustra- tion of this truth could we have than is presented here to-night? Look at this ban- quet! Do you think, gentlemen, that: be- cause this banquet is held in an unpreten- tious and inexpensive place, that makes it any the less significant tome? No! I am sure you all know me too well for that. If this dinner had cost ten dollars a plate, still to me it would not be any more de- sirable. Because, my friends, as I have said before, no money value can be placed on sentiment. And so also with this cup. Do you suppose, gentlemen of the New York Evening Dispatch, that if this cup were two feet tall instead of only about six inches it would mean any more to me? Again I say, No! Because it is not the weight or size of a loving cup that counts. Where friendship and admiration are con- cerned, gold and silver are the merest dross. ““No, gentlemen! The thing that counts is what that loving cup means. The thing that counts is the sentiment with which that cup is given and the sentiment with whie h it is received. “I want to say to you, gentlemen, that I shall always keep this little cup before me. And I want to say further that to me it will always be a big cup. For sentiment and sentiment alone is the standard by Ww hic ‘h such a thing must be measured. ‘And, gentlemen, each time I look a this cup I shall receive anew the hon you have given me on this occasion. Each time I look at it I shall say to myself: ‘Henry Bell Brown, remember what that cup means. It means that the men with whom you were associated on the Dispatch believed in you, had confidence in you, picked you as a man who was destined to win out in life! They placed their faith in you. Therefore it is up to you to show them that they were right; that besides being a success in a small way on the paper you can be a success in a larger way, a suc- cess in other fields; so that some day every man who participated in giving you the banquet and the cup can look back and take real pride in having done so. And why? Because he picked you for a winner, and you have won!’ That, gentlemen, is the message this little cup will give me when look at it as the years roll by.” Having spoken thus he sat down, while his hosts rising to their feet clapped their hands and cheered. Again he was hailed in seng; then Bolton called on Jimmy Otis. ‘Fellows,”’ said Otis, ““I have no doubt that I could deliver a speech that would make you all burst into tears and go home. But I have something here that speaks louder than words. The publisher has asked me to fill the loving cup with champagne at his expense, and keep it full until it has passed round the table and everyone has had all he wants—everyone, that is, ex- cept Murphy. And even Murphy can have all that is good for him.” The publisher now became by universal acclaim “A jolly good fe llow. which nobody can deny’’; after which the all-rightness of Otis was loudly and rhyth- mically proclaimed. From the point of view of the guest of honor the uncorking of champagne formed an apex to the celebration, contributing that touch of class which hitherto had been so sorely needed. He counted the fresh June 28, bottles that were opened as the cup pro- gressed upon its way, and was pleased to notice that as many as four quarts had been required. Hitherto the publisher of the Dispatch had seemed to him austere, but now he perceived that this exalted person- age had his human side after all. He wished that the publisher had come to the ban- quet and brought the managing editor and the city editor with him. Maybe they would have been in evening dress. That was the kind of thing this party called for: Style—people of real consequence—any- thing to tone it up. The loving cup standing on the table was the first thing he saw when he awoke on Sunday morning. He lay for a time re- garding it. No, it certainly wasn’t much of a cup. As far as that went it hadn't looked like much of a cup last night; but now in the cold morning light it seemed smalier still. And that was just the point. It typified, did that cup, the quality of last night’s party. Of course it was weli meant. But it was cheap. mi ILE next day, ao} bet ween nine and ten A. M., Mr. Bell Brown, wearing a neat business suit a+ spats, and carrying a cane, arrived at the impressive offices of The Publicity Directors of the United States, Inc.—-Advertising Engineers—and_pass- ing through the wicket gate, with a nod to the red-headed young lady in attendance, strode across the thick green carpet, the tone of which set off the tint of the young lady’s hair, to the door of a certain private office upon the ground-glass panel of which the name H. Bell Brown was already em- blazoned in small artistic letters of gold. The office was the sixth in a row set off by a partition of chastely tinted woodwork and ground glass, each with a name upon the door. Thus, an observer familiar with the official personnel of The oe Directors of the United States, Inc.— Advertising En- gineers— might learn that ‘the first room, somewhat larger than the others, was oc cupied by Berg Ledbetter, president of the corporation, and that the respective offices of the secretary and treasurer, the office manager, the efficiency director, and the chief solicitor—a title of no legal implica- tion —following in sequence, were interposed between that of the president and that of Brown. This layout, as it was sometimes called, suggesting, as it did, a cross between a clubhouse and a bank, was calculated to reassure the doubter and to make the guilty feel respectable. And that was desirable For truth to tell, The Publicity Directors of the United States, Inc.— Advertising Engi- neers—had none too good a name. This is not to say that the corporation was consid- ered weak financially; on the contraryit han- dled a large number of profitable accounts; but in spite of the fact that some of these accounts were of legitimate character there were others which, though the handling of them yielded large sums to the agency, were nevertheless looked upon with disap- proving eyes not only by rival advertising agencies having a higher sense of ethics, not only by the large body of publishers having a feeling of responsibility toward readers of their publications, but also by innumerable advertisers who demanded of an advertising agent that he be something more than aclever schemer. This feeling on the part of the majority of reputable adver- tisers resembled their feeling about the banks with which they did business. It was not enough that these banks should be reli- able as to certain accounts only; they must be reliable ull through. Thus the reputation of The Publicity Directors of the United States, Inc.— Advertising Engineers —made it increasingly difficult for that company to secure new untainted business, and upon the other hand increasingly easy for it to secure new business in the line of question- able stock promotion and doubtful patent medicines. It was because of his concern over the acuteness of the situation that Led- better had employed Brown. He felt that Brown was a man who could get new busi- ness of the more desirable kind. Brown spent the morning arranging his desk, making initial plans, and dictating letters to various business men with whom he had become acquainted as a reporter, announcing his change of occupation and his readiness to place at their disposal the (Continued on Page 153)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING a - - ———s P| ie ee ye IO Paint Your Walls ARCO-RAYS *LENGTHENS YOUR DAYS” TRADE MARK.REG U 5S PAT OFF Stays White and Stays On And Let the Sun Flood Your Factory With Daylight Paint your walls, ceilings, pillars and posts turns yellow, is easy to apply with a spray with Arco-Rays, and gleams of daylight or a brush and easy to clean. will be diffused into the darkest corners of your plant. Arco-Rays is an investment which pays dividends in loyalty, efficiency and contentedness; it reduces labor turn- over, it helps to maintain production schedules and quality standards. Interesting information on factory lighting will be sent upon request. There is an Arco finish especially prepared for every finishing requirement, whether it be for your plant or your product. Discussion of finishes and finishing Arco-Rays is the result of thirty-eight problems is invited with production years of scientific development; it never executives. THE ARCO COMPANY, CLEVELAND, OHIO Established 1881 ots . a 7 ’ ? £ j r a Pha r ta vs OT. IS. . | Pe , 4 i ty {D , | ! tay |! if -n, "= a 4) — i. Fe» | jes ee) A ff) yt . , i = ii @ J é if 4 . al , = . | DR nme Fhe PEEL, IRI dd RS ie 2 MM | vy = erm Ss a i PAINTS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919

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ba . a PASASASAPSASR - a e Prevents new Rust and Seale from forming — Keeps cooling system RUSTPROOF and SCALEPROOP. 6. Improves Cooling. \ 7. Saves Oil. \ — ——

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] ¥ \ OULDN’T you think that so stands 2000 pounds explosive pressure The result is elimination of Rust and V Scale. This means a cooler, better work omplhiecated and delicate a Ihe “X” Liquid process is mor part of the motor car as the water scientific than soldering. It is quicker, ing engine—less oil and gasoline con sumption avd 4 reduction in upkeep costs. cooing system would get more sater and more economical Soldering attention from the average owner? _ expands the delicate tubes, doesn’t al Why Not Use “X”’ — Before ie bee eure e fe ge perf ct 1. ways hit the right spot, and weakens the ‘ You Have Trouble ? “ a Ng ® Yer radiator. X I quid positively m . modern science can make tf. et proves it. If “2 ’ is left in the water it isa fact that much trouble can and theve mecer will he another leak. does breed in the cooling system. iO i 7: e In order to get greatest cooling eff ani . ler radiator walls are made as thin l HE particles of Rust that come th eet of paper Phe water pass out with the dirty water from the s between these walls are very nat radiator mean that the metal walls } j 2 ‘ tl hich 1 more "" : “bs th ' of the cooling system are being +,000 corners that may leak ah ' eaten away. The parts not attacked early 3,000,000 car owners kno by Rust are piled thick with layers the most scientific way to repal of Scale. This Scale acts as an in oO thousands of them—is sulator. It keeps the heat in the X° LIQUID. This ts the mos engine, breaks down the lubricat ical method of repairing leaks . ag - ; > “a ing film--and causes scored cyl safe. Ask for the ori “X” Liquid. inders seized ystons pitte d valves Y ~e - t is dace ur ed ag ' Standard Size, $1.50 and hundreds of dollars of expense! schemically Will do $25.00 in Repair Work ly until it With an average of 16,000 square Ford Size, ” 15 inches of surface in the cooling system it is a serious problem to keep it clean.

The chemical composition of “X”” is such that it /oosens all Rust and Scale <mae , now present. It absorbs the free oxygen ' swith a repair in the water. This prevents mew Rust from forming. And “X”’ does not allow “Xx” LABORATORIES the inner wall of the lime and magnesia in the water to 640 Washington Street Boston, Mass. root of how « $150.00 welding . ' making a repair that cle posit new Scale . Pacific Coast Branch: 433 Rialto Bidg., San Francisco 99 3 $a makes all water cooling systems we Liquid LEAKPROOF «RUSTPROOF - SCALEPROOF

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~~ ( (Continued from Page 150) services of The Publicity Directors of the United States, Inc.—Advertising Engi- neers—whose occupation it was to formulate constructive advertising campaigns, to pre- pare artistic illustrations and hard-hitting copy, and to place these to the best ad- vantage. In'these letters he used the words “psychology” and “psychological,” but did not speak of “functioning” —that term not having entered the vocabulary of ad- vertising until some years later. H. Bell Brown, you see, had been preparing him- self in advance for his new work. At midday Ledbetter entered Brown's office, welcomed him to the employ of The Publicity Directors of the United States, Inc.— Advertising Engineers —(always writ- ten in red capitals in the firm’s letters), and invited him to join several members of the corporation at luncheon, for a “‘ conference.” Brown appreciated the word, and there- after made it his. Never again during busi- ness hours was he known merely to talk with people. Instead, he held conferences. If someone entered his office or he entered the office of someone else a conference was thereby automatically created. Nor did he ever “solicit’’ business after the manner of the crass advertising man. He merely “conferred”’ upon the subject. Other expressions, too, there were, belong- ing to the terminology of The Publicity Directors of the United States, Inc.— Adver- tising Engineers. Being engineers instead of mere advertising agents, the corporation required its employees to use the word profession’’ wherever possible, instead of the word “business,”’ while references to the advertising “game’’ were regarded with horror. Similarly the corporation had clients, not customers. Stenographers tak- ing dictation were trained to watch for crude expressions which might accidentally occur, and to correct these in transcription by the substitution of an elegance. ‘“* Psy- chology” was perhaps the corporation's leading word; but ‘“‘synchronize,” “‘co- ordinate,” ‘‘ merchandise ’’—as a verb—and “standardize”’ were not neglected. And so far as possible the corporation not only talked standardization but prac- ticed it. Its three leading lights lived up sartoriaily to their professionai aspiration by wearing braided cutaway coats; all letters were required to be written with a certain margin and certain scheme of spac- ing, and all dates were spelled out in full. Moreover, there were certain standard para- graphs covering certain subjects, so that any Officer or employee of the corporation could drop them into a letter at whatever point he pleased, merely by saying to the stenographer: ‘Insert M. paragraph” meaning the standard paragraph on mer- chandising; or “S. C. paragraph’’— meaning the standard paragraph on synchroniza- tion and codrdination; or “B. S. para- graph’’—meaning the standard paragraph on better service—which, however, was spoken of in the paragraph itself as ‘‘serv- ice of the better sort.” The first day’s conference brought def- inite results. On the way to the restaurant with Ledbetter and the others Brown bought a copy of the noon edition of the Dispatch—just to see how the old sheet was struggling on without him—and there on the first page found, to his amazement, something he had never dreamed of finding. It was a heading dealing with himself: BANQUET TENDERED TO RETIR- ING DISPATCH MAN DINNER AND LOVING Cup GIVEN BY NEWS- PAPER ASSOCIATES TO H. BELL BROWN Though short the story was eminently gratifying. It not only spoke of Brown as one of the ablest men on the Dispatch staff and declared that he would be gen- erally missed, but mentioned Ledbetter and The Publicity Directors of the United States, Inc. To Brown this item gave triple satisfac- tion. He was pleased that it had been printed at all, more pleased that it ap- peared on the first page, and still more pleased that Ledbetter’s name and that of the corporation were included. For the latter point gave him an excuse to show the little write-up forthwith to his employer. That the writer of the article had foreseen such a possibility and had with deliberate amiable purpose mentioned Ledbetter and the corporation did not occur to Brown, who regarded the inclusion of them as a mere happy accident. Nor did it occur to him to wonder how the story had come to be written. Had he wondered he would THE SATURDAY probably have guessed that Bolton did it, but in that he would have been mistaken. The anonymous beneficence was the work of Jimmy Otis. Jimmy had taken the pains, that morning, to go down to the business office and ascertain the name of the company and its president; then he had written the story, taken it to the man- aging editor, and requested him to make a ““Must” of it. “What’s the idea? asked him. “It might help Brown to get off on his right foot in his new job,” said Otis. ‘But the name of the company—and this man Ledbetter,”’ muttered the manag- ing editor, shaking his head. “I hear they aren't very reputable people.” I don’t believe that,”’ said Otis. “Brown wouldn’t have gone there if it were true.” So, though the policy of the Dispatch in such matters was habitually anything but generous, and though the managing editor was much more skeptical concerning Brown than Otis was, he thought enough of Otis to do as he requested. “Must!”’ he scrawled in blue pencil at the head of Otis’ copy, and into the paper it went. It seems not unlikely that had Brown known all this he would not have been ‘in conference’’ when some six weeks later ( tis stopped in at the offices of The Publicity Directors of the United States, Inc Ad- vertising Engineers—to pay a friendly call But how was Brown to know? He was busy composing copy for an ad. Already the Dispatch and the men on the Dispatch seemed a long, long way behind him. Otis didn’t interest him anyway. Bolton was the only man down there who counted. The item did start Brown off as Otis had hoped it would. Ledbetter not only liked to see his own name in print but appreci ated as only an advertising engineer can the advantage of so fine a free advertise- ment for the corporation. Moreover, this tangible evidence that Brown's former associates held him in such high regard crystallized Ledbetter’s favorable opinion ” the managing editor of his new employee. That was the first result of the initial conference, and the second was corollary to it. On that very day the ace u.'s of sev eral well-established clients of the corporation were assigned to Brown to hand's; and even though one of these was the account of an oil company claiming to own wells somewhere in Okla- homa and desirous of selling stock at bar- gain prices, it was remarked in the office that no new man had ever before been started off with such a volume of important business to look after. No: did Brown himself fail accurately to gauge the value of the puff in the Dispatch It is doubtful if anyone else perceived a clearly as he what a splendid service it had rendered him. It had put him ahead half a year at least; perhaps a full year. Such is the power of publicity! In thinking of what the little news item had done for him he forgot for a time what had been the occasion for its publication, and when he did stop to reflect that the banquet had in point of fact been at the bottom of it all the thought amused him. The banquet had not amounted to much, but the story of the banquet —that was indeed a different thing! The cup had not amounted to much, but the mention of it in a newspaper turned it as though by magic into a thing of value The men at the banquet had not amounted to much, but those who read about the banquet had no way of finding that out. Turning the matter over in his mind thus H. Bell Brown developed a shrewd theory as to wherein the real value of a testimonial banquet lies. He made a mental note of his discovery, for future reference. So, rapidly, occurred what Ledbetter called Brown's “induction” into the profe sion of advertising engineering. It would seem that he was cut out for it. Either he learned with a speed hardly short of mi- raculous or else advertising engineering may be mastered in a much shorter time than engineering in the commoner branches. Had for example, an automobile engineer, a constructing engineer or a civil engineer, instead of an space of bec ome advertising engineer, and progressed a rapidly, he would have been building motor cars, skyscrapers, steel bridges or railroads within a year of the time that he commenced his scientific delvings. For within the year he was quite at home in all branches of the work of The Publicity Di- | rectors of the United States, Inc.— Adver- tising Engineers—and was handling some of the corporation’s most impressive client EVENING POST are the only suc m gen lanterns on the mar het er ( Greatest Farm Light Known No. C.Q. 329 Price $8.50 Light With Matches Coleman Quick-Lit atch-lighting nerating lamps Ouick-Lited is an exclusive leman patent cessfal ws and urn Nhe btn mc Wet ee } II a Mage * For = \@leman 153 The Perfect Light for the Summer Home Cottage and Camp A good lamp and lantern are necessities most everywhere, especially for cottage and camp and general vacation use The oleman Quick-Lite is the most brilliant light in the world. The lamps fill a real need in farm ' ree ; I | ‘ " \\ } ! (Quick-Lite Lamps and 300 Candle Power °"*''"' : um 12 to 1 le (> k-I a a te i. on tle et. = 1 | le | It | | Safe—Economical— Clean! 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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Among these accounts was that of the Gilfillan Laboratories, manufacturing chem- ists, and it was through the evolution of an || idea conceived by H. Bell Brown in con-

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Vilice \i preventing rust 1 in any way im- One trial ethicrency. top all leaks wate! will con uu ol its Will al in le oO permane ntly } im and Ol heating it iler and Products using will supply the < Nie write Ric Ouality TRADE marn Ft LIQUID RADIATOR | CEMENT Durkee-Atwood Co., Minneapolis, Minn.; Cleveland, Ohio Canadian Durkee-Atwood Co., Ltd., Toronto, Canada, Manufacturers of Rie Nie Products direct to us, couy below, De RKEEATWOODG | Moti J MINNEAPOLIS. U.S.A. \ Manufacturers of Rie Nie Products Canadian Durkee-Atwood Co., Ltd., Toronto Factories at Minneapolis, Cleveland, Toronto [ ] $1.00 size liator Ceme \ Tractor Write your name and address on margin of this page | and had | vanced?” he | nection with a new digestive pill being brought out by the Gilfillan Laboratories that the next great change in his career occurred. iv ROWN had been with The Publicity Di- rectors of the United States, Inc.— Ad- vertising Engineers—for a number of years more than doubled the annual expenditure for advertising of the Gilfillan Laboratories when old Gilfillan sent for him | one day to discuss plans by which his new digestive pills might be eased in large quan- | titiesdownthe publicthroat. Gilfillan, him- self a chemist, had taken a personal interest in the compounding of the pill, and he had hit upon a combination possessing medici- nal properties and a flavor which he be- lieved would cause the pill to be received by a dyspeptic world with cries of joy. While the chemist described the pill and discussed his hopes for it Brown sat by and listened in cold professional silence. For though he knew Gilfillan well by this time he made it an invariable rule when in con- ference never to let his client forget that he, H. Bell Brown, was an advertising engi- neer, and that the dignity, mystery, in- scrutability of the profession of advertising engineering was in his keeping. “How far has work on this pill ad- demanded when Gilfillan stopped speaking. “Itis finished,” said the chemist. ‘“We’ve even got the bottle and the package.” “Mr. Gilfillan,” said Brown, “have you forgotten our talk when you were putting Boriol upon the market? Have you for- gotten how I then pointed out that the science of advertising engineering does not | properly begin with the mere merchan- dising of a product, but ought to be applied from the moment that a product is in pro- cess of creation?” “That’s all right,” said Gilfillan, “but we made a go of Boriol just the same.” “Boriol,” said Brown, “was never the success it should have been. I was not called in soon enough. I should like to see a sample of the new pill and the container.” Gilfillan produced them from a drawer of his desk. The brown cardboard wrapper inclosing the bottle bore in large black capital let- ters the legend: Gilfillan’s Dyspepsia Pills. Below was a list of many unpleasant symp- toms and conditions for which the tablets were recommended. The bottle within was also brown, and the pills, which had a glossy coating, were of an even darker shade of brown. The chemist watched the advertising engineer as he progressed with his inspec- | tion. “Well?” he demanded as the latter laid the packet, bottle and pills upon the desk again. “You desire my opinion?” “Of course.” “No good,” said Brown tersely, He waved a hand dismissively at the articles he had just put down. “No good?” cried Gilfillan. ‘‘ You must be crazy, Brown! Why, what do you know about it? What do you know about a pill you haven’t even sampled? You don’t even know what’s in it!” Brown set his lips, gazed sternly at the chemist for a moment, then bringing his fist down upon the desk replied forcefully: “No, sir! I don’t know what's in it. And I don’t care what's in it. What's in it doesn't matter. This is a proposition of psy- chology. As a merchandising proposition I tell you this pill of yours has nothing to recommend it.” The chemist looked angry, but as he opened his mouth to speak Brown stopped him with a question. To stop a client ora prospective client with a question is a part of the science of advertising engineering. ““Mr. Gilfillan,”” Brown demanded, “‘do you know how many dyspeptics there are in the United States?” “Nobody knows that,’’ the other re- plied. Brown had the air of one who does not deign explicitly to deny a foolish statement. “There are in the United States twenty- two million five hundred thousand cases of chronie dyspepsia. That is in round numbers. Beyond these chronic cases there are some seventeen million erratic or semi- regular cases. That makes a total of thirty-nine millions. There is still another class of cases, which we may describe as June 28,1919 casuals; these being sporadic cases of mere indigestion or biliousness, usually the re- sult of overeating or overdrinking, and reaching the astonishing yearly total of fifty-three millions.” “Where do you get your figures?”’ Gil- fillan demanded. “From our own research department,” proudly answered the advertising engineer. “All right,” said the chemist, impressed but not cowed, “‘what’s the answer?” “The answer is that the successful pill, the big pill, the world-beating pill has not yet been created,” Brown declared. “ And that brings us to the question whether or not you propose to be the genius who shall produce the ultimate pill—the pill that will be the acknowledged leader—that will be bought by the majority of these millions of sufferers.” He paused impressively; then emphasizing his words by pounding his fist upon his palm he continued: ‘‘ Will you be the manufacturer of the ultimate pill, Mr. Gilfillan, or will you not? Will you seize the golden opportunity or will you leave it to be seized by someone else?” “But I’ve got the pill right here,” in- sisted Gilfillan, indicating the bottle on the desk. “No, sir, you have not,”’ said Brown. “But as I said before,’’ exclaimed the chemist, ‘‘you don’t know what’s in this pill of mine. So how can you ‘2 “Mr. Gilfillan,” broke in Brown with great impressiveness, “it is true, sir, that I do not know what is in your pill. But mark this: It is also true that I do know what must be in the ultimate pill. Your pill, Mr. Gilfillan, does not contain the essential ingredient!” ‘‘What is the essential ingredient, then?” Ah! The advertising engineer tried not to show how much this question pleased him. It was the question for which he had been engineering with every atom of his professional skill. Moreover, he had man- aged to work Gilfillan into asking it a little bit defiantly, which made it all the better. He chose to hold his climax. “Well, I ask you what is the chief symp- tom of dyspepsia?”’ “Stomach ache- Gilfillan groggily. “Right! Depression! And what’s the remedy—the one logical, infallible, un- answerable, inevitable remedy? Answer me that, sir!” “Sodium bicar —— But H. Bell Brown would not let his client answer. “No, sir!” he broke in in a triumphant shout. “‘The remedy, Mr. Gilfillan, the remedy is sunshine!” Having thus stunned his client he pro- ceeded to elucidate. His theory was in brief that dyspepsia and kindred disorders of the digestive tract produce pessimism, melancholy, gloom; and, ergo, that the things craved by vic- tims of such ailments are optimism, cheer, elation—sunshine. The color brown, ac- cording to the findings of the research department of The Publicity Directors of the United States, Inc.—Advertising En- gineers—was a depressing color. Obviously, then, it was no color for a pill for indiges- tion. What could be more depressing to a man with the proverbial dark-brown taste in his mouth than the sight of a dark-brown pill? The ultimate pill must be different. Anybody ought to be able to see that. All right, then—advertise sunshine! Call your pills Sunshine Tablets, put them in a bright-yellow bottle, and pack that bottle in a carton also of bright yellow, with a picture of the sun printed in gold. And above all, make your tablets as yellow as the sun itself. “If you could put phosphorus in them, so they'd be luminous at night,” he told Gilfillan, “‘that would be much better.” It was on the subject of the color of the pills that Brown and his client ultimately broke. One was thinking of chemical, the other of psychological reaction. Gilfillan insisted that the brown pills were medici- nally superior to anything that could be made in yellow; there were chemical rea- sons, he said, why brown was best. Give people relief, he contended, and they wouldn't care what color the pills were. He wasn’t making pills to please the eye, but to soothe the stomach. Besides, the brown pills were already in process of manufac- ture and he didn’t propose to throw them away. Brown fought hard for his idea. He de- livered an oration on the growing under- standing of the power of mind over matter. (Continued on Page 157) depression,’”’ muttered

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Pe an Bxibe’ Battery There’ af for Your (ar ‘2 dew of the make oF « 4 o 2 Look at the Last Select Your Battery Thereisan * EE Xi6€ ts: Battery made to meet the demands of your Car | Get it from the ‘Exide ‘distyibuter nearest you — THE ELECTRIC STORAGE BATTERY CO. The largest maker » batteries in the world 1888 PHIL. phere neg PA. 1919 New York Boston Chicago Washingto San Francisco St. Louis Cleveland Atlanta Pitts —_ Ménneapolis K oi Detroit Roch . Toronto “Exide”, “WycapeExide”, “froncla —. - nsExide’’, “Chloride Accumulator”, “Tudor Accumulator” L¢ »( 1K h¢ RK Batteries are made - this Company for every storage battery purpose THIS SIGN

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Reg US Par Off June 28,1919 Macbeth Scientific Lenses Are Used All Over The World B' FORE putting Macbeth Lenses on the market for use on automobiles, four years were devoted by lens experts in perfecting them. These same specialists have solved the most difficult wor'd wide lens problems requiring ac- curacy to the thousandth part of an inch. The safety of mil- lions depends on their scientific accuracy. The Macbeth Lens with the Green Glass Visor for motor cars, has naturally met the needs of the motorists completely, because it is scientific in its use of light. It has five horizontal prisms, each inclining at an angle de- termined with scientific accuracy. Blinding, wasted upward light rays are redirected on the road whe re ne eded. This gives a concentrated bril liance right in front of the front wheels and far ahead. Yet th light is kept well below the line of vision of approaching drivers. This provides a safe driving light and protects you and others against the danger of the blinded driver who cannot see your car nor the r vad. Four vertical, cylindrical lenses at the back of the lens spread the light and make it uniform through- out the lighted area. Put Macbeth Lenses on your car today. Price per Pair $5 Denver and West $5.50— Canada $6 —Winnipug and West $6.50 ly ur dealer Macbeth-Evans Glass Company, Pittsburgh up garages ever here u, wrile div u bor Macbeth-Evans Glass Co., Ltd., Toronto, Canada.

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! (Continued from Page 154) Make a man believe a thing was going to do him good and it would do him good. Make him believe that it would be good for him to eat a piece of yellow chalk, then he would be benefited by that piece of chalk more than by a brown pill the very sight of which repelled him. This was not a prop- osition of medicine but of merchandising. What was the good in any pill if you couldn’t sell it? And what was the harm in any pill if you could? It was just plain psychotherapeutics! In spite of all he could say, however, the advertising engineer was unable to make Gilfillan give up the brown pill. He left the office of the Gilfillan Laboratories late that afternoon utterly disgusted at the biased, narrow-minded, chemical point of view of the proprietor. But if the cloud of Gilfillan’s stupidity had for the time being obscured the sun- shine idea, that idea was too cosmic to suffer permanent eclipse. Turning the matter over in his mind Brown began to see that it was really too big to waste on pills. It wasn’t only in pills that people wanted sunshine. It wasn’t only dyspeptics who yearned for sunshine in their lives. The quest for sunshine was the one great hu- man quest. The instinct to seek sunshine was second only to the instinct for self- preservation. That was true whether you spoke of actual sunshine or the sunshine of the spirit. Did not the rays of the sun constitute a generally recognized symbol for happiness? Were not people a'l over the world continually in search of solar warmth? Those who could afford to travel sought it in Florida, California, Honolulu, Bermuda, on the Riviera, in Sicily or in Egypt. Those who could not afford to travel sought it in companionship, in en- tertainment, at the theater, at the movies or in stories and poems. Next to air and water, sunshine was the element most necessary to life. The great majority of human beings drudged through their lives for money. And why for money? Because to nine persons out of ten money is some- thing with which sunshine may be bought with which a few hours of happiness may be obtained The desire for sunshine made thieves. Also it caused marriages. Why did men and women wed if not in the hope of find- ing sunshine in matrimonial life? And again, if marriage failed to bring sunshine, then, far from giving up the quest, the disappointed mates would seek it in di- vorce and remarriage. “Why,” he said to himself suddenly, “the sunshine idea is the biggest idea in the world!—that is, it would be the biggest idea in the world if you could merchandise hy He considered other merchandising prop- ositions with which he was familiar. Take an antiseptic gargle, like Boriol. The trouble with an article of that kind was that the demand for it was necessarily limited by the number of persons needing a gargle. Moreover, though there was a handsome margin of profit in each. bottle sold, nevertheless it cost a good deal to make the stuff and put it up. Or take toothbrushes. Or again, take hooks and eyes. The market for hooks and eyes was limited to women. And whereas, in order to manufacture hooks and eyes or tooth- brushes or antiseptics or almost any other kind of merchandisable goods, you had to have a plant and labor and machinery and raw material, you needed none of those things in the sunshine business. Merchan- dise sunshine and you'd have practically no overhead. Sunshine was as free as air. The supply was unlimited, and so was the demand. “How much better,” thought H. Bell Brown in a kind of eestasy, “to drop a sunbeam of thought into the dark recesses of the human mind than to drop a pill even a yellow pill —into those of the human stomach.” The epigram pleased him. He took a pencil and wrote it down. It seemed to point the way to something. With pencil and paper he now began to try consciously for uplifting epigrams and maxims, and presently, feeling the call more and more strongly as he essayed these sunbeams of thought, he found himself lapsing into verse. Vv H BELL BROWN was not one to burn e his bridges behind him without first making certain of good going on the farther shore. His initial experiments with sun- shine as a business proposition began in a THE SATURDAY and strictly on the side. Having compiled a number of verses and maxims laden with cheer, he took them to a friend of his who was in the business of supplying “ boiler- plate”’ pages to several hundred newspapers in small towns, and proposed to furnish enough verses and paragraphs daily to fill a long double-column box. The boiler-plate man liked Brown’s initial offerings and was much pleased to find that modest way and were conducted privately | he would contribute further material of the kind. Arrangements were concluded without difficulty, the understanding being that the box should have the title Gloom Chasers as its standing head, and that Brown's name should appear conspicu- ously thereunder. However, not long after he had left his friend's office Brown returned. “On thinking it over,” he said, “‘I be- lieve I'll use something in the nature of a nom de plume with the daily sunbeams. Instead of using my name, run them as ‘by Belwyn Brown’—Belwyn with a ‘y.’” This item, seeming so trifling, is re- corded only because it marks the occasion upon which came into being the fourth and final version of Brown's name—for it was as Belwyn Brown that he ultimately came to regard himself, and to be regarded by many thousands of others, as a thor- oughly successful man. Probably he never realized that he had had four names. Prob- ably his thoughts never went back of the days in which he had been H. Bell Brown. Yet the fact remains that as a boy he had been called ‘ Harry.”’ Thus it may be said to be doubly true of the hero of this narra- tive that he made, as the saying is, a name for himself. Yet though the first half of his fifth and final name was at last satisfactory to him he was never in his innermost heart quite satisfied. The name of Brown annoyed him. He would have liked to change it to Browning, Brownell or Brownstone, and even thought at times of doing so, but was deterred bya memory. It was not, as might be supposed, asentimental memory, having to do with the preservation of his family name, but the memory of a curious look that lay in the eyes of the column con- ductor of the Dispatch when the latter meeting him in a café in the beginning of his period of opulence repeatedly addressed him as “ Brownwyn.” Belwyn Brown —for so in future we shall call him—felt that he had reason for ar- tistic pride in the first of his Gloom Chasers to be sent out as part of a boiler-plate page. It was what, unhesitatingly, he called a poem; and it ran as follows: \tT ' SMILE! It’s easy to stride where the road wide And the pavement ts firm and fine It's easy to skip at a good stiff clip 1sy patag t | When the road a long vhite ne It ily good fun down the | to run If there isn't a chance to fall BUT A MAN’S TRUE BLUE IF HE JUST PLUG THROUGH WHERE THERE ISN'T A PATH AT ALL! It's easy to grin when the cash re n And your life is a cloudk lay It's easy to prance in the costliest dance If the Fiddler's received his pay; It’s easy to sing till the rafters ring If Joy is the Heart of the BUT GIVE ME THE FELLOW THAT DOESN'T SHOW YELLOW WHEN EVERYTHING'S GONE DEAD WRONG! ° So, remember, Friends, until Cosmos ends, Until Chaos shall rule supreme; Until Day and Night take their last long flight And the World is a shattered dream; Remember! Your frown pulls the nerf man down Lend a Hand! Make his life worth while! GIVI A BEAMING FACE TO THE HUMAN RACE! FACE FATE WITH—A BRAVI SWEET SMILE! In the succeeding Gloom Chasers there was sometimes verse, sometimes prose, sometimes both. Brown’s aim was to give the daily box an appearance of variety, EVENING POST STORAGE BATTERY TROUBLE TEST YOUR BATTERY OFTEN WITH A BATTERY TESTER TELLS AT A GLANCE IF YOUR BATTERY /S BUY ONE FROM YOUR DEALER TODAY CARRY IT IN YOUR TOOL BOX AT ALL TIMES IT WILL SAVE THE PRICE OF A NEW STORAGE BATTERY UNLIMITED "\ BATTERY INSURANCE FORA DOLLAR BILL All Live Dealers Sell the “Break-Not.” Accept no Substitute. Prepaid, Insured Parcel Post Sample on Receipt of $1.00 (Canadian Price $1.25) DEALERS WRITE FOR PRICES. YOUR JOBBER CARRIES THE “BREAK-NOT" IN STOCK E. EpDELMANN & Co. _ CHICAGO Send for our catalog of Clever Auto Specialties ° x

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THE SATURDAY Your Ford needs a Speedometer Other accessories may be in the luxury class, but a reliable speedometer is a necessity to economic and efficient motor- ing. Unless you know how far you go, how fast you go and what | your gas, oil and tire cost per mile is, you are operating your car under a very great disad- with “2000 apf JOHNS Manviits “ar een” vantage and probably considerable waste. Johns-Manville SPEEDOMETER for FO RD cars Mounted on a handsomely finished instrument board with adjustable end brackets that fit to any open model Ford car. Sedan Fords. A high grade instrument in every essential, g) ving perfect assure a snug, non-rattling Also special model for accuracy on season, trip and speed indi Johns-Manville Service and Respon- sibility stands behind your satisfaction. To the Trade — The Johns-Manville Sales Policy assures both jobber and dealer real trade protec- tion. Ask for details H. W. JOHNS-MANVILLE CO. New York City 19 Factories— Branches in 63 Large Cities OHNS- NVILLE Equipment cators. COVERS TMS CONTINE:! Through— sbestos and its allied produc ts JOLINS-MANVILLE Serves in ( onservation Heat Insulations, High Temperature Cements Asbestos Ro Packings, Brake Linings, Fire Prevents EVENING POST | they all called it | down. yet always to harp on the theme of uplift — of sunshine. The more he thought upon this theme the more facile he became in handling it. You could hitch the sunshine idea to almost anything, he found. For example, this, which appeared among the first week’s Gloom Chasers: “FREE EXCURSION—A Determina- tion to be Cheerful is the only Ticket needed on the SUNSHINE SPECIAL which leaves the Depot of Gloom at any old time, daily, and with Old Man Smiles for its Conduc- tor, runs over the golden rails of the Opti- mism & Good Cheer Short Line to the Union Station of Success, at the corner of Joy St. and Hope Ave., Contentmentville. GET ABOARD, FRIEND!” This uplifting item was followed by some of the pungent paragraphs Brown was find- ing it daily more easy to dash off—mere sunbeams such as: “The GOOD SCOUT can always Spot a Reason to be Giad.” “Every Day of Sunahis ine is a HOO-RAY for HAPPINESS!” Busts i when there’s a Bank.” **‘No Business ts SMILE left in the Then a short “poem”: Comrades, to-day let hate and quarrels end; Forget all ancient grudges and pretend That bores are bright, and eve ry foe a frie nd. Chaos of gloom! Futility of March stoutly onward; mites and fife; Your banner joy. life ! your drum Let sunshine rul y mur Old Man Smiles became an established character; a regular contributor of Gloom Chasers. He gave variety by expressing himself in homely dialect, as, for instance: “OLD MAN SMILES SAYS: ‘Ef I was you, neigh bor, I'd be more keerful about the comp’ny I kep’. Ef Old Gus Gloom got to hangin’ raound MY house I'd jest SWAT IM WITH A GRIN.’” As the result of the publication of Smile! first of the Gloom Chasers to appear in print—Belwyn Brown received seventeen letters from persons who had read it in one newspaper or another and wished to let the author know that his poem—for so had helped them; and thenceforward as the other Gloom Chasers appeared day after day more letters kept coming. They came, of course, by a cir- cuitous route; for the readers always ad- dressed Brown in care of the newspaper in which they had read the Gloom Chasers that pleased them, and the letters were forwarded by the papers to the boiler-plate man, and thence to Brown. The letters not only confirmed him in his psychology, establishing the sunshine idea as something merchandisable beyond a doubt, but they also showed him that various groups of readers liked various grades of sunshine. Women, for instance, he perceived, generally preferred their sun- shine double distilled and served with several extra lumps of sugar; whereas the men who wrote to him usually appreci- ated a sunbeam which, as one correspond- ent put it, “burned pleasantly as it went Wherefore instead of drawing all his sun- shine from the same vat, as he had done at first, he began to classify it, and to arrange his Gloom Chasers in such a way as to meet different demands. Each day he aimed to furnish at least one item containing punch, pep or a kick for his male readers; but to counter- balance this he also endeavored always to furnish something tender, sweet and help- ful for those of the other sex. Beyond these two classifications he discovered two others: A group chiefly composed of men but including some women, who liked what they called virile stuff—the term usually denoting a paragraph or poem in which such words as “hell,” “damn” as occurred; and another group, or “guts” containing more women than men, that | wrote him elaborate letters about their in- tellects, their souls and their cravings for big thoughts. It was in an effort to supply the demand created by this latter class of readers that he wrote a Gloom Chaser called Man, the Master, which brought many letters from persons who claimed to June 28,1919 as fol- understand what it meant. It ran lows: IAM MAN! 1 AM the CHILD of CHAOS; AM the COSMIC CONSCIOUSNESS; I A} , VISION, VOICE and VOLITION; I \M Tepes HEAT and COLD; Ii VI Cc * red the WATER and the AIR; OV! R the Bea ts of FIELD and FOREST I HOLD SWAY; I AM the Ruler of GOD'S GREAT OUTDOORS I KNOW the MUSIC OF THE SPHERES; ALONE and UNAFRAID I Vibrate to the COSMIC PHRENODY; I BELONG to the UNIVERSE AND the UN IVE RSB BELONGS TO ME; IAM NOTHING and 1AM EVERYTHING HOW HAVE I RISEN TO MY HIGH ESTATE? POWER of MIND BY the v1 he MITIGATING FORCE; MIINT) ‘ THROUGH MIND the SUMPTUARY POWER of MATTER is Dispelled; MIN LD) is the OCI AN, EARTH and AIR; MIND . ETERNITY and ETERNITY is MIND; MIND makes MAN MASTER OF HIS SOUL DSOULn MAN MASTER OF HIS FATE lant MAN the BIGGEST THING MAN KNOWS; AND [1AM MAN—THE MASTER! Not only had the Gloom Chasers unques- tionably caught hold, but it was demon- strated as the weeks passed that they possessed what an advertising engineer terms cumulative value. Readers in in- creasing numbers followed Belwyn Brown's department and let the various newspapers know they liked it; the newspapers let the boiler-plate man know, and the latter in his enthusiasm attempted to sign Brown up for a year’s supply at a good rate of payment. And that was when he learned to his profound regret that Brown proposed to discontinue the department altogether at the end of the third month. Nor could he be dissuaded. So, like a transient star, the Gloom Chasers appeared, twinkled for a time in the firmament of boiler-plate journalism, and vanished. Brown had tried his experi- ment and he was satisfied. The sunshine idea was workable commercially. And just as the idea was too good to waste on pills, so was it too good to waste on boiler plate. Henceforth it must be applied in a larger way. It must be consecrated to a nobler cause. It must be directed to some definite great purpose. In short, it must be made to earn a lot of money for someone worthy of a lot of money. And who, after all, was so worthy of a fortune coined from sunshine as the discoverer of the sunshine theory and the first practitioner of the sunshine prin- ciple? vi T MUST not be supposed that Belwyn Brown expected wealth at once. He estimated that two or three years would be required to get the sunshine idea well started. After stopping the Gloom Chasers he spent his spare time for several months in concocting poems and paragraphs which he did not publish but laid away against the time when his new venture should get upon its feet. Presently he found it neces- sary to take a small office and employ a stenographer to run it, but he still regarded sunshine as aside line, giving to it time only outside business hours and saying nothing of it to his associates in The Publicity Directors of the United States, Inc. Advertising Engineers. The stenographer was at first occupied chiefly with the making of a card system containing the names and addresses of (Continued on Page i61)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Speeding up the handling of figure work for Simmons The millions of figure items handled by the Simmons Hardware Company of St. Louis are a reflection of the size of its business. Thousands of sales are made daily, thousands of items must be listed and billed, thousands of credits must be checked. Five of the thirteen Daltons used in Bookkeeping, Statistical, Sales and Factory departments are illustrated above. The use of Daltons by different departments of a business emphasizes its broader application to figure work. Where great amounts of straight adding and listing ] are necessary, Dalton operators work by fouch method entirely, handling the figure items without ever looking at the keys, increasing by 40°, the volume of daily work. In Cost, Purchasing, Statistical, Sales, “that wonderfully simple machine which Billing or any department where a multiplying anyone can use immediately.’’ The words : machine is necessary the Dalton handles ** Dalton Adding and Calculating Machine’ \ this type of figure work with an ease and mean a machine which will handle all 1 speed that can only be appreciated by a branches of your figure work. ] demonstration under time-tests. Such a demonstration will convince any business Have a Demonstration man that a faster multiplying machine does The service of the Dalton is that of a not exist. simpler, faster figuring machine of broader ‘ 4 pplicatio ( y » rork i le The great simplicity of the Dalton keyboard application to figure we rk for retailer, appeals to both operator and executive wholesaler, manufacturer. There are thou Here is the whole world of figures in only sands of Dalton users i cyers state, 10 keys. No training required—no con hundreds in every city. The Dalton Sal ce ‘ re} n ¢ , 1 eading fusion in column S¢ lection i ich figure Ag - e ne hundred and rs se , ws ! is placed in its proper column by the cities will gladiy bring a Dalton to your 4 ( wee ) ( wr lex foe ** \* , machine automatically. fice for demonstration — look for“ Dal yy : ; ; in your phone book. Wherever talk turns to figuring machines ‘ ; : today, you hear the Dalton spoken of as Descriptive catalog by mail upon requ¢ R. M. Tenant, Chief Accoun‘ant . » on . of the Franklin Automobile Con THE DALTON ADDING MACHINE CO pany, says 425 Beech Street Norwood Cincinnat:, “The Dalton with its simple 10-key fi keyboard, can be operated by touch method, enabling or to keep \ her eyes right on her work , time lost turning from work to machine and then back to hunt for h next figure By using the i Dalton we save 2 to 30 of \ time formerly required by other ‘ machines.”" 4 CALCULATING MACHINE et te ek ey le

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 OLEDO— No Springs—Honest Weight! Just as the scales that made good this significant slogan revolu- tionized weighing in retail stores; So also, Toledo Springless, Automatic, Heavy-Capacity Scales are revolutionizing weighing in manufacturing and wholesaling estab- lishments great and small the world over. Practically every cost—of raw material—of material in process of finished product—of haulage—of transportation—all these costs to the final consumer are, first or last, determined and measured by weight. And the Toledo Pendulum Principle, measuring gravity with gravity, is irresistibly standardizing the weighing of the world’s commodities; because, wherever situated, and regardless of changes of temperature, Toledo Springless Scales weigh with uniform accuracy. There are more than one hundred styles and sizes of Toledo Scales—retail scales, heavy-capacity scales, person weighers, mailing tgs scales, scales to weigh everything from an ounce of spice oO ®t \ 7 x to thirty tons of steel. There are Toledo Scale Branch Offices and Serv- ice Stations in sixty-nine cities in the United States and in thirty-four Foreign Countries. Let us tell you how Toledo Scales will solve your weighing problems. Toledo Scale Company Toledo, Ohio Largest Automatic Scale Manufacturers in the World Canadian Factory, Windsor, Ontario HT

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( a { 4 (Continued from Page 158) persons who had written Brown about the Gloom Chasers, and those of other persons catalogued in selected mailing lists which Brown bought from agents whose regular business it was to deal in names. One of these was, for instance, a list of more than fourteen thousand women who had written to the manufacturers of a beauty cream asking for a sample. For these names he paid a high rate per thousand, both be- cause the names were fresh—the list being less than six months old—and because he believed that women who were worrying about their looks made particularly likely customers forsunshine. Similarly he bought a list of men and women who had ordered by mail a set of books by an author cele- brated for uplift and optimism; also a list of persons who had answered a physical- culture advertisement headed: ‘Do You Get Up in the Morning Feeling Groggy?”’; and another of individuals who had written to Prof. Felix Schnell, Box 674-Z, Munson- ville, Indiana, answering affirmatively his published query: ‘‘Would You Like to be a Success in Life?” It is not the purpose of this narrative to trace in detail the course of the develop- ment of the new | Suffice it that business. within two years’ time Brown found him- self in somewhat the position of a circus rider driving a pair of horses with one foot resting on the back of each, and that at precisely the strategic juncture the tal- ented performer removed his foot entirely from the back of the older horse belonging to Ledbetter and began to give undivided attention to the one he owned himself— namely: Sunbeams, Inc. He might have waited a little longer to make the final shift had not the Federal authorities shown signs of sudden interest in Ledbetter’s transactions in connection with the advertising of stock in a goldless gold mine. Though Brown himself had not handled this account he was able to per- ceive a certain family resemblance between it and that of the oilless oil-well business, over the advertising of which he had per- sonally presided It seemed upon the whole an auspicious time to make a change, and it occurred to him that in doing so it might be well to write Ledbetter an indignant letter of resignation, putting the blame for the oil- well advertising squarely upon him. This he did—after having cashed his final check for salary and commissions. And though he was careful to keep a copy of the letter, as things turned out he never needed it the Federal authorities having for some unexplained reason seemed more interested in goldless gold than in oilless oil. From the time Brown ceased to be an advertising engineer and became a whole- sale vendor of sunshine the new business grew with great rapidity. The theory on which he worked, stated in its simplest form, was that of something over one hundred million persons in the United States all were potential purchasers of sun- shine of kind or another, at one price or another; it being his particular concern to convert as many as possible of these prospects into actual buyers. The foundation of his scheme was a monthly publication called T':e Sunbeam, consisting of sixteen pages artistically printed — which is to say, printed on a very inexpensive kind of thin wrapping paper. Its con- tents were written by Belwyn Brown, save in some instances when he complimented other writers by reprinting certain utter- ances of theirs which he deemed worthy to be placed beside his own. Thus, though Brown himself unquestionably did most of the writing for The Sunbeam he was to some extent assisted by Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, Elmer Phineas Lord, Shakspere, Montaigne, Robert Louis Stevenson, Ben- jamin Franklin, Phoebe Fairweather Vance, John Bunyan, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Abigail Wheeler Sweet, Cervantes and Effie Eggleston Fosdick, the Sweet Singer of Ashtabula. The price of The Sunbeam was a dollar a year, out of which Brown figured to make a profit of at least fifty cents. When three years had passed, one out of every 4473 persons in the United States was a subscriber, and the subscription list was jumping rapidly toward the fifty-thousand mark. And even the little magazine was not the department of Sunbeams, Inc., in which the largest margin of profit was made. Besides regular subscribers at one dollar there were preferred subscribers at $2.50 a year, these receiving besides the magazine twelve or poems by one so, mottoes such writers as Belwyn Brown, Shakspere, | Emerson and Stevenson—suitable for framing; and the Annual Sunbeam Cal- endar, an elaborate-looking thing illus- trated with colored copies of masterpieces of art and rendered beautiful to intellect as well as eye by an appropriate sentiment foreach day. Special preferred subscribers, at five dollars, received besides these articles the Sunbeam Daily Date Pad including handsome nickel stand for same and a beautiful duotone engraving of Belwyn Brown, with his finger resting poetically upon his forehead, and his auto- graph—guaranteed genuine—below. Or for $7.50 one might become an extra pre- ferred subscriber and secure, along with the portrait of the master, a large cream- colored mat upon which Brown would in.cribe a sentiment, not to exceed fifty words in length, selected from his works. Or, best of all, for ten dollars one could become an élite subscriber, receiving all the treasures mentioned above, and in addition a choice between two volumes of Belwyn Brown’s poems, printed on heavy handmade deckle-edge paper, numbered, signed by the author, and bound in “limp | suitable for carriage in the shopping bag or pocket. These two volumes were Sunbeam generally preferred by women, and Rimes for Roughnecks, attuned more to the virile taste of hairy, hoarse- voiced males. As the business expanded, subsidiary departments were added: A Sunbeam sickroom service, a children’s department and a holiday-eard division. For the sick room Brown issued his daily Capsules of Cheer at one dollar a week; for children he got out Tender Tinklings for Tiny Tots, while in the holiday-card section a large trade with stationery dealers promised to ” 00Ze, Songs, develop, aside from the direct mail-order | service. By the time the European War broke | out Sunbeams, Inc., was occupying consid- erable space for offices and the storage of its printed matter, was employing a good deal of inexpensive office help, and was yielding an excellent income to its proprie- tor and guiding spirit. From the beginning of the war Brown proclaimed vigorously with voice and pen his belief in the doctrine ‘Business as usual’; and as long as busi ness did continue as usual he had no par ticular objection to the war. When the United States went in he became a little bit uneasy and shouted ‘‘ Business as usual” louder than before; arid for a time it looked as though “ Business as usual’ might be- come the national policy. Sut it did not. Came the draft, the shortage in labor and materials, greatly increased costs and heavy taxes; and though one might have sup posed that the harrowing effect of war on people’s minds would make the Sunbeam market better than ever, that did not prove to be the case. Brown now began to be deeply interested in the war. He believed in “force, force without stint.””. America could not send too many soldiers to suit him. The thing to do was to clean it up—get it over with. If the war didn’t end pretty soon everybody would be broke! It became difficult to get sufficient paper for his various requirements. Brown at- tempted to convince a governmental bod) having jurisdiction over paper distribution that the business of disseminating sun- beams was now more than ever an essential industry, but he could not get the narrow rainded creatures to see it. And yet it must be said for Belwyn Brown that throughout the period of confusion and depression he took his own medicine. Even when the financial return from Sunbeams, lnc., was cut in half he gazed confidently into the future, under a deep conviction that everything would be all right again once the war was over. So though it now became necessary to reduce the sunbeams service all along the line he devoted much time to the preparation of new sunbeam campaigns to be launched when the normal trend of things should have been resumed. vil T WAS in the course of his planning for post-bellum developments that Belwyn Brown conceived the idea of going to Europe. At home there was nothing to do but struggle along under the handicaps of war. He had enough sunbeams laid by to last a year. The only work that regularly required attention was the setting up, printing and mailing of The Sunbeam every month, and the routine of filling such | | | | } THE SATURDAY EVENING POST iG] A New Way to Bake rl labor Beat T} 4 : , é easy tod Ke t eh ing . eb Some Years Ago A Most Difficult Dish ‘ad were broken and cr i © So they devised steam oy > 1 " the beans were baked for he 45 degre The and 1 scientific cool the \ atories took i> the iS ese are experts collec trained “ naryscience, chemistry anddietet 1e problem was to make Baked “4 sad estible \nother wi ton ike v more likable It took them four > ae ; to solve these problem ind the x ;, W ibout SLOO.O000 — 1] y made nal « to attain the pinnacle of zest bake that sauce with the porka ens \ mn ped in the baking where ie aly \ ' They Tested Sauces under out in mpared 856 sauce vel the na be in beat ed in Van ¢ p's are se | by : hey found that boiling in hard water Men Are Delighted made be: tough So all our water 1 now freed { mineral Hlundr f men } e come to Van ( 1) to congratulate the expert t day disl Thousand f eve ‘ go to luncl it restau ! } ] e Van Car p \ndt | ds of thou ds t! dish } bt ht nev eption of Baked Bear I ‘ vy tl icle di \ They Studied Baking Le ins baker lk t They were hard to ¢ t VAN (AMPS Pork and Beans Baked With the Van Camp Sauce—Also Baked Without the Sauce Other Van Camp Products Include Soups Evaporated Milk Spaghetti Peanut Butter Chili Con Carne Catsup Chili Sauce, ete. Prepared in the Van Camp Kitchens at Indianapolis | seen ew |

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Smoother Faces! Millions of men—Gem users—have smoother faces. They have learned this shaving truth, that — “The Blade is the Razor” Gem Damaskeene Blades have a durable delicacy and uniformity of edge that actu- ally give a silken skin, a happy shave—the shave you have always wanted. Thousands of men swing permanently over every year to the Gem and Smoother Faces. No longer for them the painful shaves and the ‘‘near’’ shaves. They have found shaving content. The shaving content you will find in the delicate edge of one Gem Damaskeene Blade will amply repay your investment in a Smoother Face. The new Gem folder “Smoother Faces and How to Get One” should be read by every man. Shall we send you a copy? The price of the Gem secures the full service you can ask from any razor. $4 00 Complete outfit includes holder, han- dle fer stropping and Damaskeene Blades in compact case. seven GEM CUTLERY CO., Ine. New York Canadian Branch: 591 St. Catherine Street, W Montreal THE SATURDAY EVENING POST orders in other lines as could be filled. His office manager, formerly a young reporter on the Dispatch, could handle all this. Europe, upon the other hand, began to beckon Belwyn Brown. He and Europe had never met each other. It seemed time that this was remedied. It was always good for Sunbeams, Inc., to have its proprietor travel. He made new contacts, gathered new ideas for sunbeams, brought in new subscriptions. And now, in Europe, what a chance! More than two million huskies in need of uplift and good cheer! More than two million lads, most of whom would be back in the United States after a while, and every one of whom would then become a possible subscriber for one sort of sunbeam service or another. He could go over, shoot sunbeams into them, earn their gratitude and friendship, and thus line them up for the future. For he had read enough about the war to know that over there you couid get at the men in bunches—at wholesale, as it were, Think of millions of American boys living in a foreign land amid cooties, ratsand mud! Mud meant rain, rain meant gloom. What, then, was most vitally needed by our boys in France? Sunshine! Sunshine would win the war! Within two or three days of the time when the thought first struck him he had manufactured samples of a new line of wares, which he called Sunbeams For Sam- mies. These he took to W ashington, where he presently succeeded in submitting them to the secretary to an assistant secretary. This dignitary was so impressed with Brown's productions that he immediately summoned his own third assistant secretary, vho was in charge of the Bureau of Uplift. Some of Brown’s samples were then read aloud: “SUNBEAM SAMMY SAYS: ‘Take it from me, Pard: There ain't no Ordnance Officer as kin measure the muzzle velocity of a Grin!’”’ “SMILE, and make the Hun of Hard- ship ery, ‘KAMERAD!’” When everything looks dark without, Amid the battle’s din, The darkest dugout’s lighted By the glamour of a Grin. ‘Bomb the crossing of Peevish Ave. : Grouch St. with a Blazing Burst of SUN SHINE.” *‘Lay down a Barrage of Smiles and see the Boche of Bitterness beat it back over e No Man’s Land of Gloom.” When Despair is pressing fiercest, Comes Joy's Army down the miles, With a thousand sunbeams glinting From its bayonets of Smiles! In the face of such art as this, what could the secretary to an assistant secretary say? After speaking to Brown solemnly about morale and functioning and things like that he authorized him to sail forthwith to France, there to spill sunbeams upon the American Expeditionary Force. “Get in a few raps at bad language and the tobacco habit if you can,” were his last words to Brown as he departed. 3rown was in France six months. He never learned just what the soldiers thought of him, because even in the S. O. S. dis- cipline was strict. The men really be- haved very well when Brown spilled sun- beams on them—especially after someone warned him to stop calling them Sammies. He talked to them by the thousands. And then one day he heard that the armistice had been signed. The war was over. He had told them all along what would end it. Over and over again he had declared: “Sunshine will win the war.” And now this prophecy had come true. Sunshine had won! ‘The ship on which he came home was full of generals and economists and colonels and correspondents and majors and assistant secretaries of government departments and iptains and socialists and admirals and Y workers and lieutenant commanders ind nurses and lieutenants and Red Cross people and doughboys. Brown did not spend any time with the doughboys or other minor persons but consorted as much as possible with the more important figures. The more he conversed with them the more he was amazed. For whereas in the past the biggest men with whom he had a chance to compare himself were merely uccessful New York merchants and the June 28,1919 like, he now perceived that even when he stacked up against men who were real world figures he still showed to good advantage. It was just a matter of per- sonality. Lots of these men didn’t have much personality. There was one of them, for instance, to whom he talked for two hours without finding out who he was or what he had been doing in Europe. He figured him as just some plain little busi- ness man of no particular importance. Yet who should this very fellow turn out to be but one of Hoover's chief assistants—a big man—a man who knew all the kings and generals and statesmen! Yet—would you believe it?—he never said a word about any of it; and worse still, instead of mixing with other important men he would go and spend hours talking with the doughboys. This practice struck Brown as so peculiar that he was impelled to speak of it. “Would you mind telling me,”’ he asked the man one day, “‘why you associate with the doughboys so much?” ‘Because they let me,” swered. “But you can associate with the mos important men on board if you want to.” The man stared. “If you can show me anybody more im- portant than the doughboy not only on this ship but in this world,” he said, “I'd like very much to talk with him. Only I don’t know of any such person.” Brown had thought well of Hoover until then, but from that time he doubted him He might know about food perhaps, but if he would have as one of his chief assistants a man who talked such nonsense as that there must be something the matter with Hoover himself too. One thing was certain: He, Belwyn Brown, could teach almost any one of these eminent men a good deal about the art of getting themselves across. In New York he saw that even the doughboys were getting themselves across more than the big men were. There were no committees of welcome except for the doughboys. There were parades by and for them. There was a stucco arch for them to march through. Everybody else who had been to France was being lost sight of. It was all wrong. The doughboy was well enough in his way, of course, but there were others who were not getting the recognition they deserved. Himself, for instance. What sacrifices he had made for his country! Had he not dropped his af- fairs, risked the perils of the deep, and gone to France to win the war with sun- shine? And was he to be forgotten now that he was back? Not if he could help it. And having been an advertising en- gineer he thought he could. the other an- vir ELWYN BROWN was not the only man of his era on the Dispatch to have achieved success in a field outside of jour- nalism. Bolton, who left the paper shortly after Brown, to become editor of Tittle- Tattle, had later branched out for himself in a line of business no less unusual than Brown's. Unlike Brown, however, Bolton did not choose to figure as master of his own affairs, but preferred to be thought of as a salaried manager acting on behalf of an organization of eminent men and women. This organization was called The Pundits Club, and on its handsomely en- bossed letterheads Bolton’s name figured modestly below a lot of other names. His title was corresponding secretary, and he made it a point generally to assume the modest mien of an employee. “T shall have to consult our board of governors,” he would say; or: ‘I shall have to ask our president about that before giv- ing you an answer.” Yet as a matter of fact he did not have to consult anybody. He himself was The Pundits Club. He owned and operated it His bank account was its bank account or, rather, its was his. His officers were dummies—men who liked to speak in pub- lic, and who let their names be used on the understanding that they should have no work and no responsibility and should be called upon to speak at a banquet once a year—for the liquor habit is a minor vice compared with the public-speaking habit. That suited Bolton. He was the mem- bership committee, the dinner committee, the committee on speakers. The work and the responsibility were his. Also his were the profits. And given some knowledge of the inner machinery of The Pundits Club the profits were easy to compute. Eight or ten banquets were given each year, beginning in (Continued on Page 165)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The seventh Rex Paver, bought in 1913 by C. W. Blakeslee & Sons, New Haven, Conn 14 work on one of its 1919 jobs The seventh Rex Paver to be manu- factured was bought six years ago by C.W. Blakeslee & Sons of New Haven, Conn. In its first season it made so fine a record for amount and quality of concrete laid, and for freedom from trouble, that three more were bought in 1914, These four Rex Pavers worked con- stantly on such jobs as the Milford turnpike —a much traveled concrete pavement that has shown only one crack in its 4% miles. When not at work for their owners the pavers were rented by other contractors. All the time they handled in their “mixes” the extremely abrasive trap rock of Southern Connecticut — the most drum-destroying aggregate known to our concrete engineers. Yet today all four of these Rex Pav- The Seventh Rex—and Six Years ers still have their original semi-steel drums. Only the blades and buckets of some drums have been replaced. And repairs and replacements in general have been so small that their cost per year is considered negligible by Mr. Blakeslee. The record of this battery of four Rex Pavers, their steady work, low repair costs, and ease of operation, illustrate why so many contractors are adding Rex Pavers to their fleets. Send for the booklets describing the Rex line of Concrete Mixers and Pavers. You will be especially in- terested in the 14 E Paver —equipped with enclosed cut-gear transmission and designed for work with either a 20-foot distributing boom or a 15-foot spout, AND MIXERS CHAIN BELT COMPANY, MILWAUKEE NEW YORK CHICAG( PHILADELPHIA DETROII PITTSBURGH ST. LOUIS This Rex Mixer, the first to be made and sold, was first put to work in 1909, It has worked steadily ever since. It still has its original semi - steel drum and the Rex Chain has been re placed only once OC

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 J is How the Star Saw is Different Star Hack Saws are standardized to a few pitches and gauges for cutting the widest range of metal shapes and sizes because of the different tooth shape in.the Star Blade. Each tooth is undercut to a hook-like point which gives an acute cutting angle that cuts off the metal instead of scraping or digging it off as a less acute cutting angle will do. And this effective cutting continues through the heaviest sawing and the hardest wear. STAR HALK SAW BLADES ©) tC made of Tungsten St Steel | Machine and Hand Flexible and All Hard Write for our free book The Star tooth shape is made possible because it is milled on our special mammoth lathe tool instead “Hack Saw Efficiency.” of being milled flat with the ordinary cutter. And because the Star method of heat-treating has A valuable hand-book for : . . ~~ Bl. d : ll ainidianhatiaiaieannanal developed a way to get extra toughness in our high percentage tungsten steel, the Star Blade wi hold its acute angled tooth points even under the heaviest kind of cutting conditions. The Teeth on Star Blades are also cut and set to give a three-way clearance that clears the saw teeth of chips and keeps them always free to cut. That is why Star Standardized Blades so excel in fast cutting, heavy cutting and universal use. Star Blades are standardized on medium sized gauges and teeth like the ten tooth, eighteen gauge power blade which will saw anything and everything except the very heaviest and very lightest work. With the Star you don’t need a lot of sizes. You can put a Star Blade in your saw and it will eat up almost anything you want to saw and do it more easily and quickly and at a lower cost. Star Service men are in all the chief cities. Address our office at Millers Falls, Mass. Star Hack Saws are sold by leading supply houses, hardware jobbers and retailers everywhere. Write for our free book “Hack Saw Efficiency.”” A valuable handbook for everyone who saws metal. Manufactured By Sole Distributors CLEMSON BROS. Inc. MILLERS FALLS CO. MIDDLETOWN, NEW YORK MILLERS FALLS, MASS.

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{ _— ( (Continued from Page 162) the fall and ending in the early spring. A ticket to one of the banquets cost six dollars. The actual cost of the banquet to Bolton was approximately half that amount. The difference made his income. Altogether, you see, it was a nice clean business, easy to handle and— Bolton had his lawyer’s word for it—entirely within the law. Don’t imagine that anybody could buy a ticket to a Pundits banquet. No indeed! To buy a ticket you had to be a member. And to become a member you had to be invited. Oh yes; The Pundits was exclu- sive-very. But there was nothing com- mercial about it—no initiation fee or dues; the object as stated in the club’s prospectus was simply to get together a body of con- genial people who liked to dine out and hear interesting speakers. A great many people in New York like to dine out and hear interesting speakers. Most of them live in family hotels. Sup- pose yourself one of these. You receive some fine morning an impressive document. At the head of it are the names of the officers of The Pundits Club. Many of these names are vaguely familiar. Below is an engraved invitation. Your name is written in. The corresponding secretary of The Pundits Club begs to inform you that by order of the board of governors you are invited to become a member. You are flattered. How did they come to invite you? Evidently some member of the board of governors has found out that you are a person who likes to keep up with current affairs. You've often read in the news- papers about the banquets of The Pundits. They have important speakers —celebri- ties. You like to see and hear celebrities. Moreover, you get awfully tired of meals from your hotel kitchen. You write to the corresponding secretary and accept the invitation. Thenceforth you are a Pundit and receive a notice of each banquet. Nor does it ever oceur to you that in joining this distin- guished body you are performing an act about equivalent to buying a theater seat or subscribing for a magazine. No. This seems altogether different. This is a club. You are a member. You can go to the banquets, and when you read about them in your newspaper next morning you can say to yourself proudly: “I was there!” When you read what some speaker said you can say to yourself: ‘I should have heard him say that if I had only sat a little nearer to the speakers’ table.” There is always the chance too that something still more wonderful may happen. Now and then there appears in some news- p..pera list of some of the persons who were present. Some day your name may appear on such a list. Think of that! You can buy a lot of copies of the paper, mark them, and send them to friends in remote places to show them that you’re somebody in New York now. The hotel clerk and the chambermaid will be interested too. Of the men on the Dispatch in Belwyn Brown’s time Bolton was the only one of whom the proprietor of Sunbeams, Inc., had kept track. Four or five times a year the two would meet, lunch or dine together and discuss their respective affairs. Thus Brown not only watched the growth of The Pundits Club, but acted occasionally as an adviser to his friend. To advise he had to understand the inner workings of the club, and he was one of the very few persons who did. As he watched Bolton’s progress his respect for Bolton grew. In the early days the corresponding secretary had been glad enough to get a prominent actor or actress as a guest of honor, filling in his list of speakers with judges of the state courts, and lawyers and politicians whose reputations were distinctly local; but now that the club was in full swing no one was too big to be a guest of honor at its banquets, nor was there in the city any banquet hall too big for the crowds that Bolton could cause to gather—at six dollars a plate. He had by this time entertained visiting princes and other persons of the higher European aristocracy, ambassadors, cabi- net members and leading senators from Washington, opera singers and musicians of the first rank, generals, admirals, ex- plorers, great inventors, authors of the highest distinction and the presidents of gigantic corporations. It had come to be understood that there were always many interesting people at these banquets; and even interesting people themselves will go THE SATURDAY to banquets sometimes to meet other inter- esting people. It was all plain sailing for Bolton now. Soon after his return from Europe Belwyn Brown invited Bolton to lunch. Neither one of them could have told now whether Rafaelli’s so much as existed any more, and even Sullivan’s had sunk in their opinion to the rank of an obscure second-rate restaurant. They lunched at a great hotel on Fifth Avenue, and as they entered the dining room the head waiter bowed and called them by their names. Until now Brown had not thought in a long time of the farewell banquet given him years before upon the occasion of his | leaving the staff of the Dispatch. He could not have told you what had become of the absurdly small loving cup of thin silver presented to him then. Long ago he had put that cup away upon a dark, dusty closet shelf, corresponding with the shelf of memory upon which the recollection of the dinner itself had been placed. Yet now in a curious way his mind harked back to that dinner and that cup. For they had done him good. Insignificant as they were they had helped him. They had given him his first publicity and had assisted him materially in his new job. It was an excellent thing for a man to have a banquet given in his honor and to receive a loving cup. And the larger the banquet and the cup, the better. Strange that Bolton should have been the moving genius in that affair of long ago! For it was Brown’s intention now to let Bolton do the same thing for him again; the same thing thing at all. After telling Bolton something of his work in France and assuring him that sun beams had been the decisive factor in the war he spoke reminiscently of the old days “Last night,” he said, “I got to thinking about that banquet you gave for me when I left the Dispatch. Some fellows forget things like that, but I don’t. I suppose it’s sentimentality in me, but I’ve always felt that memory as a tie between us.” “You've forgotten,” Bolton put in. “I didn’t get up that banquet. It was Jimmy Otis.” Brown brushed Jimmy Otis aside with a wave of the hand. ‘‘He may have thought of it,’’ he said, “but it took you to carry it out. That was the first time any of us real- ized your genius for handling such things I guess perhaps it was the first time you realized it yourself,” “‘T was a bit surprised at myself,’’ Bolton said. “‘I wouldn’t call it genius, though.” “Cut out the false modesty, old man,” said Brown, patting his friend on the shoulder. “It is genius. Nobody else in New York can pull off a big dinner the way you can. Well, then, admit it. Admit it the same as I admit it when I’ve really acc omplished something big + Solton looked at him and waited. “That brings me to what I want to tall to you about,” Brown went on. “The fact is, Bolton, a lot of the men who have done big things in this war are going to be lost in the shuffle when it comes to passing round the credit unless they get busy and see that they get what’s coming to them Take my own case: I| deserve recognition, but who’s going to know it if I sit tight and say nothing? That would be the easy thing to do, but is it the right thing to do?) No It isn’t fair to the public or to me. The people of this country have a right to know what a force the sunshine idea was. Of course there are lots of ways that it can be got over to them but, as I said before, I’m sentimental. You gave me that first banquet and loving cup, years ago, when I was starting. Our friendship has gone on ever since. I always knew you'd make good, and you have made good. I've been able to advise with you—to help you a little, I trust. And you’ve watched my progress. Well, you gave me that little testimonial banquet, so now when I've really got something to deliver I want you to be the one to give me a big banquet. Naturally there are many organizations that would be glad to do it now, just to hear what I’ve got to say’about sunshine and the war, but I want you to do it, for auld lang syne. I want The Pundits to do it. I want ‘3 “It’s getting pretty late in the season,” Bolton said. ‘“‘We were going to have only one more dinner, and for that we were going to have the Duke of Felixstowe and the Secretary of 3 “That’s all right,’ them speak at my dinner. ’ Brown said. “Let So much the yet, paradoxically, not the same | EVENING POST 165 Quaker Flour Made in New-Day, Scientific Ways Note Its Whiteness Fineness Quaker Flour, when you once see it, will change our whol conception of fine flour. You'll expect that, for thre Quaker brand would never go on ordinary flour Ju t for curiosity, get a ick and try it. You know how we excel in other cere il pr vduet Set how we excel in thi Here is a super-grade flour + Quaker gract We use in it only one-half of the wheat kernel just the choicest: part. It is made by expert in a model mill filled with the latest it equipment ( hemust constant] analyze it Bakers right in) the mill constantly bake with * * Quaker Biscuit and Pancake Flour kag r for t Ite ‘ 1 al r Ih with top eve esh ul ber . 3 cook ke t pa b i por t two countries this flour ha become a sensation It has won a million user ilready Krom one mill we have grown to five mull witl dail capacity ol 10,000 barre| Phere ir other millions who would like uch flour Soon o1 late the ire bound to get it but why wait ur grocer may have it now If not, he wil vel it for you Quaker Flour 1 1 yvreat track bringer, and = grocer ire finding it out \sk for it—get a ck to tr \fter that, you will never be con tent with ordinar feos Quaker Farina ( ker | —— = 0 per i h ' +} The Quaker Qals @mpany Quaker Flour Mills Akron, Ohio Peterborough, Ontario Sudbury, Ontario ( edar Rapids, lowa Saskatoon, Saskatchewan

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Jobs For Fighters In the Service—You learned the wonderful lubricating, cleaning, pol ishing and rust preventing Qualities of o-1n-Oh It kept the mechanism of your rifle or sidearms always working right — bore, barrel and bayonet clean : j | | In Civil Life—3-i1 One will help you to do the hundred and « odd jobs you fou \ ti your return from overt is or training camp n-ne will put rt | n working order and | p them that way | i | ] ! i} Ss property locks, Ccloc! wing machines and other light mechanisms prevents rust on all metal , na bert rh Yai a } ? yd rH , § i/ay gn-0)) / ) ) ru P len Aandi from ki r otlstor Slop au prt (CARS L (uITHINg ¥1n-One a 7 and ¢ cha f é Thi rl 4 bricantl } yf ra Commutators and a Viagnet Keef i yr aid wntilati il } ) ei Mi ‘ r} ‘ iA iia 4 le Pi Al 4c }-in-One 1s t hiwh lity oil for all light mechanisms. It’s light enough to penetrat thor i ly and viscous enough to stay in the bearings and lubricate pertect if from grit, grease and acid. Won't gum, drv out or burn out at fh hy spree IS \t all good stores Prices, east of Rocky Mountain States, I$c, 25c, 50c¢ in bottles; also in 25¢c Handy Oil Cans. i) . fl ee ee ES en srk on Three-in-One Oil Co., 165EUG. Broadway, New York City. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST better. I want other big men there any- how. Of course I realize that their names would draw more than mine, even if I had done a lot more than they had. That’s | just the point. I’ve kept in the background too much, old man. I don’t care who else speaks, as long as I’m the guest of honor. There'll be glory enough for all.” Bolton showed no enthusiasm. “You must remember, Brown,” he said, that with The Pundits everything is strictly business. You know how it has been built up. It wouldn’t be anything if we gave dinners to people who—to people who, whatever their merits, weren’t known all over the world.” “But you don’t realize what I did France.” “T haven’t any doubt wonders,’ Bolton said. that you did “That’s not the point, old man. The question is: Do mem- bers of The Pundits realize it? Will they come?’ “We'll make them realize it!” Brown declared. ‘‘And as far as their coming is concerned—why, of course they’ll do that if you line up the usual lot of celebrities. That’s just the point.”’ “These banquets aren’t nearly so profit- | able as they used to be,”’ Bolton said rue- fully. “‘Food prices have jumped so I can’t make favorable arrangements with the hotels any more. Of course I have to give The Pundits a fairly decent meal. But where I used to be able to knock out from two- eighty to three-twenty a plate for myself, I’m lucky now if I clear a dollar and a half, after the printing, souvenirs and dinners for invited guests are settled for.” “As far as that goes,” said Brown quickly, “I'll be glad to pay for all the | extras myself.” ‘That puts a different face on it,’’ re- plied Bolton, warming perceptibly. ‘“‘ After all, this club is my living, you know.” “Of course. What do you think the extras will come to?” “Five hundred ought to thing.” “Including a loving cup?” “No. Just the fixed charges. want a cup too?” “*Ves,”’ said cover every- Do you Brown. “I'll arrange about that myself though. But I do think a big handsome cup inscribed from The Pundits ( ‘lub to me would be rather effective, don’t you? : Bolton thought it would. ‘Then,” said Brown, as they left the table, ‘‘we may regard the whole thing as settled. Where do you think you'll hold it?’ Bolton mentioned the grand ballroom of an immense hotel. ‘‘Now that we've fixed the business end | of it,”” he said genially, ‘‘I want you to know that I'll try to make this the greatest ye og The Pundits ever gave. It will be the biggest affair of the season if I can make it so.” “Thanks!” exclaimed Brown with fer- vor as he w rung the other's hand. “Thanks more than I can say, old man! No one knows better shen I what you can accom- plish when you want to.” x HE very invitations to the banquet given by The Pundits Club in honor of Belwya Brown foreshadowed a supreme event. Brown wished them to do that, and as he paid for them himself there was no tinting. They were enormous invitations, in enormous enve lopes, on enormously thick paper from which the engraving pro- truded in relief so high as immediately to tempt exploring thumbs. The large script lettering was uniform in size, save for two lines displayed in even taller characters these setting forth respectively the name of the club and that of the guest of honor. On the second sheet were forty famous names making up an invitation committee; and a separate card inclosed with each invitation gave a list of those who would speak. As guest of honor Belwyn Brown’s name naturally headed this list. Next came His Grace the Duke of Felixstowe, K. G., next a member of the cabinet, then one of the world’s most celebrated soldiers, then a great economist, and last a famous explorer. Never had The Pundits Club presented such a program. Ten days before the ban- quet was to take place all the tickets were | disposed of, and a hundred or two Pundits | who applied too late had their checks re- turned to them. A good many of The Pundits, receiving | these invitations, wondered who Belwyn June 28,1919 Brown was. Someone of great consequence, of course. That went witout saying. Otherwise The Pundits would not be giving him a banquet. Besides, look at the list of speakers that he headed, and at the dis- tinguished names on the invitation com- mittee. The accumulated evidence of Belwyn Brown’s importance caused many a Pundit to feel ashamed of knowing nothing of him, and to fear to reveal the ignorance by making inquiries. Came at last the night of the great ban- quet. Came the rank and file of male and female Pundits, filling the places at the countless round tables crowding the ball- room floor; came the more exalted Pun- dits—those who allowed their names to be used upon the club’s letterhead—to occupy the places at the long table on the dais at one end of the vast rococo chamber; came the wives and daughters of these, in jewels and silks, to fill the double tier of gilded boxes surrounding three sides of the room; came the reporters, who were the only people not in evening dress, and the only people, save the speakers, to get in free; came the corresponding secretary of The Pundits Club, to act, this time, as toast- master; came the five famous speakers with their speeches rumbling in their heads; came the guest of honor. He came a little early in a limousine. That, he felt, was the way a man ought to arrive at a banquet given in his honor alone in a limousine. The gold-braided carriage starter opened the door of the car and Brown alighted. He paused and drew from his well-filled wallet a dollar bill which he gave to the chauffeur as a tip. The limousine itself was charged to his account. He ascended in a crowded ele- vator to the banquet floor. The other people in the elevator got out at that floor too. Though none of them knew him they were going to his banquet. He could imagine how they would have whispered had they known who he was. ‘“That’s selwyn Brown!” they would have said behind their hands. | “Tt’s all for me he thought as he passed a the af of Pundits in the corridors, to leave his silk hat and his fur- lined overcoat in the special room prov ided for those at the speakers’ table. ‘‘It’s all for me!”’ he thought as he entered the vast ballroom and saw the great flags draped behind the long elevated table at the exact center of which he was to sit. ‘‘It’s all for me!” he thought as he stepped up to his place and shook the hand of Bolton. “It’s all for me!” he kept saying to himself as Bolton escorted him down the line of celeb- rities, introducing them to him one after another. ‘“‘It’s all for me!” he reflected warmly as he dropped into the chair at Bolton’s right and with an exaltation of the spirit such as he had never before felt sur- veyed the huge, crowded, glittering room. People at the tables stared up at the speakers, indicating to one another the distinguished guests. Brown was con- scious of their glances when they rested upon him. They were talking about him. “That must be Belwyn Brown,” they were saying—‘“‘Belwyn Brown himself!” He knew how they felt. At many another banquet he had sat where they were sitting—at the ordinary tables. He had looked up, as they were looking, to admire and envy the important figures. It had often struck him that men at speakers’ tables looked calmer, more genial and more worldly than men ever looked in other places, and that as they leaned back and conversed with one another their shirt bosoms seemed whiter and more spacious than those of other men. Did he look now as guests of honor looked at other dinners? Did his shirt bosom have that special splendor? He hoped so. And he believed so. For what a haberdasher, a tailor, and a Belwyn Brown could do in combination these things had assuredly been done. Full dress! How he loved to see people in fulldress! And allfor him! This festival indeed presented a picture of brilliant dignity such as may be attained only where lustrous shirt bosoms and silken facings garnish the banquet board. To be sure, Brown did see a few men wearing dinner jackets—or, as some people called them, tuxedos. His sense of propriety was some- what jarred by the spectacle. Didn’t they know that dinner jackets were correct only at gatherings attended solely by men informal gatherings? He took his own coat by the lapels and adjusted the set of it. “The thing to do,” he reflected com- fortably, ‘“‘is always to be dressed correctly (Continued on Page 169)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Poor Roads — A Tax on the Nation’s Energy AR demands a maximum of ethciency. During the last two years the country has learned how costly, how wasteful a thing, isa poor road. A poor road is in truth a tax upon the Nation’s energy. The country road over which the farmer must haul his products and the intra-city highway used by the manufacturer are arteries which carry the life blood of the Nation’s activities. They must be as direct, as level, and as smooth surfaced as it is possible to make them. This lesson, learned in times of stress, will not be forgotten. During the next few years it will be applied to the roads in every state in the Union. In this application Hercules Powders will be ex- tensively used. "They will help to make crooked roads straight, hilly roads level, and wet roads dry. In this task, as in many other great undertakings, they will be used for the benetit and advance ment of the people’s interests. Kan ) i Pa fit > Lake ( 7) ae Chattanoova Pit P I) gd a, HERCULES POWDER CoO. yp Chicago a F N Yor! Pittsbur P

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 28,1919 | Shuvxedo, The Perfect Tobacco For Pipe Finest Burley Tobacco Mellow-aged till Perfect -+- a dash of Chocolate “Your Nose Knows It’s soft and pliable—decreases in size asthe 3 Ja) tobacco is used—tobacco does not cake in 4% the package — no digging it out with the finger. Keeps the tobacco in # even better condition than tin. 3” Now, don’t you owe it to your- self to buy a package and give 3° Tuxedo a trial?—Not quite 4 as much tobacco as in the tin, but eh WA Guaranteed by ¥ : ™ C/o INCORPORATED

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(Continued fiom Page 166) for the occasion, regardless of what others may wear.”” For years this had been his philosophy of dress. He had practiced it so long he had forgotten how and when he first developed it The head waiter—the head of all the head waiters — stood directly behind Brown's chair and with his own hands poured his cocktail. It struck Brown as a very smooth cocktail indeed, having been made, of course, by an expert, and of the best mate rials. “You’re certainly doing this thing up in gre at shape,” he said, turning to Bolton. “You’ve got a mighty ‘good head on you, old man. By the way—the loving cup got here all right, didn’t it? They promised to deliver it at six, sharp.” “Yes,” Bolton replied, “I have it right here under the table. I haven’t opened the case, but from the size and weight it ought to be quite a nice cup. “Of course it is,”” Brown answered. “Didn’t I pick it out? There’s nothing ornate about it. It’s just a simple colonial design. But it’s some cup! With the mark- ing it cost a hundred and eighty dollars.” Though, as has been said, there were many Pundits who feared to display ignorance by asking who Belwyn Brown was, it must not be supposed that no one at the banquet asked the question. For example, a young lady who had just arrived from the South to visit friends who were Pundits of the more exalted class felt, quite reasonably, that as a stranger she could not be expected to know all of New York’s celebrities. “Who is Belwyn Brown? of her hostess. At this the other people at the table stopped eating and listened. He’s a prominent man, dear,” replied the young lady’s hostess uneasily. “‘That’s about all I remember at the moment. I can’t think exactly what he’s done. He’s prominent, though. All the men at the speakers’ table are prominent.” Thus also the Duke of Felixstowe, but one place removed from the guest of honor, felt himself for a like reason entitled to inquire. “Will you be so good,” he said, address- ing a distinguished financier at his side, as to tell me for precisely what achieve- ment or achieveme nts Mr. Belwyn Brown is so widely known?” The financier became suddenly embar- rassed. “As a matter of fact, sir,” he replied, “T must confess that I am not quite clear upon that point myself.” “Oh,” said the duke, “I beg your par- don. I was under the impression that you were a member of the invitation com- mittee.” “So I am,” the other answered. “I allowed my name to be used at the urgent request of Mr. Bolton, the club’s corre- sponding secretary, a thoroughly able and responsible young man. Moreover, a great many of my friends, men of the highest position, were already on the committee.” “Ah, yes,”’ returned the duke vaguely. “Ah, yes. Quite so.” Then his thoughts returned to his speech, the subject of which was Blood Is Thicker Than Water. Inquiries concerning Brown voiced at the reporters’ table were of course couched in more brazen terms. Distinguished individ- uals impress New York reporters no more thi an large buttons impress tailors. “Who is this bird, Belwyn Brown, any- how?” asked a very young reporter who was attending his first Pundits banquet. “You got his name wrong, son,” replied a veteran. “It’s Bullwyn Brown. That’s why they feed him in the Grand Bull Room.” “‘Is—that—so?”’ retorted the neophyte with an air of cold sophistication. “‘ Well, since you’re such an encyclopedia, who’s the solemn-looking blond guy next to the general . “He’s the great explorer,”’ returned the veteran, mentioning a celebrated name. “Even you ought to know him.” “Is—that—so?”’ repeated the young reporter, neither impressed nor crushed. “Maybe he’s the guy that discovered this Be lwyn Brown?” “No,” returned the other gravely. “You're wrong about that too. Brown disc overed himself.’ “Brown didn’t need such a deuce of a lot of discovering,”’ put in a short, pleasant- looking, middle-aged man, who was smok- ing a cheap cigarette of his own, in preference she demanded apparently to the more fragrant and e xpen- sive ones provided by The Pundits Club. “He has ability—plenty of it. The others listened with respect. “Do you know him, Mr. Otis? the young reporter. “Sure,”’ replied Jimmy Otis. THE SATURDAY EVENING ” asked | “He was | once our star reporter on the Dispatch. | Even then we could see where he was headed. He’s a brilliant fellow; and a mighty nice fellow too.” “‘How do you come to be sitting at our table, Jimmy?” inquired another of the older men. “Assistant managing editors usually wear white shirt fronts and sit out among the animals.” “Oh,”’ returned Otis, “I always liked Brown. When the notice of this banquet came into the office I got to thinking about old times—how we gave him a little fare- well dinner when he was leaving the paper. Bolton was with us then. He was toast- master at that dinner too. So I just thought to myself: ‘Instead of sending one of the boys I'll cover it myself.’”’ ‘That ought to tickle The Pundits all right,”’ said the other. ‘“‘Nobody’s going to cut your copy—and The Pundits don’t exactly shrink from publicity.” x O THE mind of Belwyn Brown also there came this evening recollections of that other time, long ago, when he had been a guest of honor seated upon Bolton’s right. Fascinating it was to reflect upon the difference between that dinner and this. He nursed the ancient memory now, as Napoleon in the moment of placing an | . . aeons Pact enne | commodity prices emperor’s crown upon his own head may have nursed the memory of ragged days in Corsica, delighting in the allegory created by the contrast. And what a contrast it was! ridiculous to the sublime to the sumptuous—from the small and cheap to the vast and costly. Nobody had ever had a banquet given in his honor any- where at which there were more people. There wasn’t any banquet hall in the world in which more people could be seated. The President of the United States « ‘ouldn’t have a bigger banquet. There wasn’t any way to give a bigger one. It simp ily couldn't be done. While the duke was talking about the things he had come all the way from Eng land to talk about, and again while the cabinet member was haranguing about the things he had come all the way from Wash- ington to harangue about, Belwyn Brown gazed now at the glints of light reflected in a wineglass which he twirled between his thumb and forefinger, now at the great assemblage, and felt himself in an ecstatic waking dream. Even when Bolton in his capacity as toastmaster came up for the third time, so to speak, and began a very fulsome but not very specific eulogy which clearly indi cated that the guest of honor was about to be called upon, Brown did not come fully back to earth. Nor yet, even when at the proper time he found himself standing, facing the applauding multitude, beginning to utter the speech he had so painstakingly memorized—not even then did he feel so much like a man looking down from the speakers’ table at a banquet as like Jupiter looking down from Olympus upon a vast and shimmering world. He told them something of the sunbeam idea; he quoted sunbeams at them; he revealed to them how he had taken sun- beams to the doughboys abroad; he pic tured our soldiers weary and despondent in the lo—a burst of sunbeams! They smiled. And when he saw their smiles, he said, he knew the war could end in but one way He told how the doughboys dashed against the foe; how the war was won, just as he had known it would be. Then he had felt free to come home again. And if—perhaps in deference to the presence of the general, who had fought for a long time in France, yet had never before heard of sunbeams of the Belwyn Brown va- riety—the speaker did not definitely declare that sunbeams won the war, nevertheless he left with many of his auditors a distinct impression that such was undoubtedly the case. When the applause following Brown’s speech had subsided Bolton got up again and presented the loving cup, declaring with every appearance of profound gravity that it was given by The Pundits Club in token of admiration and esteem for Belwyn jrown. From the from the tawdry | rain and mud of France, and then, | other words: A Comparison of Costs A graphic picture of the high cost of doing business is shown by the rise in a long list of during the past five strenuous years. By the exercise of unparal- leled economies, telephone rates have been kept almost un- changed. The fact is, the increase in the cost of commodities has re- sulted in what is equal to a de- crease in telephone rates. In The dollar which was spent for the telephone has bought more than twice as much as the dollar spent for the commodity. “ou a One Policy One System The activities of reconstruc- tion which are now upon the nation have put a great burden upon the telephone. This con- dition has made necessary an advance in telephone rates. This advance does not ex- ceed an average of eight per- cent; almost negligible as com- pared with the advances in other lines of industry, yet enough to cover the increase in the cost of operation. Only through adequate reve- nue can there be assured the maintenance of a high standard of telephone service. AMERICAN TELEPHONE AND TELEGRAPH COMPANY AND ASSOCIATED COMPANIES Universal Service CUT ME OUT: I u full particulars of b u lve dry p $20.00 extra in your ret -~ Look for this Trade-Mark on ‘Tools and ¢- FOr look for and , | Cutlery — — y find—the KEEN ‘ KUTTER trad: | it mark you can be | + sure that you al i 4 — buying an articl { ‘ the highest quality ££ ba ] Mect a OUALITV remat ry Pd longaflerthe PRICTI SIMMONS | / iter | i] , j : saa be , HARDWARI cs ON | COMPANY KEEN-KUTTER trade-mark helps you to buy confi | The | | dently with the knowledge you are | getting the best that’s made. When | =

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In planning his remarks he had thought to begin with the custom- formal: ‘Mister Toastmaster and ladies and gentlemen’’; but now, what with the splendor of the cup and the im- pressive silence of that vast crowded room he felt that formal words would seem a little out of place. The note for him to strike fullness of the heart. “‘Friends,”’ he began brokenly I am too stunned to thank you as I wish I could thank you for this handsome and unexpected token of your regard. I can only say that it means more to me than” there came a catch in his voice; he took hold of the cup and looked down into it “that it means more to me than any other possession I have—or ever shall have. Friends, I~I am overcome to say more.” Somehow, as he spoke it all seemed true. He did feel overcome. He was all choked up. Thus it came about that as he looked down at the trophy two large tears dropped into it—christening it, as it were. The cup was more than wide enough to catch them both. was that of “friends, too To Belwyn Brown the evening was merely a vague, gorgeous space of time. The general spoke, the economist spoke, the explorer spoke. But Brown did And the ap- plause that followed their speeches was to him only an echo of the applause that had followed his own. Then a great noise of chairs being pushed back and a buzz of general conversation is The Pundits rose to go. The banquet was over. The multitude pressed out of ballroom as people press out of a crowded train that has reached the end of the line. The men at the speakers’ table gave one another perfunctory good nights and hurried away. Bolton alone waited for Brown. Together they walked to the coat room reserved for honored guests. “Well,” said Bolton, “we put it over.” “It was indeed a great occasion!” re- plied the exalted Belwyn Brown. remainder of the to leave the banquet hall was Jimmy Otis. Jimmy lived in Flat- bush in a substantial frame house set back from the street in the midst of its own little lawn. He owned it. The payments on it had been completed several years before. Among the first June 28,1919 There also resided Mrs. Jimmy, the chil- dren, the small but reliable automobile, the dog and the canary. And there resided happiness. Jimmy never saw that house — thinking what a lucky devil he as to have such blessings. It seemed to bias that in this world some men got more than was really coming to them, and that he was one of them. All through the banquet he had thought, a little ruefully, of the home dinner he had missed. For he was anything but a ban- quet sort of person. And though he was glad to have witnessed Brown’s triumphant evening his one desire now was to get home. Downstairs as he was about to head for the Subway he paused. After all it would be nice to wait and speak to old Brown. He'd be coming down any minute; and it would no doubt gratify him to know that his old friends were proud of his success. Otis lit one of his abominable cigarettes and waited in the hotel lobby for Brown to descend. And Brown was descending. A _ hotel attendant in uniform, bearing the cup in its imposing case, had followed him to the coat room. There Brown had said good night to Bolton, and with his cupbearer had proceeded to the elevator. The eleva- tor was full of maie and female Pundits full of white shirt bosoms, silk hats, furs, jewels, brocades and heady perfumes. None of The Pundits spoke to Brown. But now they knew who he was. They looked at him and at the cup case, and whispered behind their hands. It was a large elevator, and as he stepped out of it at the lobby floor it seemed to him that all these other people made a sort of lane through which he walked with his cupbearer behind him, as an emperor might walk between two rows of brilliantly dressed courtiers. Though he had entered almost like an ordinary person his exit was to be majestic But suddenly as he was nearing the door he saw a man approaching with the evi- dent intention of speaking to him. Though Brown had not seen this individual in a long time he knew at once who he was. It was a man named Otis, who used to be a reporter on the Dispatch. He was not in evening dress. He wore a slouch hat, and a cheap cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth. He came up smiling, with his hand extended in greeting “Good old Brownie!” he exclaimed. srown swung sharply away from him and entered the revolving door. Outside the limousine was waiting. The boy handed the cup to the carriage starter, and the carriage starter in obedience to a gesture placed it upon the deeply cushioned seat beside its owner. As he drove off Brown threw an arm affec- tionately, protectively, across the case and indulged himself in a brief self-gratulatory yet philosophical reflection. “One thing is sure,”’ he “In this world a fe llow what’s coming to him.” said to himself: gets just about | ; et we

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Vow dont move.Daddy- you look so funny! Ht peict: + 74 : Pe alli AVdbiddia! : [certainly did look funny peering over th “Well, if here isn’t the old drawing that daughter made of me when I was wearing those bothersome reading glasses! ose readin glasses : objects with equal clearness. instantly from near to far. You can adjust your vision Thus, KRYPTOKS render un- What a revelation to see ourselves as others see us! “I realize now how awkward and comical I appeared, ducking my head to squint over the top of my glasses every time I wanted to see objects a few feet away. And what a nuisance it was to take them off and put them on every few minutes all day long! But that bother is ended now necessary the continual annoyance of removing and replacing your glasses or changing from one pair to another. Furthermore, they give you the convenience of near and far vision in one lens, without the conspicuous, age-revealing seam or hump of old-fashioned bifocals. With their smooth, clear surfaces, KRYPTOKS cannot be distinguished from single-vision glasses. That’s why they are that I’m wearing KRYPTOKS. I can see both near and far objects clearly and distinctly. I never have to take off my KRYPTOKS from morning until night.” KRYPTOKS (pronounced Crip-tocks) remove all necessity for head contortions or funny facial expressions. Through the lower part, you can read the smallest type clearly; through the upper part, you can see distant Do You, Too, Look Funny ? Are you unable to see distant ob- jects clearly through your reading glasses? Do you fuss with two pairs of glasses —one pair for near vision, the other pair for far vision? Do you wear the old-fashioned, age revealing bifocals with the disfiguring seam or hump? Then You Need KRYPTOK Glasses = universally knownas “‘ theinvisible bifocals.” Ask your oculist, optometrist or optician about KRYPTOK Glasses. If you need glasses for near and far vision, you will find interesting and valuable information in our booklet, ‘‘The Eyeglass Experiences of Benjamin Franklin Brown.” Write for your copy; please give, if possible, the name of your optical specialist. KRYPTOK COMPANY, INC., 1017 Old South Building, BOSTON, MASS. The “The Ola Bifocal with the disfiguring seam or hump KRYPTOK Bifocal with clear, smooth, even surfaces RYPTOK GLASSES THE INVISIBLE BIFOCALS MES i>

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